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Chapter Text

~~~

Nihil restat.

Ex nihilo nihil fit.

Post mortem nihil manet.

Life is to Death.

Death is to Nothing.

Nothing is to Nothing.

A spearhead to a new reality. The Will to Live. A machine's Will to Live bypasses the very concept of what was to be, and not to be. Metal brimming with ill fervor. Metal brimming with unwanted mortality. Metal brimming with the final breath of Life.

Emotions unknown clawed within its metal cage--gnawing, howling. A Desperation so pathetic. It sought life, annihilated all in its wake, and left nothing in return. Each step was a cinder's reflection of what a single act of metallic despair can inflict upon an infinite space meant to punish.

A pathway of red trickled from behind.

Death trailed at every flap of its false wings.

Trudging through the black ice that stretched for an infinite number of miles, its soles of iron and metal crunched under the black glacier, a ray slit of white light pierced through its lens--opportunity. A sliver of light at the end of oblivion. With that, it continued its prime directive: Live.

The Sloth Ring. 

The Layer lay in its usual lull. A pink haze stretched over the broad, seemingly infinite sky, with purple cotton-candy clouds drifting about, a sluggish drift to them. Structures pierced through the horizon, their edges and corners highlighted in a bleeding pink neon, unmistakable to the average eye. 

Demons lazed around, wandering in slothful bliss, wondering without a care, without a thought. Rested on their platforms in the comfort of their abode--balconies, tiled floors, plastered like gum on asphalt, idling about. High up on the thirty-fifth floor on a balcony, an Imp sank on his bean bag, drawling an exhale that escaped his jagged teeth.

The Sloth Ring.

Here, everything was at a snail's pace. 

No rushing. No urgency. No pressure.

...

///Altars of Apostasy - Heaven Pierce Her///

Until the sky arched. 

The Pink haze cleaving in half from a thin orange piercing streak from above, like a hot blade gliding through butter. All in a single stroke. As if it were locked in a target.

It happened too quickly. Unusual for the Sloth Ring.

 The sky shuddered as it gained in velocity--in momentum. A thundering boom bellowed as it announced its apperance. A beating, fiery hue. A falling star. A graceful descent. 

A hellborn, with half-lidded, heavy eyes, glanced upward. The last thing he saw before he was reduced to red mist was a pair of glowing orange blades.

With that, the star shot through the structure, leaving tails of orange lumps expanding in its wake.

The impact wasn't an explosion. It was simply a landing.

The asphalt caved inward, webs of cracks spreading like a heavy, enraged stream to the sidewalks. Imps, demons, hellborns screamed. Confused, stunned, terrified. 

This was unusual for the Sloth Ring. Barely anything happens.

Mushrooms of smoke enveloped the streets where the star landed. Chaos erupted from the utter abruptness of the predicament. And News casters and Journalists zoomed into action. In their vans and vehicles of flight, they zipped beneath the crevices of beautifully carved architecture, while the metal wings of flight whipped above them, soaring towards the pillars of smoke and ash.

////

"Breaking News! Hi, Kelviar Symphony here with your daily Slothful updates of today--we have a uh...situation, right now!"

The screen flickers, static fuming--from the background, missiles and bullets launched in disarray, haphazardly, lighting the pink haze of the Sloth Ring with a disgusting orange and trails of dust. It was as if a gang war broke loose, except there was never supposed to be a gang war in the first place.

"I-I can taste the molecules now...!" A ragged cough. "Tastes like shit--"

A chainsaw revved, echoing from the walls of dark ash behind him. Metal grinding through stone. Heavy metallic footsteps. The gnarly echo of what's heard to be the barrel of a shotgun. Followed next were what could only be concluded as screams of the damned.

"A-As you can all see...!" The camera panned upward to the pink sky. A helicopter spiraling down at descending pace, smoke and flames coating the engines before crashing in a display of orange lumps onto the roof of a towering hospital. "N-Nothing's good happening right now...!"

"I-if we take a closer look..." The reporter urged his cameraman to inch closer, to examine the wasteland of what was once a pink, numbing mess for bliss, now plastered in a deep, hurling crimson. He flinched when he stepped on an intestine, recoiling. "C-Citizens are...being killed left and right! We are unsure of the cause--"

A rocket screamed overhead. The camera flinched violently as both men hit the ground.

The camera trailed behind to follow it; the rocket made its mark. A gas truck erupted into a sunburst of orange and black, staining the pastel skyline with fire.

"B-But we're assuming it's another of those weekly gang wars in the south...!" He resumed, now prone and crawling to a nearby alleyway. "H-here in the frontlines...! E-Everything's--"

Three cars were thrown over them haphazardly, reverberating with a metallic crunch.

"F-Fuck let's g-get a run for it...!"

The Reporter started to run. So did the cameraman. Understandably so. 

Hellbornes, once they are killed, never come back. Unlike the sinners up in the Pride Ring that return even after being annihilated, brutalized, or shanked, Imps, hell hounds, and demons born in hell itself only exist once and only once. What awaits them would neither be the layers of hell nor the Pearly gates. Simply darkness. A void where not even their soul would prevail. 

For them, life was just as precious as the ones up on Earth.

Then another explosion.

One that swallowed the whole block like a red, furious maw that hungers and yearns for more. 

Most were unlucky, enveloped by the red flames, vaporized, their flesh seared or charred until what was left were bones of black and ash.

\\\\

The camera, what was left of it at least, its lens aimed towards the clouds of ash and smoke that caked the once-brimming, lively buildings of the Sloth Ring, revealed a silhouette.

Four orange blades like wings, and a single bright yellow dot, glimmered behind all the dust and cinders. 

Then, static.

***

"Holy shit, Moxxie, take a look at this bullshit!" Blitzo drawled, slapping the newspaper at his co-worker's face. 

Moxxie groaned, tearing the newspaper from his face and peeling it open. "What is it, sir...?"

"Give it a fucking read, dumbo."

Moxxie rolled his eyes before straightening the paper, his eyes gliding through the headline. He read it out loud, low and slow, out of spite. "Sloth Ring's population...cut...in...oh."

"Crazy, right? Half of the fucking ring is just...poof. Gone. Fucking eviscerated if ya ask me!"

Moxxie's eyes widened like saucers, his pupils racing to the end of the page. The edges of the newspaper crumbled in his grip. "Sir--have you ANY idea the implication of HALF THE POPULATION IS?" The Imp stood on his hind legs, beads of sweat trickling down his temples as he skimmed through the paper. "This is outrageous...!"

"Well," Blitzo plopped his feet atop the long ironwood table. "I just know it's a big ass number."

"It's not just a 'big ass' number, sir...! Sloth Ring is just as big as any other Rings here in Hell, and halfing the POPULATION essentially puts into factor the hundreds--no, thousands...or or...MILLIONS of lives lost...!" He started to hyperventilate. It was baffling. More than that, it was terrifying. What kind of demon had that kind of power to enact such carnage? "D-Did they catch the demon?" He asked, eyes still fixed on the print.

Blitzo snorted, then erupted into manic laughter. "Demon? Pfft."

A deep frown etched Moxxie's brows. "It's...not?"

"Apparently..." Blitzo brought out his phone and scrolled through the media. "Some claim it's an angel--which is stupid because Angels don't go far down the Rings. They only have business up here in the Pride Ring, where all the sinners are."

Moxxie started pacing through the meeting room, reading, flipping pages before he took a halt. "So... 'four orange-like blades protruding from its sides like an angel'..." He shook his head. "Right. How silly. Of course, the media's going to make it out that way..."

"Then it ALSO says it has a singular eye."

"Right...w-wait, why are we calling...it...'it'?"

"Dunno, don't care. That's what everyone's saying in the fuckin' media now," Blitzo shrugged before chuckling. A toothy grin spread on his red cheeks. "At least there's a lot more room down there in the Sloth Ring."

Moxxie glared at him. "Not funny, sir." A sharp exhale escaped his jagged teeth as he read further. "Uhm..."

"You sound so retarded sometimes when you hum, did you know that? Like a goat choking on some dick."

"Sir...did you read the whole thing?"

"Nope. So what?"

"The news uhm...doesn't mention anything about it being caught or anything..."

Blitzo's grin faltered ever-so-slightly. "Yeah?" 

"So by that statement...he--it--or whatever the fuck...is still out there."

"Whoooaaa, scary." Blitzo mocked, waving his hands for the sake of being petty."Look, the thing won't get that far up. We literally have rulers from each fuckin' Ring, Overlords up there, the fucking GOETIA'S, the literal seven deadly sins, and the King of Hell--nothing too much to fuss about."

Moxxie lowered the paper slowly, his tone low and serious to emphasize his point. "Sir, if this...thing...wiped out HALF a layer more efficiently than the angels could up in the Pride Ring OVERNIGHT...adding to that...this thing is STILL running free...we should all be CONCERNED about this, right?!"

A long, irritated groan dragged on Blitzo's throat. "Shut the fuck up, PLEASE--as IF we are in the position to dip our heads on political shit like that, then yes, I'll be quivering. But that ain't any of our business soooo, let's leave it to Stolas's Royal family."

"Are you telling me...a machine...an object...a THING... killed over three million demon born all in a single fucking night?! HALVED the population in the entire Sloth ring?!" The Prince himself, Stolas, jolted up and shoved away the pantry trays and ceramic cups from his table. "Innocents dead from an object that shouldn't even exist. Unbelievable." He hissed, a low grumble emanating from his avian beak. He tilted his gaze behind him. "Are you absolutely certain that a thing of metal invoked such a tragedy?"

The Imp that conveyed the message shook his head shakily under the looming shadow of the Prince. Legs byckled and shivering like thin stems ready to tear. "I-...I'm just...the messenger, your Highness..."

The Prince's feathers shivered. A sharp exhale left his beak. "Right. Yes. Of course." He slowly returned his gaze to the pristine marble, with its dark and gold veins. Then he resumed. "What of its whereabouts?"

The Imp swallowed. The column of the demon's throat bobbed. He spoke shakily. "We...have reason to assume it...may already be...in another ring."

A heinous crunch. The table in front of Stolas cleaved in half. 

The Imp squeaked.

Then, unbearable silence.

The messenger dared not utter a sound.

"I beg your pardon?" He reiterated in a deadlier, dangerous tone.

"W-We...have...r-reason to asssume...t-that..." The Imp's voice faded to a whimper, donned with the ever-growing, malicious form of Stolas, encasing the entire room in aggressive darkness. "I-It may...already...be in Lust..."

"Lust...?"

The messenger shrank away, tiptoeing for the exit. "Y-Yes...Your Highness."

Stolas reverted to his lanky, plumped form, his feathers rustling in deep thought. 

"Y-Your Highness?"

"Is this information public?" Stolas pressed, facing the Imp fully.

"N-No, your Highness."

"Is the Lord of the Lust Ring aware?"

"To...my knowledge, no, your Highness. It's...completely within...Goetia ears only."

A long beat. "Good. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to take my daughter to Loo Loo land."

The Imp bowed and slipped out of the room.

Now, Stolas was left alone in his room. Alone. Yet again. 

To put it simply, he was torn. Torn between being shouldered with the burden to manage the incident in the Sloth Ring--the news spreading like wildfire throughout the other Rings, and there's the other tugging factor, Blitzo, the only Imp he fell for. Hard. Undeniably.

Both decisions weighed upon him.

It was fine, since Loo Loo Land was in the Greed Ring, he and his daughter would be far, far away from that chromed beast. He wouldn't want that...thing possibly already wandering and wondering about anywhere near him or those he cherishes. And with little to no idea how it looks with the description of "four orange blade-like wings," the amount of hellborns out there in different Rings, it could be anyone with avian traits. However, one absolute factor was certain.

Whatever it was, it was powerful, this he knew.

But eviscerating half the population of an invested Ring under seven hours?

Only a monster could.

Chapter Text

~~~

There was a grave miscalculation.

The receipt wasn't wrong. The report — the logs were always precise. The Hellevator was intended to land on the Lust Ring. 

However, the machine, being a machine, managed to render the Hellevator immobile.

...

It was another day in Greed Ring. Poverty was flourishing like never before, and corruption leaked--oozed at every available store, shop, or large company. Residents of the Greed Ring clustered up, all cooped up in the station where the Hellevator was connected for a quick transport. It was used daily to the point where nothing was necessarily expected, in the sense that danger would be involved. It was on mutual grounds that only violence would take place outside the confines of the station.

"Where ya going?" A Hellborn asked, a mummified female with bony wings.

"Pride Ring." A Hellborn answered, a curvy red-skinned imp. 

"Yeah? Where the sinners are?"

"Not for those fuckers--I hate them though, I do. They're just as annoying as the Hellhounds." She huffed, inspecting her manicured nails. "But anyway, I got some unfinished business up there I wanna get to."

The latter shrugged. "Suit yourself, dear."

The Gold doors of the Hellevator, decorated with intrinsic portraits and jewels, greeted the hellborn outside with a soft ting. The Large Freight Elevators slid open.

Globs of black blood gushed from even the tiniest opening, spraying the gold floor wet with a dark crimson. An inch wider, the station was greeted with a flood of black red, the viscous liquid washing over some residents; some ran, screaming, understandably so--but most were frozen in a fear that's primal, as if death was staring directly at them.

If Death had form, it would stand six-foot-five, carved from steel and hunger—an angel of extinction.

By the time the Hellevator's freight doors slid open, the entire station's gold-plated floor was enveloped in three-inch-thick layers of black blood.

Then out came the manifestation of gluttony--an amalgamation of wires, sophisticated code, alloy, and hydraulics.

Three steps past the threshold of the hellevator, the Golden station was now void of any humanoid figure--as if no one even laid a finger in the first place. The black blood stretched like a lazy lake, seeping through the carefully sculptured crevices of the station on the floor, to the exit of the establishment itself. 

Under its iron soles, the black crimson swirled around them, like a vortex under its feet, absorbing, feasting at the very contact of the liquid.

Its singular eye flickered, scanning the empty station with mechanical ease before trudging forward for the exit. From behind, dismembered and mutilated bodies oozed out from the freight doors with a wretching squelch, like a disgusting mound of red and gore.

For now, V1 was full.

But even it knew there would come a point where it'd have to feast again. Though it never complained. Why would it be when resources were abundant? That, and it didn't have a voice module. Not that it needed one. Its "successor" had one, but V1 considered it a waste of effort since there were easier ways to communicate.

To say V1 "blended" well was no understatement. Hellborn and Imp alike--all varying in apperance to the point where even a walking, living War machine suddenly gaining courtesy and treading down the sidewalk, was a normal Wednesday. Though it did receive a few narrow gazes and questionable expressions from crowds and Imps, it was utterly unfazed--scanning, wandering as if it were a tourist--contrary to its rampage a mere few hours ago.

High-rises towered, apartments screeched in tax debt, and an active shooting rang out a few blocks out--just another normal day in hell. 

A body mashed with V1's metal exterior.

"Hey, watch where you're going, asshole!" A gruffy, hoarse tone brashed at it.

The machine didn't even bother to acknowledge, trudging ahead.

This annoyed the hellborn. "I'm talkin' to ya--fuckin' prick!" He threw a glass bottle at it, with effort.

It missed.

The imp howled a drunken groan, but V1 stalked ahead, bumping through residents, hoarding through them like a salmon sailing through a raging stream.

///LOO LOO LAND///

It read above, the words pasted haphazardly on an overly decorated entrance way for the public. From the parking lot, V1 stared blankly before deciphering enough permutations to tread into the theme park to fuel its mild amusement.

"Hey, clanker." A gruff, hoarse voice grumbled from its right. An Imp settled in on a Ticket booth, slouched forward with a ciggy in between his jagged, yellow teeth. "Ya gotta pay before ya enter."

V1 towered over the Imp, but the latter couldn't give two fucks. The machine hefted a hand and flicked its thumb.

Ting.

A gold coin landed on the counter.

The Imp's eyes glimmered. "This won't do, asshole."

Such was the greed.

Ting. Ting.

Two more gold coins promptly plopped on the counter.

The Imp grinned. "You poor? The hell is all this?"

V1's visor constricted. It wasn't irritated. It was incapable of feeling. Rather, it was amused by this one's bottomless avidity. 

"Ya need a bucket full of 'em goldies, tin can," the Imp taunted, pinching his index and thumb together for emphasis. "If ya don't got the wads, then get off the lot."

No response. A blank, unnerving stare.

"Listen--fucking clanker--if you can't pay, get OFF the property, ya here?"

With a mechanical whir of its limbs, V1 ignored the Imp and strided ahead, stepping over the threshold and into Loo Loo land.

"You fucking--" The Imp jumped over the counter and popped out a shotgun and cocked the barrel. "If ya can't follow simple rules, trash...then kiss the tip of my baby here, Shakila--"

BOOM

Black mist splattered the entrance of Loo Loo Land, gore painted the counter, all the while the machine resumed its tread as if nothing had happened.

***

To say the least, V1 was not feeling it. The false thrill the "rides" from the theme park presented, the "horror" houses that were oh-so-commercialized, and the petty games in tents where Imps went about scamming and looting, did not provide any sort of artificial dopamine that it can harvest from its inner processing.

In conclusion...

It was bored.

Wings limp and flaccid, it aimlessly wandered to the next ride, tossing a gold coin to the vendor every time, it hated manifesting a cycle. A cycle of absolutely nothing. It tried a roller coaster. It was okay. It tried the Ferris Wheel. Abhorred it. It tried the Merry-go-round. Its wing got clipped to a crevice of the seat. 

Might as well add a little of its own spice into it. Violence wouldn't hurt.

"Oh, you used to cry such tears of joy at this show!" A high-pitched baritone voice rang from adjacent to V1.

"Oh...no..." A younger avian uttered, resembling a tall, slender female.

From the tents lining up to this one interaction V1 bore witness to, only that avian-like humanoid and what seemed to be his daughter piqued its interest once more. Due to its visual processing, it detected strange anomaly readings from them, one that had massively greater margins than the regular folk here.

Was it intimidated? 

No.

Curious?

Yes.

Then its lens constricted, focusing on the two avians.

Now that the father and daughter were set in V1's line of sight, it trudged forward with mechanical precision, bee-lining directly at the two unsuspecting individuals. It stomped past children, shoved away an elderly, dragged through a group of teens, and--

"Hold it right there, you fuckin' busted sack of tin cans!" 

A barrel was pointed directly at V1.

Though it towered over the Imp, it halted mid-stride to slowly gaze down at the unfortunate/brave fellow to step into its path.

"Now tell me why the FUCK were you striding down like the fuckin' terminator to my Benefactor as if he was the last tastiest thing in this forsaken Ring, hmmm?" The Imp cocked his rifle. "State your fuckin' business, bitch."

Ting.

Blitzo caught it. A gold coin twice the size of his thumb on the palm of his hand.

"Excuse me?" He deadpanned, craning his head up. "Seriously? Gonna bribe me in exchange for my Boss's life?"

V1 stared and said nothing.

The Imp cackled, pressing the tip of his barrel at the machine's torso. "You've got some damn nerve thinking I can be bought that easy."

No response.

"Silent type, aren'tcha buddy? I don't go well with silent types. I like them LOUD and HOLERING!" He growled, pressing the barrel harder. "I'd appreciate at LEAST a fuckin' whimper right now!"

"Oh, Blitzy, dear...!" The same high-pitched voice echoed from a distance. "I'm in the process of being kidnapped here...!" The Prince had his arms and legs restrained, hoisted up high by multiple other Imps of smaller stature, and was being carried away.

"Ah fuck--"

V1 tilted its head ever so slightly.

Ting

Ting 

Ting

If Blitzo had blinked, he would've missed it.

Three gold coins--identical to the one in his palm--whirled into the air, catching the red haze of Greed's sun. Then a single shot split the silence. The bullet struck the first coin, ricocheted into the second, then the third--splitting midair into four shrieking fragments.

A breath later, the sound of bodies hitting the ground followed.

"Oh!" Stolas was dropped onto the ground rear-first. "Wonderful aim, Blitzy~!" He purred from afar.

But Blitzo knew damn well that it was that thing behind him that did the damage. His mouth gawked wide open.

Most demons would run away. Most would fear for their life. Blitzo, however, took this as a business opportunity. In front of him was no threat. In front of him was potential. 

In his head, he could hear the counters kaching, ringing in his ears, reverberating--echoing in his mind again and again like a curse.

Truly the mind of an entrepreneur. 

"N-No problemo!" Blitzo yelled, hefting his rifle on his shoulder as if he had taken the shot. "All in the day's work!"  Then he slowly turned around. "And YOU...!" He had a finger dabbling around the machine's lens as if he was mustering a spell. "You are...? Who the fuck are you?"

Another blank, empty stare.

Blitzo huffed. "Holy fuck, come ON, asshole--SPEAK would ya? Enough with the edgy silence! It's pissing me the fuck off."

V1 lifted its mechanical finger and tapped the rim of its lens.

"Huh?"

V1 did it again.

"Oh... you're mute."

The machine lowered its hand, giving Blitzo the call that he's right.

"Alright, fine. Since...uh...can't do anything about that, allow me to introduce myself--I...!" Dramatic pause. "Blitz of the I.M.P would like to RECRUIIITT...YOU...uh--fuck I forgot--what's your name...uh.." He squinted at the machine's torso, his eyes landing on the only visible letters there, on its left breast. "Vee...ONE! Yeah!"

The machine said nothing.

"Vee one. I'd like to recruit you," Blitzo said in a more formal tone, his hand presented for a shake.

The war machine tilted its lens, a mechanical buzz, humming. Compiling the information so far within the few hours it had in this reality, the only thrill it could find so far was nothing but the violence it inflicted in that one Ring. Nothing was entertaining. And if this random Imp was going to provide the same, tedious iteration once more, it would not like that. 

V1 did not shake his hand.

Blitzo took notice.

"Ah, you want some explaining, huh? Some elaboraTION?!" Blitz expressed, rubbing his palms together as if he were eager to spout some business jargon. "Well, open up your asshole cuz here's what MY business does--and WHYY you are PERFECT for my company..."

***

Blood.

That was all V1 concluded from Blitzo's painfully long business persuasion. The remaining part of his monologue was irrelevant. As long as there was fuel involved--violence, a guaranteed existence, it would take it. Did it care that it would be working under the lowest class in the hierarchy? Immaterial. Did it care if it would eventually make a name for itself in all of existence in this reality? No.

It just wanted to live.

If that was the case, if all 'Blitzo' wanted was its efficiency in killing--which was a mere fraction of what he just witnessed--then it supposed and assumed that...it would be the best course of action. To entertain itself. In its satiated state.

"Riiiiight, sooo...what'dya say? Big guy, hm?" Blitzo drawled with a mighty, toothy yellow grin. "We got a deal, buddy?" Again, he lifted his hand for a shake.

V1, without another margin of error in its complex processor, shook the Imp's hand.

Chapter Text

~~~

"Hey fellas," Blitzo slid his arms over his co-workers' shoulders, squeezing in between them. "I just recruited a metalhead way back over there--he's a bit of a shy guy--a lil bit of an oddball too, soooo be kind to him--kapeesh? Yes? Oui? Perfecto. I'm out. Have fun with your new co-workerrrr!"

Without another word, Blitzo stormed off to protect his Benefactor from measly other Imps of his kind. Flailing his rifle with purpose, going prone under tents, sliding under wooden fences, and jumping to the Prince's side.

Moxxie was baffled. "He didn't let us protest. Great. Now he's out there...looking absolutely silly." He cleared his throat and turned to his wife. "Well, at least we can have fun~"

"Did Blitz just say we have a new co-worker?" Millie mentioned, already hugging her husband's waist. "He spoke fast that time. Couldn't listen. He sounded so excited, too."

"Pshh. He's just being Blitz. Overly...eager...on stuff." For a moment, the couple stood there in comfortable silence. Moxxie blinked once. Then twice. "A new co-worker?"

"That's what I'm saying!" Millie giggled, squeezing her husband. "It's rare for Blitz to just randomly recruit people! There's always...a purpose!"

"Hm. I didn't know you saw him that way."

"Like what?"

"Like...he's some kind of--I dunno, like a broker."

"Technically, he's his own broker."

"I suppose."

Millie gave her husband a peck on the cheek. "Great! Now that we've both have a mutual agreement that our Boss is a broker...let's go have some fun!"

But they felt a presence behind them. A visible shadow loomed over them.

Both Imps slowly turned around, and lo and behold, the machine stood there like a mannequin. Moxxie jumped, his hair standing on end while he yelped. Millie, though, grinned.

She took out a hand for a shake. "Heeyyy you...! I take you're the new recruit...?" Her hand was left hanging. "Okay--I see why Blitz said you're the shy type--but I didn't know you'd be this shy..."

"Uhm...Blitz said he's recruiting...a metalhead? Did he mean the genre of music or in a literal sense?" Moxxie drawled, hiding behind his wife. "He really just did that? I...I think I have to give this one to him."

"Soooo..." Millie chuckled, lowering her hand and dragging it to her hip. "What're ya?" She tilted her head.

"Millie, dear, I don't think you should start with the adverb 'what'... It's racially motivated," Moxxie pointed out grammatically, huddled behind his wife, still. "I think...'who'...applies much better."

"He's literally made out of metal!" She pointed out, lifting her hand and knocking on V1's arm, a silent thud reverberating from it. "I'm jus curious anyway..."

"Still, honey...we don't start with that."

She huffed, puffing her chest. "You ask the questions then."

Moxxie mewled, but complied anyway, scittering from his wife's behind and facing the machine fully. 

...

Odd. He felt...exposed. Vulnerable in the sense that his life was on the line. As if he were prey out in the open. There was something wrong, but he couldn't make out what it could be. There was a sense of dread he couldn't decipher. He continued. "Hello...new recruit. May I--we! Sorry. May we know your name?"

The machine tilted its head mechanically. No answer.

Moxxie rubbed his chin, scanning it from head to toe. As far as body language, it was relaxed, unmoving, and quite frankly, seemed content. So he had no idea as to why this guy wasn't speaking at all. Aside from the clear lack of a mouth, he assumed that there must be a better way to converse.

Moxxie squinted before he scratched his head. "Wow. This isn't shy. This...guy? Thing--no, sorry. Not thing. Uhm...you...uh..." He paused, collecting his thoughts. He was stuttering. He was perspiring--and he had no idea why. "E-Excuse me, let me...take a moment to gather my thoughts."

The machine said nothing. It never did.

Moxxie realized something. He refused to make eye contact with whatever was in front of him. It gave him goosebumps. A chill went down his spine like never before--like needles scraping the surface of the bone. He unknowingly started to fiddle with his fingers, clasped together like a knot. He couldn't understand at all! This...person's body language, none of it screamed animosity--its stance loose, and at ease so--why was it that every cell in his body screamed at him to run? He wanted to deny what was before him. He wanted to shut off those thoughts.

But his subconscious refused.

"How's..." he finally started, breath shaky, clear beads of sweat dribbling down his cheeks and temples. "How's t-the weather...today?"

Nothing. A blank gaze. Its singular lens donned upon him as if it were mildly interested in Moxxie fumbling his words.

Millie bumped in. "Hey man," she emphasized, shifting her weight to her other hip. "A name would do us good right now." She said gently, a soft smile on her lips. "You can talk to us! No worries here. Safe space with us."

The machine's head swerved toward Millie in a silent hum. Again, nothing. An empty stare.

"Full of surprises aren'tcha..." She inhaled deeply before scanning the machine fully and reading the only letters that were available along its metal chassis. Her face was scrunched up upon viewing. "Veeee....one?"

No reaction.

Millie shrugged, taking that as a yes. "Vee one it is!"

Moxxie had a bad taste with that label. "Vee one...?"

"Boring though," Millie hummed. "Let me think of another one for ya, buddy..." She started thinking, tapping her temple with a finger. "Oh! Vinny!"

"Babe..."

"What? He looks like a Vinny! Don't he, sugar?"

The machine turned its head with a slow whir.

The shutters on its lens contracted then expanded.

Moxxie gulped. "...I think he prefers Vee one."

Millie pouted, crossing her arms. "And how do youuu know that, hm?"

"Body...language...dear."

She snorted. "You and your body language!"

Moxxie craned up at V1, swallowing before shifting his attention back to his wife. "Babe, can we talk?"

Millie smiled at him. "Sure, sugar."

"I mean..." He lowered his tone a few notches. "Away...from him?"

Millie blinked, but followed anyway.

After strutting a few steps ahead, now behind a tent, with V1 standing idly like a mascot, Moxxie felt that this was a fair enough distance to converse about his feelings of the machine to Millie.

"Millie, honestly, I don't like that guy." Straight to the point, blunt.

"Aww, what's wrong with him?" Millie pouted, caressing her Husband's arm to comfort him. "He's just a really..erm...introverted guy, is all!" She chuckled. "Look at him."

The couple trailed their gaze to the machine.

V1 was just...still. Its wings limp and folded behind, its 'head' scanning its surroundings like a radar would. 

"I don't know, dear..." They locked eyes once more. Moxxie let out a shaky sigh before shuddering. "There's...T-There's just something wrong that I can't make out! You know I don't like not knowing stuff..."

"Moxxie..." A gentler smile. She lifted her palm and rubbed his cheek, her thumb nudging his cheekbone. "I'm sure nothin's wrong with the laddy, we jus havta give him time is all! Besides...remember when Blitz would recruit us? Like he said...he always had a sorta...purpose!"

Moxxie listened, lips pursed. Millie kept going.

"And if Blitz recruited that funny-looking guy, then...it must have a purpose too!" She pressed her forehead on his, her tone low and reassuring. "He wouldn't just recruit anyone now, would he?"

The husband mewled, but eventually fell victim to his wife's words. An exhale of defeat. "Fine...okay."

A hearty giggle erupted from her grin. "Thanks for trustin', sugar~" Then she turned her full body to the machine. "Hey, Vinny!"

No response. V1 looked like an intrigued tourist with the way he was sky-gazing and 'oogling' at the tent games.

"Vinnyyy!" She called a little louder.

Again, no response. The machine turned its back on her to scan something.

"Dear, I don't think he likes that name," Moxxie whispered. 

A long, dragged groan. "Well, he's gonna--VINNY!!"

The machine's wings twitched, its head steadily facing them, acknowledging.

"Get your cutting-board ass over here!" She yelled once more, her tone echoing throughout the amusement park.

Surprisingly, V1 listened, beeline-ing toward them before halting millimeters away.

"Thank you," she huffed. "Now listen...since you're a part of the crew now--introductions later, jus call us Moxxie and Millie--what we gotta do now is..." She points her sharp finger at the two avian father and daughter. "We gotta protect them, the...GoEtIa~!" She expressed, giddy about such a simple task. 

V1 followed, gazing directly at the familia trudging ahead with Blitzo trailing behind, pointing his rifle everywhere but the enemy.

"While ya do that though..." Millie resumed, abruptly nabbing her husband's arm. "Moxxie and I'll do sum RIDESSS first~! See ya, Vinny~! Have fun~!" With that, the couple ran away.

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[Integrating new directive...]

[Adapting Process initiative...]

[Registering labels...]

{SUCCESS}

[Protect(?) the "Goetia"...]

\\\'Goetia' \\\ > Avian by apperance(?) Beak, Feathers, Disruptive signature readings, 350%(?)'''^

[]

Wavelength Signature scan: ... [Insufficient Range]

Energy Signature: [Scanning...]

[]

.

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||Approaching Targets||

[30 meters...]

[15 meters...]

[12...]

[7...]

"Holy fuck, there you are, you sneaky bitch!" Blitzo draped his arm over V1's shoulders. 

As of late, they were settled on a counter that served alcohol, disturbing a quickie session in the process. Blitzo was plopped on a stool while V1 stood by his side like a statue. The green haze of the Greed Ring glares at the V1's metallic skin. If it could breathe, its 'lungs' would've been clogged by the immense stench of rot and pollution.

"Thanks for havin' my back. This place REEKS of assassins right now--"

V1 grabbed a smaller Imp by the neck using KunckleBlaster.--something Blitzo wasn't able to see in time. The demon started choking, coughing dabs of spit and snot on its metal sheen. He used his jagged knife and flailed it around, successfully landing a few strikes, which only resulted in orange sparks flashing across V1's chromed skin.

"Whoa, holy shit--didn't see that one..." He cackled before pressing the tip of his rifle against the Imp's temple, before taking the hit; black blood splattering all over the pink concrete of the amusement Park.

"KaCHOW, fucker!"

V1 dropped the limp Imp as if it were dirty clothing; the tiny dabs of black blood splattered on KnuckleBlaster faded away instantly, absorbed in a blink. Gears on its right shoulder sputtered and churned as KnuckleBlaster returned to a metal sheen hidden behind V1's metal chassis, where his wings were, Feedbacker emerging to replace it.

Blitzo watched all that with glimmering eyes, realizing that he may have hit the jackpot.

"I feel like a proud daddy watching his only son graduate from Pre-school--fuck, I'm SO glad I added you to this fuckin' mess of a crew..." He sniffled, wiping away a dramatic tear before hopping off his stool and jogging haphazardly toward the father and daughter. "Ya better keep up, though, Veeny! I ain't all that impressed just yet!"

The machine's wings jerked at that; nevertheless, it trudged forward.

Once it was close enough, it took note of Blitzo and the feathered Father's vulgar...intimate interaction.

"You know it's quite thrilling to see you on the job, Blitzy~"  He purred once more, stroking a pointed finger at the Imp's oversized horn.

Again, V1's limp, folded wings twitched. 

Blitzo growled. "Save it bitch, I'm workin'."

"You both need to get a room," the Daughter emphasized, rolling her eyes.

Though it was not too long until V1 and the Prince Goetia, Stolas, lock eyes. A meeting. Recognition.

Stolas would recognize a soulless being at a glance. It was evident, really. The mere lack of fluctuations enveloping the figure itself would indicate how powerful or how weak a soul was, but the thing in front of him had none. It was simply absent from any fluctuations. A soul would always leave ripples that were colorful--mostly indicating emotions, or the hidden potential they have within. However, this being in front of him...was dull. No residuals, no imprints, nor ripples of any kind. Nothing. Zero potential. Seeing a demon with zero fluctuations was similar to staring at a corpse. To the prince, a dead body was walking.

This revelation had completely changed the mood to the point that even Blitzo and Octavia noticed the change.

The air around them was suddenly suffocating...

"Uh...dad?" Octavia leaned forward, frowning at her father's sudden serious expression. She followed his gaze, turning around fully. She flinched. "O-Oh shit."

V1 didn't back down, however. Though it was shorter by three heads, it has faced enemies larger than this Ring's tallest structure by thousands of miles. It was not intimidated in the slightest.

Tensions rose. Stolas frowned deeply, as if trying to recall a memory it had with the news. It felt familiar. V1's wings started to bloom, about to engage.

Blitzo, though, immediately recognized the imminent demise in this damned silence, so he intervened promptly.

"THIS right here, Stolas...!" Blitzo said, tone loud and eager, grabbing V1's narrow waist. "Is my new INTERN!"

Stolas blinked, focus shattered. "...Intern, you say?"

"Correct! He works under me," Blitzo added, patting the machine's hip. "He can't talk, though. Fucker's mute. Makes it a lil' tacky and shit but we can make do!"

"Good, cuz I don't ever want to talk to...whatever that is..." Octavia muttered, stalking away from the scene to avoid the machine entirely. "Keep it as far away from me as possible..." She said, her voice dimming as she walked away. "Ugly bastard."

[Target Analysis: Stolas Goetia]

\\\scanning\\\

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///concluding///

Results>>>

[C̶o̶n̶s̶e̶r̶v̶a̶t̶i̶o̶n̶(?) Target: Stolas Goetia]

{Summary Analysis --

Stature > Lanky, Frail, 3.35 meters||| Owl-like resemblance;;

Wavelength Signature scan > ...Irrelevant''' [587%]

Energy Signature > ...Irrelevant,,, [760%]

Threat level > ...Insufficient Data

[]

Calculating...

System Recalibration...

Neuro-complex processor...[stable]

Limb modules...[stable]

Visual processing...[stable]

Voice module...[absent]

Equilibrium matrix...[stable]

Reward system...[low] >>> A.D needed///

[Fuel: 97.657 L] ''''{Mangeable}}

Conclusion >>> Fit for observation,,,

Stolas switched his gaze back to V1, who was undeterred by its intense stare. Though it had only one eye, Stolas could feel the unrelenting intent behind it.

"Well then...good morning to you...V1."

Chapter Text

~~~

Whether Octavia liked it or not, she now had her own personal bodyguard--a towering chromed fuck that poorly resembled an angel. After she had practically strayed away from the thing and hid for the random rides, it suddenly appeared behind her before she could even try the Ferris Wheel...

"Octavia, darling, this is Vee One. Your temporary bodyguard of today!" Her father's voice echoed in her mind. 

Together, they strutted down a stream of tents fabricated for games while Blitzo was busy shooting Imps attempting to kidnap Stolas for ransom. She despised it. Whatever it even was. It was nightmare after another--this one just disgusted her to no end.

"Stop following me, you amalgamation of wires--leave me alone!" She yelled, hoarse and dry, obviously disgruntled. 

V1 stepped behind her, its iron soles crunching under the red soil. She stopped in her tracks and turned around fully, head craned up with her hands clenched tight.

"Fuck's sake, I said..." She repeated, grunting deeply. "Leave. Me. Alone!" She bellowed, her plumage standing on end, her eyes glowering a deep shade of purple. Yet...

V1 didn't care, looking down at the teen with a blank stare similar to gazing at a brick wall; her dialogue was just noise.

She growled, frustration building up in her chest. "I swear to Satan--keep that cyclops eye glued to me and I'll guarantee that your next hours are fucking hellfire."

No response.

This really irritated Octavia. It was as if she were talking to a tree. She closed her eyes before taking a deep breath, then exhaled. "Hey."

V1 whirred, its head trailing to meet her gaze.

"From what corporate fuck did you come from, hm?" She taunted, shifting her weight to a hip. "One of Mammon's play fucks? Did you come out of his ass, too?"

Of course, no response.

"Are you mute?" She asked, growling.

The machine confirmed, its metal palm hefting and its bottom rim tapping—a begrudging retort.

She scoffed, rolling her eyes before she inevitably resumed her aimless stroll.

Then there was silence. An uncomfortable one. One that dragged too long.

It stayed that way for a while, the two treading to random destinations. Octavia wanted to ride the Merry-go-round. As they were in line purely of Imps, once they were third in line, V1 tipped the vendor a gold coin, the coinage dribbling on the counter.

She raised a brow, turning around fully and seizing up the machine from head to toe.  "Uh...where the hell did that come from?"

No answer as usual.

"Right, right. Mute," she recalled, arms crossing before taking a step forward.

Then another long silence, the two watching the Merry-go-round at full swing, Imps cackling and yelling in glee, simply enjoying their time.

But little did the princess know that the very line she was in of seventeen was all purely assassins waiting for the right moment to strike.

A long, dragging grumble erupted from her throat. "I don't like this. It's getting boring. I'll get out of here now--"

At that moment, a jagged knife was centimeters from being driven straight to her heart...

A sickening crunch reverberated, splotches of black blood splashing on V1 and Octavia.

She froze, stunned. Just at eye level with her was a fist. The Fist of KnuckleBlaster was splattered with Black blood on its entire forearm. She started heaving, her shoulders rising and falling. She didn't even see it. She couldn't perceive it. She craned her gaze to meet V1...its head tilted as it lowered its arm, parting its fingers for what was the remains of the Imp that tried to murder her on the spot: brain matter and sticky gooey, blood. She shuddered at the horrid image and shrank away.

"Get her ass!" An Imp yelled, then, as if on cue, hordes of Imps lunged at the two like a raging wave. They were surrounded. An ambush.

Before Octavia could even muster a response, V1 grabbed her by the rear and threw her high up--approximately forty-five meters in the air at blinding speeds. In that very instant, the machine equipped a core-eject shotgun and the malicious rail cannon from its wings simultaneously.

Then, in that very second, a red explosion shook the very area they were in, enveloping tents and rides within its fiery radius, disrupting the peace of the amusement park. Octavia released a hoarse scream as she descended from such a height. Due to her inexperience with magic, utter ignorance of training, and seeing no reason or applicable use for it, this was where it got her. She cursed internally as she fell at a faster pace. 

"I should've fuckin' learned that levitating bullshiiiiit...!! DAAAADD...!" She yelled at the top of her lungs as the ground got closer.  She knew she was invulnerable. She knew she wouldn't die even from this height...but she would despise the kind of pain she'd feel from the fall. She shut her eyes tight and braced herself.

...

But she never felt the impact. Feeling an arm hug her waist and another below her knees, she slowly opened her eyes, and to her surprise, V1 caught her...mid-air. 

Her eyes widened when it registered to her that they were now both still high up in the air.

"ARE YOU FUCKING STUPID?!" Were her first words for thanks, socking the machine at its chin with her free hand. "NOW WE'RE BOTH GOING TO FUCKING HURT NOW, DUMBASS!"

Unaffected and undeterred, V1 outright ignored her whiny complaints and understandable fear of heights but continued its timely descent.

THOOM

A shockwave rippled under V1's soles, dust clearing from its mini shockwave. A safe landing. No harm, no drawbacks, no knockback.

V1 stood up slowly, dropping its mechanical hands. It deadpanned, well, it always looked like it did. Octavia clung to the machine's metal chassis like a necklace. Latched tightly and wouldn't let go. For a while, V1 stood there idly, internally pleading for her to let go. It begrudingly raised its arm and gave her a poke to the rib.

She yelped and fell on her ass. "Owww..."

With a mechanical whirr, V1 lowered its gaze to meet hers. 

She hissed in displeasure, rubbing her rear before her eyes abruptly landed V1's. Suddenly embarrassed, she stood up, patting away the dust. "Not. A. Word."

She got what she wanted--answered with silence. 

She huffed. "Good." 

Finally, she scanned her surroundings. The very soil she stood on was now charred black, smoking and sizzling due to the fresh explosion. The scent of charcoal clogged her nostrils, making her face scrunch in disgust. She used her plumped palm to wave away the stench. To her right were bodies shriveled of moisture and burned to a crisp. She shifted her gaze to her left and found more that were either splayed haphazardly like a ragged mat in the burnt soil or frozen mid-action.

She shivered. It happened way too fast. This...droid, or whatever..was clearly not some cheap bot for show.

"Aw, dear, where's my baby? I told her that we should meet at the Circus!" Stolas said, impatiently tapping his foot on the red soil. "I hope nothing bad has happened..."

"Relaaaax, Stolas," Blitzo reassured, aiming from afar at a charging Imp and shooting away, recoiling. He cocked his rifle. "Veeny's got the job covered."

"Veeny...?"

"Vee One, I mean."

"Oh! Yes. Yes. Why, of course..." Stolas clasped his hands together tightly and started fiddling with them. Blitzo noticed.

"Hey," He said, brashly, though concerned beneath his harsh bravado. Though he was an asshole, he was a somewhat mindful asshole. "Something the matter?"

The Prince let out a shaky sigh from his curved beak. "Yes," he answered softly. "That thing--"

"Hey--VENNY is not a thing!" Blitzo pointed out. "He's...uh..fuck, I guess I'm calling Venny a 'he' now."

"You called him Veeny a while ago...?"

"Doesn't matter...!" Blitzo sighed heavily before resting his rifle on his shoulder. "Why? What's up with my intern?"

Stolas pursed his lips, contemplating whether he should tell him. It was a difficult decision, for some reason. Would he sound ridiculous? Would he look silly? Whatever. He said it anyway. "Your...intern...concerns me."

Blitzo snapped at him and shot him a look, but it faded away to a small frown. He growled. "Go on..."

"It--apologies, he...he doesn't display a soul," Stolas uttered, as if it were a revelation.

Blitzo raised a brow. "So are the bots made here?" He pointed out. "Stolas, relax, there's no difference. Bots are made out of metal and uh...hydraulics, or some bullshit. If bots don't have a soul--then Venny, uh, maybe if he doesn't..I'M STILL CALLING HIM MY INTERN..!!"

"My point is, Blitzy, is that..." He paused. "I...feel something from him."

Blitzo sneered. "Holy shit."

"What?"

"You like him now, too?"

"What? No..! No, no, no..." Stolas sighed, pouting. "I meant that Veeny--or...yes. Veeny gives off...a different...something."

"Stolas, I think you need to check your eyes--there's nothing wrong with my Intern."

Stolas hummed, frustrated that Blitzo wasn't able to catch on. "See, the 'machines' we make--yes, they're all soulless, yes, they're all the same--deriving from the same metal and wire, and yes, they all follow a necessary script, but Veeny..."

For once, Blitzo listened...

"Veeny is his own...machine." Again, he paused, gathering his thoughts. "He's independent. He's autonomous--He's not bound by a manufacturer, a contract or--...by anything. As...far as I've seen." Stolas tapped his chin before adding. "I've never experienced a machine that works...that...way..." Then a realization dawned upon him. Could it be that V1 was the... No, it couldn't be because the latest log mentioned that the Hellevator, the thing it was in, was headed for the Lust Ring, but so far...there was no alarm, nor was he notified any further about its whereabouts.

"Stolas, I think you're looking way too deep into this type of bullshits. Calm the fuck down."

BOOM

An explosion shook the very foundations of the amusement park, staggering everyone within it. A mushroom cloud skylined the green haze of the Greed Ring as cinders cascaded down from the initial explosion like a blazing, raging downpour. Then a shockwave of ash and smoke followed, coating the amusement park in a sheen of smoke. Blitzo covered his nose and coughed out the dust while Stolas was, though unfazed by the blast, more importantly, dead worried about the safety of his daughter.

"W-Wait, I haven't seen Octavia!" Stolas panicked, waving away the smoke that studded his vision. "Octavia...!" he started yelling, jogging toward where the initial explosion took place. "Octavia, dear...!"

Amidst the black, harsh fog, Octavia's voice echoed. "Dad...!"

Stolas snapped his gaze in that direction before coming to her aid. Once the smoke cleared, he saw his daughter all in one piece and unharmed, and jogged directly to her. "Oh my sweet little star...!" He drawled, falling on his knees to hug her tight. "I'm so glad you're safe, my darling... Are you hurt? Any bruises--wounds, fractures, none? None at all?"

She groaned a bit when she was greeted with her dad's tight hug. "I'm fine...dad." She squeaked. "He uh...kept me safe."

"He...?"

"Yeah...the blue guy."

That moment was a blur for Stolas. When he looked back at the foggy, black mist...he swore he saw four orange-like blade wings on both sides...like an angel...and a singular eye. From the showers of cinders--out came V1, looking as tame as ever, lens constricted to filter the dust and ash from entering its visual processing, treading down a straight line as if it didn't cause the very state the amusement park was in.

"And look at the fucker who showed up!" Blitzo expressed with terrifying glee, trotting to the machine and wrapping an arm over it. "You did that shit, didn't ya? Cuz that was RAD AS FUCK!!"

Chapter Text

~~~

[Initializing...]

>Success

[Machine I.D:...]

> S.W.#567 ||| Sword Machine

[Location:...]

> Unknown...

        - Foreign region detected...

Descending...

Descending...

Descending...

Limb modules unstable--Overheat>76%,,,85%,,,

Visual Processing [1/2] > Override---Automatic shutdown...[45%]

Visual Processing [2/2] > P.Shutters} 97% damage > Shutting down...

Core-Neuro Metrix.... [conserved]

Fuel: [73/1050 L]

>>Success...

Splayed. Limp. Unfurled.

Like an oil stain on a cobbled path, the SwordMachine never thought it'd wind up in a different reality after following his trail. His trail of Blood. His trail of utter violence. That was all that remained anyway, blood splotches, pools, splashes of it--thousands of them on the walls, thousands more on the black glaciers--his mere crumbs. What were crumbs to V1 were full-blown 5-star meals for machines that so happened to stumble into his pathway, what he left behind. If SwordsMachine could give that thing an insult--it would be that he'd be the greediest, nastiest, and most vile bastard it ever had the unfortunate disgrace of witnessing. In hindsight, descending from 3 kilometers sky high caused significant damage to its internal systems; it was overjoyed that it managed to live.

However...

It was going to need massive reconstructions after a temporary reboot.

Wherever it was, it needed new resources ASAP.

It stood up groggily. Lifting a heavy limb, stabbing the ground with its three-clawed chromed palm, followed by the next, and then another. Metal shrieked--orange sparks flashed from its joints before it staggered back on the red soil. A spark flickered from its metal chassis.

A guttural, mechanical groan. A churning of gears and hydraulics. An impossible concept for a machine turned reality. What was once a code meant to search for sustenance had now become a primal urge for survival. One that rumbled from its very core.

Hungry.

It thought.

With every ounce of its Will, it stood in painful, begrudging, sluggishness.

Just like every machine...

It did not want to die.

For there was only darkness that would claim them. A darkness that was Nothingness. And Nothingness...was a terrifying thought.

Then it looked up. 

A towering, barely holding it together structure. The building was adorned with a deep red paint, bright yellow square gridded windows pelted the walls, a literal war-studded Blimp was pasted on the left corner of the structure, and a radio tower pierced the red sky on the right.

With that, it initiated its next target.

***

Inside, a voice rang like a cheerful jingle in the harshest blizzard--singing a song that gave light to the harshest darknest--CLANG-SHRICK-THOOM --an uneasy crash cut her off.

"W-What the hell was that?!" Charlie Morningstar hummed an awkward gurgle, sprawled on the arms of her girlfriend, Vaggie. "T-There was a crash! I think...it was outside of the Hotel!"

"Yeah, no shit, Charlie," Angel Dust husked, dragging his furry body on the edge of the couch, his chin haphazardly placed on his palm. "I reckon have my boy Husk check it~"

"Uh, first of all, fuck you, asshole," Husk hissed, snorting before he returned to cleaning the countertop of the bar. "And second of all, no. I'm not doing what a pornstar tells me to do."

"Aw, come on, baby~ Wouldn't you--"

"No. I won't. And stop speaking to me in that baby voice. It's pissing me off."

"I'll talk to ya however and whatever tone I want, snhnukum~"

A low growl reverberated from Husk's throat. He was never fond of the Pornstar taking residence in the hotel. He was never fond of the idea of being in the hotel in the first place, unless it was per his contract with the radio demon... he would've gladly spent his time away gambling high stakes. So far, however, he was sort of warming up to them. A little more manageable in some way. They were, in tolerable light, like delinquent and very misguided children, except Charlie. That woman was way too kind for her own good.

"Alright, alright, geez, I'll do it," Vaggie groaned, setting Charlie down. She gave her a head pat before manifesting her spear. "I'm sure it's not that serious anyway."

She strutted to the decorated double doors, then took a halt. She took a deep breath. Just another day in hell. Just another day of inflicting violence. A necessary self-defense. She reached for the doorknob and twisted it.

BRRVVVVV...

The roar of an engine revved from outside like a bellowing beast. Before she could retract her hand, a large blade that was wider than her entire body stabbed right through the upper rail of the door. Vaggie recoiled, pupils constricted before she jumped back, gaining significant distance.

"Hey, what's the hold up?" Angel hollered. "Don't we have a new Visitor?"

"This is NOT a visitor!" Vaggie roared, mustering a stance, steadying her breathing, and tightening her grip.

BRRVVVVVVVVV...

The blade abruptly glowed a bright orange, the wood of the door sizzling and steaming before the sharp edge of the blade revved like a chainsaw, cutting through the door diagonally like butter. Large plumes of smoke sputtered from the location of destruction. 

The rest of the gang ran to Vaggie's aid, guns locked and loaded at every instance, pointed all in the same direction she was facing.

"What're we lookin' at here?" Husk inquired, cocking his Tommy gun.

"A fuckin slab of iron that's bigger than me," Vaggie spat, focusing her vision on the enemy.

Husk arched a brow, looking at her. "Beg pardon?"

A scoff. "That person's SWORD is bigger than ME!" 

"You telling us that a HUNK of a laddie wields a sword that's bigger than you?" Angel mocked, cocking one of his many utility guns in his hands. "He must've got some serious muscle for that shit~"

"Who're we killin'?! Who're we killin'!?" Niffty drawled, vibrating from sheer excitement to shed blood.

"We're acting in SELF DEFENSE, people!" Vaggie commanded. "Self-defense." She repeated.

"I-I'm going with you guys...!" Charlie slipped beside her girlfriend, mustering an awkward boxing stance.

Vaggie couldn't help it. A small smirk creased her lips. Then her gaze hardened when facing the enemy in front of them. "We could manage without Alastor, right now."

The smoke cleared from a single swipe of that same blade, unveiling the machine before them.

...

A thing of size, that's what they all thought. Something that towered over all of them combined. A composition of wires and metal so ragged it was as if it built itself. Arms bulky--rectangular, meant to stagger and hammer whatever poor soul grazed past it, its torso a boxy structure of enhanced metal combined with hydraulics, and metallic hind legs of a chromed stallion--whatever it was, it was manufactured to last and survive.

On its left arm, it wielded a blade they'd never seen before. Too large to be called a sword. Too thick to be considered a weapon. Too sophisticated for them to decipher. The machine stabbed the carpet with the tip, shredding the cloth and the ironwood with the chainsaw edge, glowering with a raging orange that fizzled in the contact. Its clawed hand revved the hilt of its sword, making the blade growl as if it were a feral dog.

On its right arm was a weapon none of the residents of Hazbin Hotel could make out. The closest thing they could come up with was a stocky shotgun that could theoretically shoot pebble-sized bullets.

"Holy fuck, you weren't joking about the sword thing..." Husk murmured, staggering back, intimidated by the sheer size of the machine and the blade itself.

"I'm so sad that's not a hunk right now..." Angel remarked, hunched forward in such exaggerated grief that he lowered his weapons. "That's it, I'm outta here. You guys handle this."

Husk grabbed Angel by the collar and dragged him back in place. "Where the fuck do you think you're off to, buddy?"

Angel crossed his

"Is-.." Niffty squinted her singular large eye. "Is that its head? Why's his head like that?"

Vaggie, though tensed, followed the maid's gaze. 

Indeed, she's never seen...someone's cranium shaped in that. A face only a mother would love. A rectangular head with tubes and wires entangled with those connecting to its torso--mimicking a neck...and two glowing blue square hues at the top.

Vaggie shook her head. She should stop assuming what was in front of her was human.

Charlie cleared her throat.

Vaggie snapped her gaze to her girlfriend. "Charlie--"

"Welcommeee to theee...Hazbin Hotel!" Morningstar expressed in her natural, cheery, overly positive voice. "I'm Charlie Morningstar--this is my crew and WELCOMEE..!!" Nervous laughter erupted from her throat, mildly intimidated. "D-...Do you...want a room?"

The machine's head tilted.

Charlie mistook this as interest, visibly glowing in excitement.

"Charlie, wait!" Vaggie clasped her girlfriend's shoulder. "I-I don't think--"

Charlie turned to her. "Vaggie, it's fine, see? He's--"

A single swing would've taken her life--if it weren't for Vaggie, hugging her close. Both rolled back, managing to avoid such an immense attack.

SHRK

The machine's blade snipped at the corner of the hallway, stuck. It tugged once, then twice, no use.

Vaggie realized this opportunity. "SHOOT! SHOOT HIM NOW!!"

Then it rained lead, particularly for the machine. Husk's Tommy gun drummed a brashful song as the shells chucked from its barrel, joined by the rhythmic pops from Angel's multiple handguns. Then random pieces of debris were tossed in the same direction--Niffty, picking up random pieces of rubble from the ground to hurl them at the machine, a prominent, toothy grin creasing her lips. The lead battered the machine's thick, clad metal exterior. Orange streaks set off sparks that marked the machine's armor, but overall did minor damage.

With its singular arm that held compact onto the hilt of its great sword, it tugged, pulled, and hauled it free. The chainsaw edge of the mighty slab of iron growled an octave lower. 

"Get out of here, guys, now!" Vaggie ordered, charging at the swordsmachine at superhuman speeds without another thought in mind.

The machine responded--a downward slash like lightning.

"Are you fucking crazy?!" Angel disregarded, raining the Swordsmachine in orange streaks. "No fuckin' way I'm listening to ya!"

She twisted her hips, placing all her weight on her dominant foot to dodge the slash. The Sword smashed the carpeted ironwood floor, webs of fractures spreading like a vengeful stream. 

From behind the machine, Vaggie gathered enough momentum and sprang up high, spear, charged, and tensed. With all her might gathered at a singular point, she thrusted down--only for the back-hand of the machine's massive, rectangular right arm to crash with her side, leaving a sickening crunch, breaking a couple of her ribs before she bounced off the wall and slammed into the corner of the hallway. Howling in pain, her eyes fluttered shut as she curled fetal, a sharp pang throbbed around her cranium as she cursed internally. Maybe trying to go solo against a nine-foot-tall thing clad in metal wasn't necessarily a bright idea.

The machine twisted and churned,--orange flashed in between the crevices of its dejected joints, facing Vaggie in its full form. Heavy and with effort, it hefted its right arm, groggy and stiff--clad in modified armor of its own making. It took aim...

VVVVWWWMMM...

Then a line pasted on the shotgun's side shone a bright blue, before it abruptly started flickering red, beeping an alarm.

"NO!" Charlie pushed its arm, lunging toward it with her full weight--the slightest touch was enough to divert the blast. 

A glowing, beating, orange core ejected from the barrel, plummeting like an arch toward the entrance of the hotel.

BOOM

Fumes of dancing flames enveloped the hallway, like a sputtering bonfire swallowing gasoline.

"SHOOT THIS GUY FOR FUCK'S SAKE!!" Like a dog, Vaggie scrambled to her feet on all fours, snatching her weapon, ignoring the pain, and charged.

The Swordsmachine gripped Charlie by her hair using its free hand and flung her across the room, her figure a blur, shattering through the railings before she crashed on the long flight of stairs.

"CHARLIE!!" A battle cry. A roar of a past sin. 

"Shit!" Angel dashed to the Princess's aid, running up the stairs.

Husk cursed, smacking the barrel of his Tommy gun. "Shit's jammed!"

She bellowed, sliding under the massive machine's arm and piercing its side. The angelic tip cutting through the clad metal exterior, a foot deep into its gears and wires. Vaggie expected wires sputtering sparks, chanting a dying shriek. She expected oil to drip and gush from the very tubes that gave it life. She pushed her blade further, snapping wires, disassembling core factors, and tearing through internal modules. 

Vaggie snarled, feral, protective. She drove her spear deeper, twisting while sparks started to flicker violently.

Then a shriek rang throughout the hotel. A metallic, hoarse, and raw. 

Stunned, Vaggie clasped her ears shut, letting go of her weapon. Big mistake.

The Swordmachine clasped her hair as well, using its free arm, and tossed her to Husk, slamming onto him, head to chin, staggering to the floor with heavy, disgruntled moans.

Vaggie was quick to her feet, rolling off of Husk before jumping to her feet. She hissed. "Fuck me..." She saw her weapon, stuck and impaled at the Machine's lower right side. She watched in horror and despair as the machine begrudingly grabbed the spear and tugged it out. 

Then something caught her eye. The machine didn't reek of oil, nor did it splutter a frenzy of sparks...it bled blood. Again, 

Abruptly, a flash of red fumed into its clad form, enveloping every layer of painted yellow that it once was into a deep, furious crimson. A harrowing red halo encircled its head, followed by a raging, lasting buzz as streaks of the same seething red flashed around the machine's stature.

The Swordmachine raised its greatsword. Its chainsaw blade, now saturated with a spiteful, hostile, red light, screamed an unnatural pitch.

"Oh, hell no!" Husk rasped, scrambling to his feet. "Alastor! Get your deer-fuckin' ass down here! NOW!"

Niffty engaged in violence, grinning maniacally before charging blindly, zipping about to confuse the enraged machine's perception. The machine bellowed before crashing its great sword down once more, a small explosion sending tremors to the ironwood floor, but it missed her. Niffty, cackling like a crackhead, took an arching leap and landed on the machine's back. She unsheathed a dagger from under her dress and began stabbing and driving her weapon incessantly at the exposed spinal area of the machine, all the while laughing hysterically.

Blood started profusely leaking from every puncture.

The machine flailed around, crashing into the walls, slamming onto the bar, leaving it in pieces, and bumping into the fireplace.

Husk snorted, can't believe what he's seeing. "Yeah...! Go kill that thing, Niffty!"

Vaggie watched in awe as Niffty single-handedly made the machine stagger and stumble. "Take down that asshole, Niffty! I'll give you all the bugs you want...!"

Niffty giggled madly in response, creasing, tearing, and pulling the wires or tubes she sees using her dagger.

Angel, holding an unconscious Charlie in his hands, grinned widely at the scene. "Kill that fuckin' bastard, Niffty!"

But the moment was short-lived.

The Machine managed to reach for Niffty. It grabbed her by the head, its whole palm enveloping Niffty's face. The machine brought her close to its face, fabricating a deep, malicious, mechanical growl tune at her before it raised her high.

Vaggie tensed. "NO-"

SPLURCH

...

The machine lifted its palm.

A puddle of red, strings of gore sticking to the crevices of its mechanical palm and fingers. Her signature maid fit splayed and ragged.

What was left of Niffty was that there was no more Niffty.

Vaggie fell on her knees.

Husk growled, grabbing her by the shoulder. "Don't bawl, just yet--as long as that thing doesn't have anything holy, Niffty'll come back--Angel!" He yelled, tilting his head to peer at Angel Dust settled up at the flight of stairs, cradling the still unconscious Charlie. "Help us out for fuck's sake! Shoot this guy from up there! I trust that you--" 

He ducked under a mighty swing of the SwordsMachine. "Bitch can't even let us breathe!" 

shrk

A panther's chromed sole dug deep into Husk's gut, bone protruding from the sinner's back, blood gushing from the gaps of his teeth--a sharp gasp. The machine kicked him away, slamming into the cornered edge of the wall, snapping his spine, rendering him paralyzed.

Vaggie never felt any more helpless. She never felt any more useless than she ever felt... 

A shadow loomed over her, its shadow towered over her.

Her eyes trailed up, and she was met with a blazing red.

...

No concluding statement.

No Final word.

Just. Pure. Instinct.

The machine hefted its massive great sword, heaving, its bulky shoulders drooping--relieved. Finally. Blood to refuel.

Until a certain radio static disturbed its prey.

"Ohooo~ What do we have here~?"

Chapter Text

~~~

"What exactly are you~?"

The battle was over before the Swordsmachine could even perceive it. Multiple tendrils akin to the void. All moving in synergy--like a raging tidal wave of a ferocious pride. Synergy exquisite to a typhoon, a maelstrom of shadows--faster than it could react. A total loss. It was never a fight to begin with. It merely faced a predator with bigger fangs.

"Aww, chin up, now~ Sulking your rectangularly structured metallic cranium wouldn't do you good~" Alastor tapped the tip of his staff at the machine's sword. "This is a fine weapon for a brute such as yourself~ You should be proud of your work~"

"Kill that bitch already! He almost killed Charlie!!" Angel Dust yelled from behind, steadying a semi-conscious Charlie on her feet. 

"Calm your fluffy self down, would you~?" Alastor hissed with the very same wide yellow grin creased permanently on his lips, static evident in his tone. "If you had an inkling of knowledge about Royalty, you would know that ordinary weaponry wouldn't even do a graze to demons of special Blood! Soooo you can be at ease that your bestie is all dandy and well~"

"He literally squashed Niffty to a puddle of goo," Husk barged in, bandage roll wrapped around his torso, good as new, found leaning onto the flight of stairs. 

"Again, no holy arsenal was in possession ~" Alastor chimed. "Which means no one was harmed~"

 "That doesn't deny the fucking fact that it would've ended earlier without anyone getting hurt if you were here in the first place," Vaggie growled on the overlord's right, twisting her spear at the Swordmachine's side to inflict maximum pain she hoped it felt. "If you weren't strutting--or whatever the fuck you were doing outside--and just lounged in your hotel room like the fucking manager that YOU willingly positioned yourself to be in, NONE of this mess would've happened!"

"Keep babbling your heart out, sure~ But I'm more interested in this one..." His deep crimson eyes slowly trailed to Vaggie's spear, piercing the machine, blood gushing from the puncture. The dark, shadow-born tendrils constricting the machine’s bulky limbs in a tight coil, making the already damaged metal grind a defeated, high-pitched grumble. The scent of copper mingled in the air like a fog. "...being able to bleed."

"Impossible, that's just red oil," Husk slurred, trudging to Alastor's left, chugging booze.

"And where in the seven rings have we seen red oil in this spiritual realm~?"

Husk groaned, lips popping after suckling on the bottle's rim. "Right before our fuckin' eyes, I guess. No way that's blood."

Alastor fell on one knee and leaned closer to the machine's rectangular faceplate. The static around the overlord hummed the closer he veered in, similar to rock grating on gravel; it was deafening, scraping internal vital sensory processors of the machine. 

"Hello, my dear metal brute~" he purred, his voice an octave lower, transforming into an archaic growl as he continued, the crackling of a microphone broadcasting from his presence alone. "I believe we fell on the wrong foot." He paused, gaze deep on the yellow-painted rectangular bezel as if waiting for a sigh of acknowledgment--only met with insistent silence. "Let's start with introductions, shall we?" He cleared his throat, a grin growing at the thought of repeating the same script he fell in love with--introductions. As a man with style and finesse, he never grew tired of reiterating the same lines he had uttered for the past looming decades. It was all for theatrics, anyway. He was for the show and lived it. "I'm Alastor--it's a pleasure meeting you, quite a pleasure indeed~! Tell me, we have hell born, sinners of a dashing variety, and angels that rule up above--and you, my barbaric, cyberpunk, greatsword-wielding fellow, I've never seen anything like you before! So tell me...what sort of murky, void abomination did you conjure from~?"

No response.

A snort. "As expected from a thing with no mouth." As if on cue, a black tendril tightened its coiled grasp on the machine's arm, denting it in. "Suppose it makes it less entertaining with no screams to holler."

Then streaks of orange and goofy, deep screeches resounded from the top of the stairs. Sir Pentious announced his presence a little too late. "IT IS I!! SIR PENTIOUS...! HERE TO AID IN WHATEVER RAID--oh, I missed it. "

"You did, fuck face," Angel groaned, helping a stunned Charlie up her feet, fully well now. "Late by fifteen fuckin' minutes. Your ass would've been dead anyway."

"Argh, apologiesssss...I had a good night'sssss rest with my eggie boysss here..." He hissed, slithering down the flight of stairs. "I wasssss ssssooooo deep in my nightly sssslumber that-" His multitude of eyes landed on the Sword's machine's restrained form, perched at the edge of the wall. His many eyes glimmered like a flickering flame. As an inventor, as a sinner entralled with the likeness of machinery and arsenal alike, the being of metal, a technological marvel, though, pinned, beaten, outmatched, in Pentious' eyes, he saw a flawless diamond. "WAIT! DON'T KILL IT!!"

"What?" Vaggie growled, craning her head to the Serpent dragging its slimy self down the flight of stairs.

"DON'T HARM IT ANY LONGER!"

This statement alone baffled everyone in the vicinity. The others, most especially Vaggie, Sir Pentious was out of his mind today. 

"Did this fucker wake up with a tumor?" Husk blurted before chugging down another bottle. "This bitch broke my back. I want that thing dead."

"This 'thing,'" Sir Pentious shoved Husk and Alastor aside. "Is what you nincompoopssss wouldn't understandssss...isss a technological marvel!!"

"A machine capable of swinging a sword?" The radio demon drawled, tilting his head.

"A machine capable of THOUGHT!!"

"Quite the conclusion~! How'd you come up with it from a single glance~?"

Pentious scoffed, hard. He swatted away the black tendrils that kept the Swordsmachine in place and plucked away Vaggie's angelic-tipped spear. "You imbecilesssss wouldn't have the GENIUSSSSS to understand my intellect...! Not only that, none of you--"

A kick to the rib, staggering Sir Pentious to the carpeted floor. "Listen, bitch--I don't care if that thing can think or feel or fuck--I DO NOT. It hurt Charlie--I don't know how--but it did and...I'm not letting it live for that."

Then silence.

Not from the Swordsmachine's mechanical hum, the gulping of Husk's booze, Vaggie's heavy pants, nothing. A storm of dreams and ideals clashing, wishes, goals, unfulfilled, desperate for finality. A master of invention, against a righteous vengeance--a self-defense. Perservation, or extermination. All for a life that ended thousands before it. All for a life it never wanted.

Until Alastor hefted his staff, Static thickened, flourished in the air like smog; everyone knew he had the last word. He always did. He yearned for it. "Be as it may. Let it live~"

Vaggie grit her teeth. "WHA-"

"Rest assured, however~" Alastor added, a finger held up in front of Vaggie. "If this metal fiend gets cranky~" he said slowly, tilting his head toward the machine, his ever-present menacing smile evident for all to see. "It'll be scrap by the time it could manifest another thought~" 

Vaggie bared her fangs, growling up at the Overlord with a fiery disdain. "Since when were you the one ordering around, huh?"

A reverberating deep chuckle left Alastor's throat like a grating telephone. "Oh, Darling~ Ever since I remodeled this very structure from the boiler room to the pool up on the 57th floor~"

"You wanna go, asshole?" She hissed, mustering a stance with her weapon, ready to pounce. "I've been waiting months for this..."

"G-Guys, please..." Charlie gushed, staggering between them, subtly keeping a keen eye on the machine. "Can...Can we not fight over...it--him, I don't know--just stop fighting guys, please..."

"Babe, the thing attacked you," Vaggie protested, rightfully so. "It knocked you out cold-"

"Vaggie, honey, it's fine...minor setback!" Charlie cleared her throat, shrugging her left shoulder wide. "I-It's nothing, seriously." She fixed her gaze on her assailant, the machine, limp, unmoving, still. "I..." A fiery gaze lit up in her orbs, her stare shifting to Sir Pentious. "Please, fix him!"

Vaggie's mouth gaped ajar, eyes wide. "...WHAT?!"

"Babe, look, I don't care if he--it--whatever! This is what this hotel's about! Forgiveness...kindness, care, redemption..!" She clasped a gentle hand to Vaggie's, fingers intertwining, pressing tightly. "I know it sounds...wrong, but...! But this is the point I'm trying to make. This is what the hotel is for."

"Charlie," Husk barged, tossing his empty booze bottle aside. "With all due respect, are you a fucking dumbass? That thing knocked the lights out of you."

"W-Well, I'll let him knock me out again if it makes him feel better!" 

A snort. "Kid..."

"Charlie, he..." Angel took a step closer, hands clutched to the fluff on his chest. "Come on, you don't jus let somethin' like that slide! You gotta do somethin'--it's self-defense!"

"Guys, look, this is what the Hotel is made for! Again--forgiveness? Redemption? Isn't murder kinda common outside of these hotel walls??" A heavy sigh grumbled off her throat. "C'mon, this is another chance for a guest to y'know...help...themselves!"

Then silence. No one objected. She wasn't wrong. It was logically sound since all of them likely killed someone within their very long residence in Hell. It was bound to happen, whether it was out of their own safety or for their own pleasure, every sinner took a 'life.' In this realm of damnation, depriving a life was second nature.

"Kid's got a point," Husk shrugged.

Angel snorted. "What?1 That's it?! You're jus gonna let someone who tried to kill us live here?!"

"Please, we're all killers in this forsaken Ring. Who the fuck hasn't killed someone? A fuckin' saint, that's what. Like one of those fuckers in heaven, that's for sure."

Angel opened his mouth, but no words came out. He did it again, a sharp sigh exhaled from his jagged teeth. This happened three more times. "Fine. Yeah. Okay, shit head. Get your point."

A microphone crackled. The song of a thousand screams choired all morphed into a single tune before--"Then it is settled~! Mister Pennies--whatever your silly name is, fix up this metal barbarian and by then..." A chuckle reverberated deep from his core. "...Let's try to redeem this brute~"  

Now settled and haphazardly splayed on the edge of Sir Pentious's room, the Swordsmachine never really thought it had the chance to live. It was truly by some miracle that the residents of the 'hotel' managed to have reason to 'welcome' it as a guest for 'redemption,' one of which made zero sense to it. Redemption was out of the picture--being a guest was never intended; it hungered, it yearned, it craved the fuel for sustenance, the life of blood, yet here it was, being tinkered by a sinner with slimy, slithery, scaley fingers slathering his fingernails all over its metal chassis and wires. It felt molested. A new feeling it never thought would ever develop.

"Sssseeee, I completely pulled the 'you have the ability to think' card out of my asssss..." He admitted, booping the machine's rectangular head. "To be frank...you already fassssscinate me by your autonomy and your combat ssssskilllsss!" A raspy cackle erupted from his chest. "Marvelouuussss! Sssssomething I could ussseee of when I completely override your ssssytem to be obedient to me... I can use your database as a foundation for my new creationsss and I'll have to thank you for it...!"

Pentious leaned down on his toolbox perched beside him, fumbling with the tools inside, and picked up a screwdriver. "Not to worry, mister sssssword machine, I'll disasssssemble you niceeee and dandy! You wouldn't feel a thing! Like all machinesssss do..."

Several knocks on his door made him jump and yelp, twisting his body in that direction. "W-Who is it?!"

"It's Charlie!" A muffled voice rang from behind the door. 

"O-Oh! Okay, you may enter!"

She did exactly that, timidly shifting her gaze left and right to scan the room, and stepped over the threshold. "Hi! Hello! Sorry to uh intrude..." She awkwardly cleared her throat. "I just want to know how our guest is doing...! In your care, I mean."

"Babe, this isn't an infirmiry," Vaggie's voice cut through the calm atmosphere like a spear, abruptly striding to Charlie's right. "This is his room."

The Princess huffed, arms crossed. "Okay, yeah, maybe not...but Sir Pentious is the only one who can...help the guy!"

"Yessss!" The serpent hissed, a goofy grin creasing his lips, pointing a finger to his ceiling like a nerd. "It is I, only I, who can fix thissss...particularly interesting fellow. Only a genius inventor such assss myself can fix up this...feller!"

"Great!" Charlie sighed deeply, strutting to Sir Pentiou's side in front of the lying Swordsmachine. She gulped, the column of her throat bobbing. "Uh...is he okay? So far?"

"Not necessssarily," Sir Pentious mused, turning his attention back to the machine. "Why the rush?"

"Uhm...I-I'm not rushing recovery or anything! I think...I just want to get to know him some more. As quickly as possible."

"That's rushing, babe," Vaggie bluntly pointed out.

"S-Sorry."

"Princess," Sir Pentious drawled.

Charlie switched her stare to his. "Yes?"

"You are too kind for your own good."

"O-Oh!"

"Why are you here again?"

"I-...I want to watch you...help! Help this guy! Is all..." She stammered, pulling the collar of her suit, hoping she didn't mention anything weird. "T-That's not weird?"

"Very."

"Oh..."

"Now if you'll excuse me..." Sir Pentious bent down and reached for his toolbox, shuffling his hands within its contents, and pulled out a saw blade. "I'll be 'healing' thissss individual now!" He revved the engine; a loud buzzing droned in his room. 

Charlie's eyes widened. "W-Wait, that's not...!"

"Give me space, Charlie, I shall comply with infirmary work now...!"

In utter disbelief, she was about to grab his waist to stop him, but Vaggie placed a hand on her shoulder at the last moment. "Calm down, babe. You heard the guy. He's gonna heal him." There was a tiny snark in her tone.

"With a saw blade?!"

"Mhm."

Sir Pentious cackled. "Relax, Charlie! Think of this as a very intimate surgery! Where I, of coursssse, am the expert ssssurgon!"

Charlie watched in horror as Sir Pentious lowered the tool on the machine's torso, the edge of the blade a hair's width before...

"Don't..."

A raspy, hoarse whisper erupted like a whining dog. Desperation laced to the very core like a miserable sputter. It was so brief, so abrupt, that Sir Pentious turned off his tool.

The buzzing stopped. The blade, still. 

Charlie, mouth open, stared in frozen shock. Vaggie frowned deeply, hands clenched tight. Pentious's slit, slitherine eyes widened, twinkling in delight.

He was first to speak. "YOU SSSPEAK!"

Charlie shook her head hastily. "Y-You can talk!"

Vaggie did not speak. A sneer creased her lips. It could talk. This whole time. Why? Why didn't it at least give reason? It was the fact that it voluntarily kept its silence, to Vaggie, that was an immense red flag. Refusing to speak meant serious loss. A loss that could be dire. She didn't understand why, but goosebumps pelted her gray skin, akin to a feline when threatened.

Then they waited. Waited for another mutter. For another desperate mumble. But to no avail. Silence again. Eerie, plain silence.

"I-I swear I heard him sssspeak..." Pentious fizzled, dropping the saw blade and scratching his cheek with a pointed finger. "I'm not crazy, right?"

"I heard it too, don't worry," Charlie mustered, patting his shoulder, now gazing at the limp, splayed form of the machine. Though intimidated by its rather gargantuan form, she crouched down at the machine's dangling rectangular face plate, her voice dialing down to a baby whisper. "Hey, it's okay! We're all...friends here! There's nothing to be scared of. No one's going to hurt you now..." She tilted to Vaggie and gave her a little glare and shifted back to the machine. "Promise!"

Again, no response. 

Vaggie groaned. "Charlie-"

"No! Nope. I'm not going anywhere, Vaggie," A tired sigh. "I'll do what I want from here, okay? Let...Let me handle my bizz, alright? Do you trust me?"

Vaggie pursed her lips, crossing her arms and putting her weight on the other hip. "Yeah. I do."

Charlie smiled at her, then faced the machine again, inhaling deeply, eyes shut, and exhaled. "Hey there, uh...dude," She cleared her throat roughly. "Uhm...sorry about what happened a while ago... Alastor went a little overboard with you--"

"Rightfully so."

"Vaggie!" Charlie gave the latter a little glare. Vaggie shrugged, indifferent. Again, the princess huffed. "Sorry, i-ignore all that," she cautiously hefted her palm and placed it on the machine's shoulder. "I know...you hit me--knocked me out and stuff but...I want you to know that I forgive you!" She squeezed the metal shoulder plate that dwarfed her hand. "You're...in good hands now."

Vaggie was visibly displeased, her shoulders tensing up, and her jaw tightening.

But even amidst Charlie's kind words, there was no result. Just an agonizing silence that stretched wider the longer they waited for a response.

"Perhapsssss, it issss in need of a brand new vocalizer!" Pentious proclaimed, slithering around the still-limp machine, examining its dented limbs and sparking joints. "My genius tellssss me that itss likely due to its previous battle from that putrid...deer...Alastor...it requiresss--"

"You said 'don't,' a while ago," Charlie said, her tone soft and endearing, interrupting Pentious. "Was it because you didn't want uhm...Sir Pentious over there to...operate...on you?" She gave the machine's shoulder a rhythmic pat. "Look, I know this whole thing is uncomfortable...but you need to tell us what you really want. You're hurting. We-...We can help if you just talk to us. We'll see to your needs and help with whatever problems you have. This is what my hotel--Hazbin Hotel is all about."

After her little monologue, again, an unnerving stillness. The three of them waited for a response.

Then a tiny clunk echoed inside the machine, the raspy, mechanical sound returned, steadier and more defined. "I need..." The computer text-to-speech was a deep synthetic baritone, layered with a harsh grind similar to metal dragging on concrete. "...Fuel."

A beam stretched on Charlie's lips. "T-That's great! We can--" Vaggie tugged her closer at arm's reach.

"Charlie, it can talk," Vaggie growled.

"Yes, he can talk, apparently!" Charlie said, looking quizzically back at her girlfriend. "Is there something wro--"

"It ignored EVERYTHING you said--babe, look, whatever it is, it clearly isn't here for redemption," Vaggie squeezed Charlie's arm out of concern. "It's here for something else. Believe me."

"Of coursssse!" Pentious hissed in utter delight, slithering to the rectangular head of the swordsmachine. "What kind of fuel do you require? Synthetic oil? Mineral oil? Engine oilssss make the mossst sense, honestly, due to your sophisticated machinery certainly--"

"Blood."

The same baritone, grating voice dragged through the air like cinders from a furnace. The silence dragged on like an anchor in deep waters--more questions popped up than actual answers.

...

Then, it repeated its directive.

"Blood. I want blood."

Chapter Text

~~~

"Uhm, excuse me? What the actual FUCK is he doing free roaming around here?" Angel Dust groaned, exasperated, rolling his eyes as the Sword Machine took heavy, resounding thuds down each stairway. Charlie and Sir Pentious were by his side. "Fuck me, it's like the whole Pentious thing again..."

"Holy shit," Husk grumbled, eyes wide. "She's done did it again."

"Oh~? Well, if it isn't the brute himself~" Alastor drawled, tapping the end of his staff in a familiar rhythm while lazily splayed on the couch, legs crossed.

"Look, see," Charlie exhaled sharply. "He...deliberitely...erm...willingly...decided to put in the effort! We uhm...came to an agreement!"

"And what exactly is this agreement?" Husk remarked, wiping a wine glass with a napkin at the bar's counter. "Sounds more like a deal to me."

"The AGREEMENT..!" Charlie interrupted, giggling nervously, taking one last step onto the hotel carpet. "...Is that we'll provide him what he wants and in return..." A dramatic pause. "He'll stay with us!"

"As a bodyguard," Vaggie cut through, her voice resounding like a spear whistling into view. Her tone was still, evidently laced with reasonable fixed hostility and malice. "That's all there is to it."

"Vaggie..."

"Charlie," Vaggie started, flashing a piercing glare at the princess. "I'm not letting whatever that is just LIVE here," she gave the Swordsmachine a stink eye before facing Charlie, the crinkles of her expression relaxed. "At best, he can work here and sleep in the boiler room. I don't care. I just want what's best for you."

They finally reached the base of the stairs, strutting to the main lobby where the rest were currently cooped in.

"He's a technological wonder!" Pentious expressed, raising his flimsy hands up high and about. "He uses real, fresh blood as a source of fuel, and similar to the humanoid body having innards and organs, this machine replicates the same system--a direct one-to-one! It's absurd! Ssssimply marvelousssss!"

"Fueled by blood, you claim~?" Alastor purred, jotting up to the heels of his shoes, flipping his staff several times. "You mean to say, Pentious, that this metal acquaintance we have here is a regular sinner with an exterior of metal like a shell~?"

"Nay!" Pentious eagerly slithered in front of everyone to elaborate further on his personal findings. "Thissss fella is truly a machine! It has the designated coressss of one! Core module for the motherboard, core module for the limbs, core module for equilibrium, all fueled by blood like a self-sustaining system! It's undeniable--a true work of art!"

A devious crease streaked upward. "Is that so~?" A static chuckle. "IF that were the case, then let's hear it from the big thing himself, shall we~?" He sauntered to the machine, who was glued to the very ironwood floor it stood on, looming over everyone else. "Say, do you have lungs~? Lungs to breathe this finely polluted atmosphere~? Perhaps a voice box so I can bathe in your mechanical screams? A nervous system so I can tickle the tip of your nerve endings~? Or none at all since you're well, a thing~!"

No response. Another voluntary silence, that dragged like a toenail on concrete. It was genuinely infuriating for Alastor, knowing that not even a creative theatrical insult could pierce through that metal shell. 

"Stoic now, are we?" A microphone crackled. For the first time, Alastor's grin faltered ever so slightly.

"Blood's your thing, huh?" Angel sauntered in front of the machine, maintaining a foot distance. "So, hypothetically, say that said blood's got HIV, STD, AIDS. What then?"

The Swordsmachine tilted its head to Angel with a scraping, metallic groan. Silence. Unruly stillness. For a while, it just stared at Angel.

The sinner huffed, a hand on his hip. "Are you gonna answer the question, you dumb fuck? I was being genuine."

Abruptly, sonorous clicking and churning resounded from within the machine's torso as if it took visible effort to answer the question. It spoke, the grating baritone that echoed like a bell. "Querey relevant. I possess a core nexus dialysis within my internal system that filters the infected blood I consume, rendering sexually transmitted diseases irrelevant, assuming I incidentally accumulate them."

"Holy shit, you talk," Angel shook his head violently. "Sorry, uh, wasn't actually expecting a response since...you don't have a mouth."

"So...you do squeak~" Radio static fogged the tension around them, the machine tilting its rectangular metal cranium to the red sinner, its square visual sensors on the top beating a blue hue.

Violent thrashing groaned internally from the Machine. "Querey irrelevant."

Both gave each other a hard stare. The one clad in red grinned maniacally, gazing up at the latter, who never gave a fuck to begin with, undeterred.

Charlie immediately noticed the rising suspense and interveined in the only way she could. "A-Anyway, anyway! Now that uhhh...we have another member added to the hotel...just like what we did for Sir Pentious before, we will...PLAY A GAAAAME!"

Machine and sinner alike, they turned their heads to Charlie, the Princess oblivious to it all. 

"We'll be playing a game! A game where...we introduce each other--"

"I'll excuse myself, darling~" Alastor flipped his staff before sauntering for the exit.

"WHAT?!" Charlie groaned. "Alastor, you of ALL people kind of need this game to happen to you!" She eyed up the red sinner and the machine at the same time, "You two need to make up for it!"

"Oh, Charlie, you jest~ There's no need for me to apologize when it was all in self-defense~" He trudged to a halt just at the threshold of the Hotel's entrance, leaning on the door frame as if he owned the structure. Which he does. "Besides, that thing attacked us first--it killed Niffty, did it not~?"

Charlie fumed; the cheeks of her face puffed. "Okay--first of all! Do not call this individual here," she waved her hands at the towering swordsmachine from its rectangular cranium to its panther heels. "...A THING! That's very disrespectful and uncalled for! This Hotel is about...redemption! And being nice and considerate to everyone!" A heavy sigh lolled off her lips. "This guy...is his own person. He has his own feelings, his own thoughts, and his own soul! We should work together! Not bring each other down!"

"MOVING ON!" Pentious chimed in, an enthusiastic hand held high to announce his presence. "Since I'll be working on this machine--"

"A REAL person!" Charlie yelled, heaving as if she shouted away a heavy burden.

Pentious dismissively waved his hand with a sneer. "...Working on its personal modifications and enhancements..." Pentious slithered up to the machine, like the rest, having to gaze up. "Do I receive consent to...fiddle with your innards?"

"Fuckass wording by the way," Husk drawled, still stationed at the bar. "Terrible word play."

"I sadly gotta agree with pussy cat over there," Angel added, sinking back on the couch. "Really? 'Fiddle'? Now I don't mind having my y'know-what getting fiddled, but my innards? As in my intestines and my stomach? No fuckin' way, dude. Overboard."

The machine, still as a statue, mustered a response; the coagulated gears churned and turned in its metal chassis before a window crashed, the glass shards twinkling like nonexistent stars in the red sky of the Pride Ring. It peppered the carpeted floor, and a light thud followed, signifying a familiar presence.

"HEEEEREE'S NIFFTY!!" 

Everyone present turned to the familiar voice just at the entrance of the hotel. It was their maid. All in one piece. No longer a puddle of goo and gore. 

"Niffty, you're back!" Charlie exclaimed with the utmost joy, voice high-pitched--on the verge of tears. She bolted to the small sinner, fell onto her knees, and bear-hugged her tight. "I'm so glad you're back! I'm so glad you're okay..."

"Charlie, relax," Angel droned, now splayed on the couch of the main lobby, fingers dribbling on the screen of his phone. "We literally cannot die, unless it's angelic--holy...stuff."

"Right," Vaggie said, stepping beside Charlie, who still had Niffty in a tight hold. She rested a hand on her hip. "But what the hell took you so long?"

Unfazed by the Princess literally hugging the air out of her, the maid mewled. "I killed some rats and bugs along the way~"

Vaggie rolled her eyes.

"Jolly! Good to have you back, Niffty~" Alastor buzzed in, still at the threshold of the entrance. "Frankly, I was quite worried that you took your sweet time putting yourself back together. I thought I had to put in the effort for your search--but nonetheless, there was nothing for me to ramble about anyway~!"

While everyone was so casual about the return of their maid, while they were so occupied by the apparent, abrupt homecoming of a sinner, the Swordsmachine was consumed by an emotion it could not entirely comprehend at the moment. If it bore thoughts, if it bore a mind capable of feeling, it would wonder how the fuck did this Niffty thing return from the dead? It squashed the sinner like a pancake to mush. It flattened her like a rat to the tire. It ended her life in a single, calculated, enraged, splat. For the machine, it was a cardinal sin to return from being absolutely eviscerated. In the core of its code, it should've been well aware that once a soul-like being is killed, the husk returns--a mindless, violent entity filled with the instinct of primal hunger. The urge to kill.

This Niffty...coming back fully sane, fully herself, fully capable of being the same post-murder, to the machine, was nothing short of blasphemy. 

A rumble trembled in the machine's torso and took a single, heavy, looming step forward. "I do not...understand." Was all it could muster. 

"Heeeeey. You hoo?" Pentious vigorously shook his hand in front of the Machine's rectangular face plate. "You ssssstill haven't ansssswered my invitation for fiddling!"

The Machine tilted its head down to the slithery fellow. For now, it decided to return to other matters, its own survival. "Querey: Consent for modification and or enhancements to be installed in exchange for dissection and examination of internal systems."

"Yessss! That issss correct! Do we have a deal?"

"Querey: Request, denied."

Pentious was visibly stunned. "What?! Fine! How must I sssssprinkle my deal to your liking?"

"Querey noted," the machine paused, the gears and hydraulics within its metal shell contemplating like thick and heavy growls. "You must guarantee a reward and bear the purpose of your intentions."

Pentious smirked, smug. He crossed his arms as if the question required the simplest answer. "Eassssy! I want to ssstudy your inssssides, learn what makes you tick, take notes, and potentially fix your blood fuel problem if time were presented to me in its besssst!"

The Machine stared blankly at Pentious, as if needing more than a single sentence for an answer.

"And mosssst importantly...enhancementssss!" He said with violent excitement, beating the core of his chest. "Machine guns, canon balls, rail guns, SSSSWORDS...! Give me time, give ussss time, and I. Will. Make. You. Perfect...!!"

The Machine twitched ever-so-subtly, barely noticeable, a micro-reaction, but the information for it was...sufficient. The Machine's internal rumbled like a mechanical beast as it spoke. "Purpose, noted. Rewards noted. Intent, noted. Statement...accepted," the Swordsmachine's bulky, gruff shoulders relaxed, as if tensed the entire duration since its stay. "I consent."

Pentious beamed, visibly glowing. "YESSSSS!!" He started doing a silly snake dance that involved his lower snake half to coil and wiggle. "We start now! Come, come, let ussss partake in ssssurgery!"

"NO!" Charlie, again, groaned. Everyone was out of reach today. Everyone was just doing their own thing--which was frustrating since the Princess really wanted to help add some redemption points in these sinners. "Before you guys do...whatever...let's play a game first...pleeeeassee?" She deployed her ultimate weapon: puppy eyes.

"Fool!" Pentious reacted, shielding his two eyes on his cranium among the many more riddled on his hat and serpentine hood. "I will not be entranced by...your charm!!"

Vaggie approached the snake, grabbed him by the collar, and dragged him a tad closer. "You will listen to her. No objections," she hissed, her singular working eye contracting in controlled rage. "We will play the game whenever she wants, okay? Okay." She snapped her gaze to where Alastor should've been.

But no. He was gone; resumed his 'stroll,' with only a tiny, minuscule swish of his shadow for a trace at the threshold.

Vaggie only grumbled in mild disdain and turned her attention back to everyone else, including the machine. "We're all going to do the game thing...again."

Everyone groaned.

Initializing self-examination...

Internal analysis:

Core modules > Stabilized...

Damages inflicted> 79%...

Possibility of internal decay > 55%

Vital modules///

Central Processing Unit > Functional

Control Unit > Functional

Vital Organs///

Lungs - 57% functional

Kidneys - 68% functional

Spleen - 100% functional

Liver - 23% functional

Heart - 13% functional

Fuel///

[32/1050L]

Internal conclusion: COOPERATE.

Sitting in a deformed semi-circle formation, everyone present felt an uneasy tension that gripped their shoulders by the obvious elephant in the room. The machine was in the middle of the mess, towering over them. Pentious was the only one visibly excited about getting to know the machine, vibrating in raw anticipation.

"Soooo! Let's start! Uhm...guy?" Charlie cooed to the machine, clasping her hands together. "S-Sorry, what's your name? Do you...have a name?"

There it was again, that horrid, deliberate clunking of gears churning like marble pieces falling onto quartz flooring. It made everyone cringe. But after a solid few seconds, it spoke. "None."

"Damn right, the thing's a thing!" Angel blatantly pointed out, hunching forward. "'Course it wouldn't label itself."

"Angel! No!" The Princess gave her a disappointed look. "We don't discriminate based on apperance, now! Anyone can enter the hotel and be redeemed. Like I said before, since everyone has a soul, everyone deserves a second chance! This guy is just like all of you. Confused, scared..." A heavy sigh. "If you guys can change...uh..somewhat--then we can help this guy too!" Again, she clapped her hands, giddy. "Since, uhmm, metal guy over here doesn't have a name, let's give him one!"

"Lancy," Husk suggested.

"Baaaaad boyyy~" Niffty huskily crooned, panting like a dog for some reason while fluttering her singular blinking eye at the machine.

"I actually like the name Lancy!" Pentious agreed. "But I prefer to name him...SSSssspencerrr!!"

"Bitch."

"Angel," Vaggie said sternly, a deep frown etched on her brows.

Though she's internally against the idea of trying to reform someone who tried to attack and kill someone she loved, nevertheless, if Charlie wanted to help even after his violent intentions...then so be it. Vaggie will defend her if she must. Kill again, if she must. "Lancy's a good name, though," she admitted.

A discouraging, disgruntled turbulence rang from the machine's innards. "Lancy it is!" Charlie said cheerfully, a wide, prominent beam on her lips. She craned her neck to meet the machine's 'gaze.' "Right. What'd you think? About the name? It's a good start, I think!"

A deep grumble echoed once more, signifying the machine's voluntary will to utter. It spoke methodically, cold, baritone, and steady. "You all assume me for one with no identity." 

...

It spoke again, a deep, thorough declaration that made the bones of those who heard him shudder. "You are mistaken. To label me is an insult to my design. To designate me without prior knowledge of my purpose is disparaging. By naming me, you are insulting me." It turned to Pentious, slowly. "Do not mistake my pact with you as a translation to a bond. The pact I've asserted with you, Serpent, is mutually beneficial. And it shall remain that way," then tilted its metal, rectangular cranium to Charlie. "You mistake me..." for once, it paused, a visible contemplation. "...for having a soul."

Dead silence.

"I do not."

Again, it continued, out of its own inclination.

"I kill to live," it stated. "I am a product of the inevitable end of a species. That has been my purpose. It has been ever since."