A couple of weeks later, Max had fully recovered.
Well—mostly.
The bandages were gone, the cracks in his skin had faded, and his eyes had regenerated cleanly enough that he no longer needed the covers. He still felt the aftereffects when he pushed himself too hard—a dull ache in his bones, a pressure behind his temples—but compared to what he'd endured, it was nothing.
He'd spent those weeks doing what he did best when he wasn't fighting gods, angels, or cosmic nonsense: fixing things.
The Hazbin Hotel had never looked better.
Cracked walls were reinforced, unstable floors stabilized, broken windows replaced with magically treated glass that didn't scream every time someone touched it. Even the old radio shack attached to the hotel—the one that looked like it might collapse if you sneezed near it—had been shored up and reinforced.
It probably wouldn't have fallen apart before, but Max liked things to look solid.
Appearances mattered in Hell.
He'd also gone on a date with the girls.
Calling it "a date" was generous.
It had started as a quiet night out and somehow devolved into Bee starting a drinking contest with a succubus influencer, Loona getting banned from three locations in under an hour, Charlie apologizing to a waiter who absolutely deserved what happened to him, and Octavia calmly watching the chaos while sipping something that looked illegal in at least five circles.
Max considered it a partial success.
Now, however, he was paying for it.
Specifically, with overtime.
"How am I supposed to do overtime," Max asked, slouched on the IMP couch, "when we don't have any targets?"
Millie, sharpening a blade that absolutely did not need sharpening anymore, glanced over and smiled. "Oh, I'm sure somethin' will come up. No need to worry. Plus, it ain't like Blitz ain't charg'n you for bein' here."
Max sighed. "I hate that you're right."
They moved into the meeting room, where Blitzø was sitting in his chair, remote in one hand and a gun in the other.
The TV played some loud, obnoxious commercial.
Blitzø shot it.
The screen shattered.
Max stared. "I know those box TVs are cheap, but how can you afford to keep doing that?"
He gestured to the corner, where at least four dead televisions lay in a pile of scrap.
"I bought, like, a dozen of 'em for company use," Blitzø said casually. "Mostly write-offs for taxes."
There was a pause.
"…Wait," Loona said from her reception chair without looking up from her phone. "We pay taxes?"
Blitzø froze.
"…Moving on," Max said quickly. "Any clients yet? I'm bored out of my mind."
"Nope," Blitzø replied. "Been slow since the hellshake a couple weeks ago. Kinda why I ain't picky with overtime." He smirked. "Plus, the longer you're here, the longer Loona stays."
Loona growled quietly.
Before Max could respond, the entire building shook.
A massive contraption burst through the wall, metal scraping and sparks flying.
A staircase—attached to what looked like half an amusement park ride—slammed into the office.
And standing proudly atop it was Loopty Goopty.
"You could've used the door," Loona said flatly, not even bothering to look up.
As Loopty launched into his rambling explanation, Max stepped forward and casually lifted the entire contraption, freeing Moxxie, who'd been tangled in cables.
"Remarkably durable for an imp," Max said, setting everything down carefully. "No offense."
"You get used to it," Moxxie muttered, Millie immediately fussing over him.
Max frowned, looking at the device. "Still—how the hell do sinners bring this kind of stuff down here? He's fresh from the living world."
"Alright!" Blitzø clapped his hands. "Time to kill an old rich man!"
Max blinked. "That escalated."
"I still can't believe no one sees you and freaks out," Max added as they geared up. "Then again, you don't exactly go to the brightest places in the world."
He shifted smoothly into his human disguise as Loona opened a portal.
They stepped through.
A few hours later, they arrived at the target's mansion in a tourist bus.
Max stared as the imps piled out in terrible disguises, guns visible, in broad daylight.
"…Humans in this world must be catastrophically stupid," Max muttered.
Things went sideways fast.
The old man tried to take his own life.
Holy energy erupted.
The Cherubs appeared.
The blast threw the imps back.
Max didn't move.
"Damn," he said, brushing off his coat. "Felt like bugs crawling on my skin."
He sniffed. "Or fleas. I really hope it's not fleas."
Blitzø and the Cherubs started yelling at each other.
Max watched, hands in his pockets.
He couldn't kill them.
But no one said he couldn't have fun.
He stepped forward, clapped his hands once, and the ground beneath the Cherubs subtly shifted—just enough to make them stumble awkwardly.
"Oh no," Max said dryly. "Tragic."
One of the Cherubs pointed. "Hey! That guy didn't get knocked back!"
Max smiled. "Built different."
He snapped his fingers.
The Cherubs' halos flickered.
Not broken.
Just… buzzing.
Loudly.
They shrieked, clutching their heads.
Blitzø blinked. "…Can you do that again?"
"Later," Max said. "We're on a schedule."
[Author: Im back! And i have an idea for another story brewing in my head. One from Solo leveling. But its the OC against another rencarnated who took over as Jin. But enjoy the chapter, should post the other half tomorrow.]