The silence in the room was almost tangible, interrupted only by the soft crackling of the fire in the fireplace and the occasional distant murmur of the infernal city beyond the Victorian house's walls. Adam was sitting on a dark red velvet sofa, his new demonic form relaxed but alert, his fingers absentmindedly drumming on the armrest.
His red eyes—those crimson eyes that had replaced his old angelic golden ones—were fixed on some undefined point in the space in front of him. But his mind was far away from that elegant living room, lost in memories of a beach bathed in the afternoon sun, of words spoken with venom and vulnerability, of a deal sealed with primordial power.
Seven years.
The thought echoed in his mind like a distant echo.
It's been seven years since I made that deal with Lilith. Seven years since I took her to Heaven as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
An ironic smile formed on his lips as he remembered his own panic at the end of that flashback. He had been terrified of Sera's reaction, convinced that the High Seraphim would skin him alive for bringing the first sinner woman into the celestial realm without prior authorization.
And technically I was right, he thought with bitter amusement. Sera almost killed me when she found out.
The memory of that confrontation—the icy fury in the seraph's eyes, her wings spread in all their intimidating majesty, her voice cutting like blades as she recited every celestial regulation he had violated—still caused him an occasional shiver.
But he had handled it. As he always did. With arrogance, calculated charm, and the innate ability to make his impulsive actions seem part of a carefully considered master plan.
Although—and here Adam's smile became genuinely warm, almost nostalgic—I can almost claim that Sera's sermons were worth every second.
Because against all odds, against all logic and reason, his relationship with Lilith had... improved. They hadn't gone back to being what they were in Eden—that innocence was lost forever, buried under millennia of betrayal and pain. But they had found something new. Something more mature.
They had become friends again, or at least that's what he thought; they no longer tried to rip each other's throats out, they weren't just two people pretending to get along out of necessity. They conversed without the constant venom. They shared meals without them ending in explosive arguments. Even—and this surprised him more than anything—they laughed together sometimes at nostalgic memories.
It wasn't perfect. It would never be perfect. There were scars too deep, wounds that would never fully heal. Adam would never fully forgive her for what she had done, for how she had destroyed his life not once but twice. And Lilith would never fully get over her own residual resentment toward the expectations he had held in Eden.
But they had learned to... coexist. To find a strange and fragile balance where they could be civil with each other. Where they could even enjoy each other's company in small doses.
And then, thought Adam with renewed bitterness, everything went to shit again.
His jaw tensed involuntarily as more recent memories filtered in—the battle at the Hazbin Hotel, the pain of Niffty's thirteen stabs, the darkness that had consumed him when he thought he was dying alone.
Lilith hadn't been there. She hadn't come to look for him afterward. No one from Heaven had come.
They had abandoned him. Again.
But it doesn't matter anymore, he told himself firmly, pushing those thoughts to the back of his mind where they couldn't bother him. I am no longer that Adam. I am no longer Heaven's attack dog.
"Adam?"
Roo's voice—soft but with that touch of perpetual amusement she always carried—yanked him abruptly from his thoughts. Adam blinked, focusing on the present again, and met the white and red eyes of the primordial entity watching him with barely contained curiosity.
In front of him, Roo watched him. The primordial entity was no longer naked; with a simple thought, shadows had clung to her pale, supernatural skin, weaving her usual dress of darkness and blood red, a garment that seemed to move with a life of its own. She was reclining with predatory elegance.
Adam, for his part, looked at his own gloved hands. Thanks to Roo's magic, he was no longer exposed. He wore the suit that now defined his new existence: a fitted jacket of a dark gray, almost black, with gold details that shone with a faint, malevolent light. His cape, waving gently without any breeze, gave him a more sober look, but infinitely more dangerous. His ant antennas stuck out from his head and fell forward.
[Imagen]
They were in one of the few Victorian houses in Cannibal Town that hadn't been reduced to rubble during his previous "little tantrum." The room was in semi-darkness, illuminated only by the reddish glow emanating from Roo's magic and the flickering light of an old television in the corner.
"Hmm?" Adam replied distractedly, still half lost in his memories.
Roo tilted her head, her flame-black hair waving slightly with the movement. A playful smile formed on her black lips as she leaned forward from her own chair, resting her chin on one hand.
"I asked you what you said," she repeated with exaggerated patience, as if talking to a distracted child. "You were murmuring something to yourself. Very focused on your thoughts, by the way. Almost cute, if it weren't because your concentration face looks a bit like you're planning a murder."
Adam snorted, definitively pushing away the memories of the past. He straightened up on the sofa, adjusting his posture as his fingers stopped drumming on the armrest.
"It's nothing important," he said with a casual tone, dismissing the question with a vague gesture of his hand. "Just... thinking about shit from the past that doesn't matter anymore."
"Shit from the past?" Roo repeated, her smile widening as her eyes shone with renewed interest. "Oh, that sounds fascinating. Something I should know? Some dark and juicy secret you're hiding from me?"
"Just remembering old business, babe. Boring stuff," Adam replied, his voice sounding deeper, distorted by a subtle demonic static that now accompanied his every word. "You know, the burden of being the one who started this whole damn circus. Sometimes the brain needs to rewind the tape."
Roo didn't seem convinced, but she didn't press. Instead, she tilted her head, making her hair float as if underwater.
"Well?" she insisted, her tone becoming honeyed, demanding. "Now that we have consummated our... alliance, and your mind has returned from its nostalgic vacation... What do you have planned? You've already proven your power by destroying half the town. And now what, First Man?"
Adam didn't answer immediately. His eyes drifted toward the old tube television flickering in the corner of the room. The screen showed the gaudy "666 News" logo. The image jumped occasionally, but the audio was clear.
On the screen, Katie Killjoy looked more unhinged than usual, her perpetual smile trembling at the edges, while Tom Trench tried, unsuccessfully, to maintain composure while his gas mask seemed to be ill-fitted.
"...absolute chaos, Tom! Absolute chaos!" screeched Katie from the TV speakers. "No one knows what the fuck is going on in the Cannibal sector! Reports indicate that a massive black energy dome, and I mean MASSIVE, has covered the entire territory of the Cannibal Colony. Nothing goes in, nothing comes out! VoxTech drone attempts to penetrate the barrier have resulted in... well, let's just say Vox is going to need to buy more cameras, because those things disintegrated on contact."
The image changed to a shaky aerial shot, showing the black dome. It was a perfect sphere of darkness, swallowing a significant portion of the Pentagram. It looked imposing, terrifying.
Adam let out a dry laugh, crossing his arms as he watched the news.
"And that's not all," continued Tom Trench. "Psychic shockwaves have been reported throughout the Pride ring. Low-level demons are losing their minds, Overlords are calling emergency meetings... It's the end of the world again, and it's not even Extermination Day!"
"Look at them," muttered Adam, a crooked smile curving his lips, showing his sharp teeth. "Running like fucking cockroaches when you turn on the kitchen light. Pathetic."
Adam watched the news with an impassive expression, although a spark of satisfaction shone in his eyes at seeing the panic his mere presence (and Roo's) was causing.
"Fear is a delicious condiment, don't you think?" purred Roo from behind, sitting elegantly on a red velvet armchair that seemed to have seen better days.
Adam turned to her, the TV light casting long shadows over his face.
"I know what my plans are," Adam said, his voice taking that commanding tone he had used for millennia to lead his legions in either war or exterminations. "But... First things first. I need to get my shit back."
"Your shit?" Roo arched an eyebrow, amused.
"My weapons, Roo. My guitar, my axe... my celestial steel," Adam clenched his fists, claws digging into his palms. "That arms-dealing bitch... Carmilla Carmine. She was the one who collected all the angelic steel we left behind in previous Exterminations. She has my stuff. And I'm not going to let a bunch of filthy sinners touch my work tools with their hands full of grease and sin. It's an insult."
Adam glowed with disgust. "I'm going to take back what is mine. And if that second-rate arms dealer wants to oppose me... well, what I did to the cannibals will be mild compared to what I'll do to her."
Before Roo could respond, the oak door of the lounge opened with a soft creak.
Rosie entered.
The Cannibal Overlord entered the room with measured and elegant steps, carrying a polished silver tray that shone under the firelight. Her appearance had changed drastically since her brutal defeat and public humiliation just a few hours ago.
Now she wore a Victorian maid's outfit—completely different from her usual elegant lady attire. The dress was black with immaculate white aprons, with long sleeves that covered her arms completely. A small white headpiece was perfectly placed on her platinum gray hair, which had been gathered into a low bun simpler than her usual elaborate hairstyle.
Most notable was that her left arm—the one Adam had ripped off during their battle—had been replaced by an elegant prosthesis. It wasn't advanced technology like Heaven's, but something more artisanal, more in line with Rosie's Victorian aesthetic. It was polished dark wood with silver metal joints that moved smoothly as she held the tray.
[Imagen]
All thanks to Roo's magic.
The arm would grow back, but so the Overlord wouldn't be useless, Roo had made her that temporary arm.
The expression on her face was carefully neutral—the perfect mask of professional service any good Victorian maid would maintain. But Adam could see the small cracks: the tension around her eyes, the way her lips tightened almost imperceptibly, the slight tremble in her prosthetic hand as she approached.
The collar—invisible but always present—pulsed softly around her neck, constantly reminding her of her new position in this twisted power dynamic.
"Your tea, Miss Roo," Rosie said with her southern accent, though her tone was more formal than usual—void of the maternal warmth she normally employed. She bowed slightly as she placed a delicate porcelain cup in front of Roo, the steaming liquid inside emanating a complex floral aroma.
"Oh, how lovely," Roo purred, taking the cup with elegant fingers. "Thank you, dear Rosie. It smells divine."
The aroma emanating from the liquid wasn't normal tea; it smelled of ancient herbs, of damp graveyard earth, and something metallic, like fresh arterial blood.
"Belladonna tea with an infusion of life essence, for the lady," said Rosie, her polite smile widening to show her sharp, whitish teeth.
Roo took the cup with a pleased smile, her fingers brushing Rosie's, who shuddered imperceptibly at the contact with the Root of All Evil.
Then, Rosie turned to Adam. On the tray was a cut crystal goblet, filled with a dark crimson liquid that caught the firelight from the fireplace.
And not just any wine. Adam recognized the dark red, almost black, color of the liquid. It was one of the most expensive and refined infernal wines—the type of bottle wealthy Overlords saved for special occasions, costing souls on the black market.
"And for the gentleman..." announced Rosie, offering him the goblet; in her tone there was a touch of... resignation? Controlled bitterness? In her voice that made Adam smile with cruel satisfaction. "A 1787 Château Margaux. Or at least, the infernal version we managed to salvage from the private cellar of a fallen duke. They say it has an aftertaste of despair that is exquisite."
Adam took the goblet, swirling it slowly as he watched the firelight reflect in the dark liquid.Then he looked up at Rosie—straight into her eyes—as his smile widened into something completely mocking.
"Aww, thanks, bitch," he said with false sweetness, deliberately emphasizing the last word. "You're so helpful now. Almost makes me forget how you tried to mutilate and eat me just a few hours ago."
Then, Adam's eyes went back to fix on the TV screen where images of riots in the Wrath Ring were now being shown.
He paused, taking a sip of the wine—which was, he had to admit, absolutely exquisite—before adding in a more serious but equally mocking tone:
"Keep it up and maybe, just maybe, I'll consider not reminding you every five minutes." Adam nodded slightly, satisfied, and couldn't hold back one last jab. "Nice outfit, by the way. Fits you better than those merry widow rags you used to wear. At least now you know your place in the food chain."
Rosie clenched her jaw visibly, her prosthetic hand closing into a fist at her side. But the collar around her neck pulsed—a subtle but clear warning that she couldn't respond with the acidity she clearly wanted to employ.
Instead, she simply bowed her head in silent acceptance of his mockery, maintaining that mask of professional servility even as her eyes shone with barely contained resentment.
"Oh, Adam, you're so mean to her," Roo commented with barely disguised amusement, watching the exchange with bright eyes. But there was no real reprimand in her tone—if anything, she sounded pleased by the twisted dynamic. "You're going to make the poor thing develop a complex."
"Good," Adam replied without a shred of remorse, taking another sip of his wine. "Complexes build character. Besides, she completely asked for it."
Rosie, seeing that nothing more was expected of her at the moment, retreated to a single armchair near the fire—close enough to be available if called, but far enough away not to be directly in their personal space.
She settled into the armchair with perfectly straight posture—years of wearing Victorian corsets had made impeccable posture her second nature—and directed her attention toward the television dominating one wall of the room.
The screen continued showing one of the infernal newscasts—666 News, judging by the logo in the corner. Katie Killjoy was in the middle of one of her characteristically sensationalist reports, with her exaggerated movements and expression of perpetual malice on full display.
Rosie scoffed at the television; she preferred newspapers to watching this television trash. Before, as an Overlord, to be a "good leader," she let some of her citizens have television, even if she didn't like the idea, but she monitored each of her inhabitants in her city well with something technological... or used to, since now her citizens were all dead and she was a simple servant.
The camera showed aerial shots of the Pentagram—specifically, of the Cannibal Town district. Or more precisely, of the massive black dome that still covered the entire territory like an open wound in the infernal landscape.
"—and the mysterious barrier continues to show no signs of weakening," Katie's shrill voice filled the room, every word pronounced with that touch of exaggerated drama that made even mundane news sound apocalyptic. "No attempt to penetrate the dome has succeeded. Not magic, not brute force, not even explosives have managed to even scratch its surface."
The camera switched to ground shots—demons and sinners gathered at the edges of the barrier, some touching it cautiously, others casting spells that simply dissipated on contact, a few even hitting it with stolen celestial weapons that did nothing more than produce harmless sparks.
"Speculations are skyrocketing," Katie continued, her shark smile widening as she clearly enjoyed the chaos. "What happened inside Rosie's territory? Where is the Cannibal Overlord? And who—or what—created this impossible barrier?"
The report continued, showing more shots of the general bewilderment in the Pentagram. Overlords being interviewed briefly, all with expressions varying between calculated concern and barely disguised opportunism. Common sinners speculating wildly about conspiracies, renewed angelic invasions, or even the end of Hell as they knew it.
Then the camera cut to shots of other rings of Hell—apparently the energy blast had been massive enough to be felt throughout the realm. There were brief clips of the other Deadly Sins being harassed by reporters, all declining to make official comments, but clearly concerned.
Adam watched all this with an expression oscillating between amusement and boredom.
Adam took a sip of the wine. It was good. Fucking good. Better than the watered-down ambrosia served at Sera's boring meetings in Heaven, he continued savoring the wine while processing the information unfolding on the screen.
Rosie, from her position in the armchair, also watched the newscast with analytical attention. Her eyes moved from one shot to another, clearly evaluating the implications of everything she was seeing.
Finally, with a carefully neutral voice that still carried her characteristic southern accent, Rosie spoke without looking away from the screen:
"Hell will be in a lot of movement and turmoil after what happened." She commented, her fingers—both real and prosthetic—drumming softly on her dress apron. "Every Overlord will be analyzing the situation, trying to figure out what happened and how they can use it to their advantage."
She paused, turning her head slightly to look at Adam sideways without turning completely.
"And it's only sooner or later before they find out what happened inside here. What really happened." Her tone was completely factual—no plea, no threat, just stating an inevitable fact. "The barrier cannot last forever. Eventually it will fall, or they will have to come out. And when that happens..."
She left the sentence incomplete, but the implication was clear.
Adam let out a laugh—low and full of cruel arrogance that resonated in the room. His smile widened as he finally looked away from the newscast to face Rosie directly, his red eyes shining with genuine amusement.
"Worried, bitch?" he asked with a mocking tone, raising his wine glass in an almost toasting gesture. "Does it unsettle you that your little Overlord friends find out that their dear Rosie is now my personal pet?"
He took another sip, savoring both the wine and the barely visible discomfort in Rosie's expression.
"Because let me tell you something—I'm not worried. Not at all." He leaned back more comfortably on the sofa, with his body language radiating absolute confidence. "In fact, I haven't planned to stay hidden all this time anyway. I've never been one to hide in the shadows like a rat. I am the fucking main event."
His clawed fingers drummed on his thigh in a casual rhythm as he continued:
"Let them find out. Let them know what happened here. Let them see what happens to those who fuck with me." Adam's smile became darker, more threatening. "Better yet—it will send a clear message to all these losers about exactly who they are dealing with now."
Rosie processed this in silence, her expression remaining carefully neutral although something in her eyes suggested she was filing that information for later analysis.
Adam then turned to Roo, who had been watching the exchange with barely contained amusement while delicately sipping her tea. Her smile was like that of a cat that had just caught a particularly juicy canary.
"Hey, Roo," Adam called her attention, leaning slightly forward. "I have a question for you."
"Hmm?" Roo looked up from her cup, blinking with false innocence. "Yes, dear?"
"The barrier—that bullshit dome you put over this place." Adam gestured vaguely toward the ceiling, although he was obviously referring to the massive barrier covering the entire district. "How long can you keep that thing up? I don't want an army of idiot sinners or some Overlord with grandeur complexes coming in here while I'm busy planning my new empire."
The question made Roo put her tea cup on the table with a soft click of porcelain against wood. She straightened in her chair, and her expression transformed—the playful amusement was replaced by something prouder, more ancient, more... primordial.
"Oh, Adam," she began with a voice dripping with smug satisfaction. She raised a hand to her wide-brimmed black fedora, adjusting it with a deliberate and theatrical movement that made the white band shine under the firelight. "Dear, sweet, beautiful Adam. Are you questioning my abilities?"
She didn't wait for an answer before continuing, her smile widening to show those needle teeth that were so characteristic of her:
"I can keep that barrier up as long as I desire." The words were spoken with absolute certainty, without a hint of doubt. "Days. Weeks. Months. Years. Centuries, if I feel like it. It's part of me, you know? An extension of my own essence."
Roo got up from her chair with fluid motion—almost feline—and began walking around the room while she spoke, her hands moving expressively to emphasize her points.
"That barrier isn't just common magic that wears out over time or can be drained." She turned to look at him, her white and red eyes shining with unnatural intensity. "It is a manifestation of my will, fueled directly by my very existence. As long as I exist—and believe me, I'm going to exist for a long time—that barrier will remain exactly where I put it."
She made a dramatic pause, clearly enjoying having Adam's full attention.
"And as for whether anyone can destroy it..." Her smile became truly malevolent now, with a touch of cruelty that made even her usual amusement seem mild in comparison. "I am one hundred percent sure that no one in Hell can destroy it. Not the Deadly Sins. Not the most powerful Overlords working together. Not even Lucifer with all his power could break it without considerable effort."
She stopped in front of Adam, leaning slightly forward with her hands on her hips.
"So yes, dear. I can keep it as long as you want. Or need. Or simply because it amuses me to keep all those curious demons outside, wondering what the hell is going on in here."
Adam processed this information, nodding slowly as an expression of genuine impression crossed his features. He leaned back more comfortably on the sofa, taking another sip of his wine before replying:
"Fuck, that is impressive," Adam admitted without a trace of his usual sarcasm—it was a genuine compliment. "A barrier that no one can break and that you can keep indefinitely. I like how that sounds... I'm going to admit it: it's pretty hot."
"Did you expect less from Evil Incarnate?" Roo asked with false modesty, although she was clearly pleased by the recognition. She sat back down demurely.
"I guess not," Adam replied with a smile. But then his expression became more thoughtful, his eyebrows furrowing slightly as he considered something.
Although, he thought to himself with a hint of caution he didn't express aloud, I probably shouldn't mention if there exists anyone in Heaven who could break the barrier if they wanted to; I wasn't sure if the seraphim could. But there exists a being whom I have no doubt can break this barrier: and that being is God.
Adam looked at his wine glass, seeing his own distorted reflection in the dark liquid. God. The Big Boss. The Man Upstairs.
Adam snorted mentally. The idea of God—that being who hadn't interacted directly with Heaven for thousands of years, who had apparently retired to watch from a distance, because it was either that or he abandoned creation—all that made Adam feel a complex mix of emotions he preferred not to examine too closely.
God. He hadn't spoken to him for thousands of years. Even when he was the Commander of the Celestial Armies and sought his guidance... he only got silence; the only thing he got was that orders came from Sera or the other higher Seraphim. God had been... absent.
Silent.
So much obedience, thought Adam bitterly, tightening his grip on the glass until the crystal creaked slightly. So much fucking worship. I built humanity. I stained my hands with genocidal blood time and time again to protect His precious "garden," His precious Heaven. I did the dirty work no one else wanted to do. I kept the scum at bay.
And for what?
Resentment bubbled in his chest, familiar and bitter like old poison.
And in the end, I end up becoming what I detested most—a demon. And not just any demon, but one with the shape of an insect.
An ironic laugh threatened to escape his lips at the absurdity of it all. The irony was not lost on him. That irony burned him more than the fire of the lake of sulfur. He, who looked down on sinners from the heights, viewing them as disgusting insects, flaws in the assembly line of creation that had to be exterminated, now he had an insect form and shared their nature. As if the universe had decided to play a cosmic joke at his expense.
But no, he wasn't like them. He was Adam. The original. The template. However bitter his demonic form left him, it wasn't going to stop him from continuing.
And honestly, he continued his line of bitter thought, I'm not sure what God's damn plan is. If he even still has one.
Honestly, Adam had no idea what the damn plan was. Because when Adam really thought about it—when he pushed aside centuries of conditioning and blind obedience—the world seemed fundamentally broken.
Humanity was corrupt from the root (thanks to Lucifer and his shitty apples), Heaven was full of bureaucratic hypocrites who talked about "keeping order and peace" but didn't lift a finger when difficult decisions needed to be made, and Hell... Hell was a dump.
Everything seems so imperfect. So corrupted. Both Heaven and Hell are full of hypocrisy and shit.
And worst of all—what really made him grind his teeth with barely contained frustration—was that the supposed eternal rest in Heaven had turned into a test. An endless series of challenges, expectations, duties that never ended.
It wasn't rest. It was just... more work. More responsibilities. More shit to do to maintain order that supposedly should already be perfect.
Adam felt the system of Heaven was rigged. Heaven wasn't a reward; it was an exclusive club with capricious bouncers. And he had been the head of security, only to be fired and thrown in the trash the moment he failed once.
"Mr. Adam?" Rosie's voice pulled him out of his spiral of nihilistic thoughts.
Rosie's voice—cautious, almost hesitant—yanked him abruptly from his increasingly dark thoughts. Adam blinked, focusing on the present again, and found that both Rosie and Roo were looking at him with curious expressions.
And Roo had her tea cup in her hands again.
Adam blinked and shook his head, pushing away those shitty philosophical thoughts. Thinking too much gave him a headache. He finished the wine in one gulp and set the glass on a table with a sharp thud.
"Hey, Mary Poppins," called Adam, snapping his fingers to get his servant's attention. "Speaking of media shit. Who owns that channel? The ones who control the TV and all that trash numbing the brains of these idiots. Who controls the signal down here?"
Rosie exchanged a quick glance with Roo before continuing, her voice carefully neutral:
"The owners of that program—" she pointed to the television where Katie Killjoy was still talking about the barrier and the resulting chaos, "—and who control television and most media in the Pentagram are the Vees."
She paused, making sure he was paying attention before elaborating:
"Vox specifically controls all technological infrastructure—television, internet, telecommunications. Velvette handles social media and trends. And Valentino..." her expression showed a flash of barely contained disgust, "controls the adult entertainment industry and has a considerable information network through his... employees."
Rosie settled into her armchair, crossing her legs with Victorian elegance as she continued:
"Together, they essentially control how information flows in Hell. What people see, what people believe, how the narrative of events is shaped." Her fingers drummed on the armrest. "If you want to control how your... rise to power is perceived, you will need to deal with them in one way or another."
Adam processed this information in silence, his eyes narrowing slightly as he considered the implications. His mind—now sharper thanks to the knowledge the apple had awakened—began plotting possibilities, strategies, angles of approach.
Finally, he nodded slowly, taking another sip of his wine before replying:
"Then I'll talk to them too." His tone was casual, but there was an edge of determination underneath. "I'll make negotiations. I'll see what they can offer me, what they want in return, if we can reach some kind of... mutually beneficial agreement."
Roo tilted her head, interested. "Talk? You? I thought your style was more... 'cut first, ask never'."
"Hey, I can be diplomatic," Adam defended himself while smoothing his jacket with a grimace. "I have charisma. I'm the original man, babe. Everyone loves me or wants to be me. I'm going to make negotiations. I'll offer them a deal: they work for me, broadcast my message, give me what I want..."
He paused, his smile becoming darker as he added:
"...And if it works out well for all of us, perfect. We'll have a productive relationship." His fingers drummed on his thigh in a rhythm that somehow sounded threatening despite being completely silent. "And if not..."
His expression darkened and his red eyes shone with a malevolent light. "...well, let's say there will be three new vacancies for Overlords on the market."
Adam made it clear that the consequences of not cooperating with him wouldn't be pleasant.
Rosie nodded, filing that information mentally. She knew the Vees well enough—she had dealt with them on several occasions over the years. They were ambitious, opportunistic, and completely willing to switch sides if it meant personal advantage.
Which, she thought with bitter irony, probably means they will align with Adam the moment you demonstrate your power. The sharks always swim toward fresh blood in the water.
Roo let out a dark giggle, delighted with her partner's casual cruelty.
"Ambitious," she commented. "I like when you think big."
Adam leaned back further on the sofa, his expression becoming more contemplative as he continued:
"And after that..." His voice dropped to a growl vibrating with barely contained anger, his red eyes shining with renewed intensity. "After that, I plan to visit that shitty little hotel."
His hands closed into fists on his thighs, the fabric of his pants wrinkling under the pressure.
The image of Charlie, with her "I'm so good and I help everyone" face, turned his stomach. The stupid brat is a double-standard hypocrite; she only helps when it suits her. And Vaggie... the ungrateful traitor bitch. Lucifer... the clown. But above all, he remembered the little cyclops, named Niffty. The sensation of angelic steel piercing his back and coming out his chest. The humiliation.
"And make them pay for what they did to me and my girls," said Adam, speaking more to himself than to the two women. "I'm going to burn that building to the ground. I'm going to make that bitch Vaggie suffer in front of her. I'm going to make that little princess watch as I dismember her friends one by one, showing her how powerless she is. They are going to regret not finishing me off when they had the chance. I'm going to prove it: her false mercy will cost her dearly."
Every word was spoken with distilled venom, with a promise of violence that would make his massacre of Cannibal Town seem merciful in comparison.
The silence that followed that declaration was heavy, loaded with the certainty that Adam wasn't making empty threats. When he said he would make those at the Hazbin Hotel pay, he meant it completely seriously.
Roo, who had been watching all this exchange with growing interest, finally spoke. Her voice was curious, but there was something else underneath—something calculating, something suggesting she was fishing for specific information.
She put the tea cup back on the table with a soft clink before speaking. "And what about Heaven, Adam?" she asked, tilting her head as her eyes studied every micro-expression on his face. "What plans do you have for them?"
Adam looked at her with a completely confused expression, his eyebrows furrowing as he processed the question as if she had just spoken in a completely incomprehensible language.
"What?" he replied with genuine bewilderment. "What the fuck does Heaven have to do with my plans?"
"Heaven, Adam," repeated Roo, moving along the sofa and sliding toward him like liquid shadow. She placed her hands on his shoulders, her long, cold fingers caressing the fabric of his suit. "You have plans for the sinners. You have plans for the Overlords. You have plans for Lucifer's daughter. But... what about those who put you here?"
She leaned toward his ear, whispering words that were pure poison.
"They abandoned you, Adam. They used you. For thousands of years you were their attack dog, their shield, their sword. You did what they didn't have the stomach to do, while they stayed clean and pure on their cloud thrones. And when you fell... when you gave your life for their cause, protecting them from Charlie's little rebellion... what did they do?"
"Nothing," Roo gave him a mocking and sad smile.
Adam stared at her without saying anything.
Roo signaled with a languid gesture toward Rosie, who remained still as a statue.
"No one came down to look for you. No one came to recover your body. They let you rot on the floor of Hell like trash. They let the cannibals..." she made a dramatic pause, "...well, you know. They discarded you like a broken toy when you were no longer useful to them. Don't you want to make them pay too? Against Sera? Don't you want to march to the Pearly Gates and tear them down? You have my power now. We could do it." Her voice took a softer, more seductive tone, clearly trying to stoke specific emotions.
Adam remained silent for a long moment. His breathing was heavy. Roo's words were true. Painfully true. He felt the sting of betrayal in every fiber of his being. Heaven, his home, the place he had helped build and protect, had slammed the door in his face.
But...
However angry he is with Heaven.
It was the home of his children. His TRUE children. The winners, those people who did good and followed the rules.
The silence that followed was absolute. Roo clearly expected some kind of emotional explosion—anger, pain, a desire for burning revenge. Anything she could mold and direct toward her own ends.
But what she got was completely different.
"Fuck Heaven," said Adam finally, shrugging, his voice hoarse, lacking the usual bravado, replaced by furious resignation. "Fuck them all. Sera, the elders, the carrier of God's voice, everyone."
He turned abruptly to face Roo.
"But I'm not going to attack them. I'm not going to go up there to start a war I don't care about." Adam shook his head. His tone was completely flat, void of the intense emotion Roo clearly had hoped to provoke. "If they don't want me, fine. I don't need them. I'm not going to give them the pleasure of seeing me beg or try to force my way back in."
He extended his arms, encompassing the room, the town, the entire Hell. "I'm going to focus on making my own eternal rest in this damn pit of shit. Since clearly Heaven couldn't provide what it supposedly promised... then fuck it, I'll do it myself my way. I'm going to turn Hell into my kingdom. I'm going to be the King of this dump. I'm going to have it all here. Sex, food, power, and no one to tell me what I can or can't do."
Adam then smiled with an arrogant and proud smile at his plan. He then leaned back more comfortably on the sofa, taking another long sip of his wine before continuing:
"I'm going to make this place so orderly, so under my control, that Heaven will look down and wish it had what I have. I'm going to be the God of this dump. And if Heaven wants to come looking for me, let them come. I'll be waiting for them. But I'm not going to knock on their door." He then settled himself, putting his hands behind his head. "That's my plan."
Roo looked at him, eyes narrowed slightly. It wasn't the answer she expected. She wanted total war. She wanted to see him march against St. Peter's gates and tear them down. She wanted absolute chaos. But she saw the resolve in Adam's eyes, a strange mix of wounded pride and twisted residual loyalty. She guessed he was doing it for his winner children.
Roo respected his wishes; even so, they had all eternity together; maybe she could convince him at some point.
Adam's eyes moved toward the television, where Katie Killjoy was still babbling about increasingly ridiculous speculations and theories about the barrier.
"And when I finish fixing this place—when I have molded it into something that isn't completely unbearable—then maybe, just maybe, I'll consider what to do about Heaven." He shrugged again. "Or maybe I'll just ignore them forever. I haven't decided yet and honestly I don't care enough to think about it now."
The expression on Roo's face was fascinating to observe for the attentive eye—disappointment, frustration, and something akin to reluctant respect, all mixing into a complex mask of conflicting emotions.
Clearly, she had hoped to manipulate Adam's resentment toward Heaven into something she could use for her own ends. The idea that he simply... didn't care enough to seek revenge should have taken Roo completely by surprise, but...
It didn't; after all, she loved Adam's strong will even though it was sometimes frustrating for her.
She could only pout, an almost childish gesture on her ancient and terrible face. "How boring. But I respect it."
Adam snorted with amusement before growling irritably. Adam turned toward the TV while putting the now empty wine glass on the table.
"And change this shitty channel, it's giving me a headache watching that screeching blonde."
He took the remote control from a nearby small table and pressed the button to change the channel, looking for something, anything, that wasn't news about his own destruction. Adam continued changing channels frantically, passing by sadistic game shows, low-quality demonic soap operas, and more reports of panic.
Roo opened her mouth—probably to try another line of persuasion, maybe even preparing to sing (a song to convince her eternal partner, a song she knew might please him at least for her beautiful voice)—when suddenly she was interrupted.
Suddenly, the television exploded into a cheerful and out-of-tune jingle that cut the tension like a butter knife.
"Do you get mad when you die~?"
Adam stopped, his finger frozen on the channel change button.
The screen showed an animated logo—"I.M.P" in stylized red and white letters, with a small imp making a gun gesture with his fingers while winking.
Then an imp demon appeared—small, with horns and a tail, dressed in a suit and tie—looking directly at the camera with a smile that was half charming, half slightly manic.
"Hi, I'm Blitzo—" he began with a voice dripping with exaggerated enthusiasm. But immediately he interrupted himself, raising a finger. "The 'o' is silent."
The camera zoomed into his face, the demon's smile widened, showing sharp teeth. And he continued:
"Is there someone who fucked up your life and you're looking for a way to send them to a hot seat in Hell? Someone with whom you have unfinished business or received an unfair deal in life?" said this Blitzo, while the screen showed childish and violent drawings of people being killed. "Well look no further! Here at I.M.P. (Immediate Murder Professionals), we do what YOU can't!"
The ad cut quickly to several scenes—a fat businessman counting money while poor people were kicked out of their homes; a shallow blonde woman laughing while another cried; a stalker chasing a terrified victim.
Blitzo's voice continued over the images:
"Thanks to our exclusive access to the living world..." The camera cut back to him, now standing in front of a ramshackle building with a sign saying *Immediate Murder Professionals*. "If you want someone dead, We can go to Earth and do the dirty work for you!" Blitzo explained with enthusiasm while the camera showed glowing portals opening, allowing the team to cross to Earth.
The ad became more frantic—quick montage of action scenes:
Blitzo and his team—a tall and thin imp with sniper skills named Moxxie; a savage and enthusiastic female imp named Millie; and a gray hellhound with a permanent expression of annoyance named Loona—all in action.
Shooting guns. Stabbing people. Causing explosions. All while cheerful and upbeat music played in the background as if they were promoting a cleaning service instead of contract killings.
Adam blinked slowly. His brain was processing the information, but something inside him began to heat up. "What the fuck am I watching?" he murmured.
The scenes became more elaborate—people being thrown from buildings, chased through streets, cornered in their own homes. All while the I.M.P team worked with brutal efficiency.
"Small, big—" cut to Blitzo holding his hands to indicate different sizes, "—we don't care. We have a plan for every murder case!"
More montage of creative murder methods—some subtle, others completely exaggerated and ridiculous.
Then the ad showed testimonials from "satisfied clients"—various demons and sinners smiling while talking about how I.M.P had fulfilled their contracts perfectly.
Blitzo's voice returned, now with a more professional tone (well, as professional as he could sound):
"So if you want someone dead, call us at—" a phone number appeared on the screen in large red digits, "—and visit our site on Sinstagram!"
The I.M.P logo filled the screen again, this time with additional text:
"IMMEDIATE MURDER PROFESSIONALS"
"We do what you can't because you're dead!"
"Call now!"
And finally, Blitzo appeared one last time, winking at the camera while holding a smoking gun:
"Remember—no one from the human world is out of our reach!" His smile widened until it was almost manic. "Literally and figuratively!"
The ad ended with an exaggerated sound effect—a cartoon explosion—before cutting back to the regular newscast.
The room remained in sepulchral silence.
Adam looked at the screen with a blank stare, almost catatonic. He had remained completely motionless; the remote control creaked in his hand; the plastic was beginning to give way under the pressure. His red eyes were fixed on the screen with intensity that made the air around him feel heavier, more oppressive.
Rosie watched this transformation with growing amusement, a genuine smile—not her usual maternal mask, but something more authentic and slightly cruel—forming on her lips.
Oh, this is going to be interesting, she thought, settling more comfortably in her armchair to watch what was clearly about to happen.
Roo, for her part, had an expression mixing malicious amusement with barely contained irritation. She was clearly annoyed because she had been about to make another attempt to manipulate Adam toward her own ends when the damn ad had interrupted her.
But she was also fascinated by the transformation she was witnessing—the way Adam's calm was like the eye of a hurricane, with destruction promised in every line of his rigid posture.
The seconds stretched.
The rage accumulated—Adam could feel it bubbling in his chest like boiling lava, pressing against his self-control with almost physical force. His fingers tightened around his remote control with so much force that the plastic began to crack, with small fracture lines extending from where his fingers pressed.
Murder services. For living humans.
The thought echoed in his mind like a gong, every reverberation adding more fuel to the fire growing inside him.
They are killing humans. On Earth. My people. The descendants of my descendants.
The remote control shattered completely in his hand, sending springs and batteries flying across the room. The plastic fragments fell to the floor and, although the shards of the control should have hurt his hand, it didn't because of his demonic nature. But Adam didn't even give it importance, too consumed by the fury roaring through every nerve of his transformed body.
Those damn shitty demons are interfering with life on Earth. They are crossing portals—something that should be impossible, something that is strictly prohibited—and they are murdering people, whether innocent or not, for money.
Heaven had strict rules. No one goes up. No one goes down without permission. He and his exorcists were the only ones authorized to cross the lines to impart divine justice. That violated everything. That broke the pact. That stained his legacy.
This was the fucking reason why exorcists were created in the first place. It was so these fucking filthy demons wouldn't harm the earth. They had only left it for 7 years to focus on the exterminations.
And now... some fucking low-class imps had an agency? A commercial? Were they killing HIS offspring, HIS humans, for money? Without Heaven doing anything? Without anyone stopping them?
He felt a vein in his forehead begin to throb violently. The rage didn't come like a wave; it came like a tsunami, cold and then boiling, rising from his guts to his throat.
It was an insult. A mockery. A blasphemy against everything he had represented. If Heaven allowed this, then the system wasn't just broken; it was a bad joke designed specifically to fuck him over.
His wings—those translucent and blue wings he had obtained with his transformation—folded carefully on his body, began to unfold softly and start buzzing with agitation, creating a constant vibration in the air that made nearby furniture shake slightly.
And then, as if all that accumulated rage finally found an outlet, Adam exploded.
He got up from the sofa with such speed and force that the furniture slid several inches back, its legs dragging against the wooden floor with a high-pitched screech.
His wings unfolded completely—extending to their maximum wingspan, casting dancing shadows throughout the room as the firelight reflected on their translucent surface.
"WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?!"
The scream echoed through the entire house—so loud, so charged with primordial fury, that the windows shook in their frames. Delicate objects on the shelves shook, some falling and breaking against the floor. The fire in the fireplace flickered violently, almost extinguishing under the weight of his rabid presence.
Adam pointed toward the television with a trembling hand, his claws extended as if he wanted to pierce the screen and tear Blitzo apart personally.
"MURDER SERVICES?! KILLING HUMANS ON EARTH?!"
His voice distorted at the edges, taking a deeper, more inhuman quality—an echo of what he had become, of the primordial and corrupt creature that now inhabited where once there had been an angel.
He took several steps toward the television, his whole body shaking with barely contained rage. His hands opened and closed repeatedly, as if he were imagining wrapping his fingers around the neck of every member of I.M.P and squeezing until they stopped breathing.
"Those damn losers are somehow crossing to Earth, the world the incompetents in Heaven are supposed to protect! And they are MURDERING MY PEOPLE for shitty money!"
His red eyes shone with intensity that was almost luminous in the gloom of the room, fixed on the screen where the newscast had returned, completely oblivious to the ad that had just caused this explosive reaction.
"And they have the nerve—the fucking NERVE—to advertise it! To promote themselves as if it were a normal cleaning service!"
Adam turned abruptly, his gaze sweeping the room—passing by Rosie (who was still smiling with barely contained amusement) and landing finally on Roo (who watched with malicious fascination).
His wings buzzed louder and louder, the sound filling the room until it was almost deafening. His hands closed into fists again, and when he spoke, his voice was a deep growl vibrating with promise of violence:
"Those bastards are going to pay. Every one of them. For every human they have killed, for every life they have ruined—I AM GOING TO MAKE THEM SUFFER IN WAYS THEY CAN'T EVEN IMAGINE... BECAUSE NO ONE TOUCHES EARTH WITHOUT MY PERMISSION!"
Adam threw his head back and a scream of pure rage, a sound that mixed the pain of the fallen man and the fury of the nascent beast.
"SONS OF BITCHESSSS!!!"
Adam's scream tore the air, a sound that vibrated the window panes until they almost broke. It wasn't a scream of pain, it was the roar of a colossal ego that had just been spat on by the universe once again.
His voice echoed throughout the mansion, escaping toward the empty town under the black dome, promising that Hell was about to get much, much louder.
The room remained charged with the energy of his fury, with the buzzing of his wings still resonating in the air, with the absolute certainty that Adam had added a new target to his increasingly long list of debts to collect.
And somewhere in the Pentagram, completely oblivious to the fact that he had just painted a massive target on his back, Blitzo was probably going on with his day, with no idea that the First Man—now transformed into a primordial demon with power rivaling the Deadly Sins—had seen his ad.
And he wasn't happy about it at all.
.
.
.
By the way, did you like the chapter? If you want to support my writing and get early access to my storys chapters, you can support me at Patreon com/c/Paxkun123. You have to type it all together in the search bar for it to work. Or if you just want to support me, you can do so at ko-fi com/paxkun12.
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