The dim glow of a cracked laptop screen cut through the stale darkness of a cramped apartment in some forgotten corner of the city. It was three in the morning on yet another soul-crushing Monday (or was it already Tuesday? Who the hell kept track anymore?), and Midas was doing what every self-respecting webnovel degenerate did at that hour: doom-scrolling through the most unhinged comment sections on the internet.
He leaned back in his creaky gaming chair, one hand lazily cradling a half-empty energy drink that had gone warm hours ago, the other tapping out half-coherent replies like a man possessed.
"Seriously… Alastor is the biggest fraud in history," he muttered under his breath, voice low and dripping with that signature mix of exhausted sarcasm and chaotic glee. "Yeah, okay, he cooked the plan, sure. But him? Beating Mahito? Come on, man. Mahito would literally eat the entire Hazbin Hotel universe for breakfast and still have room for seconds. Think about it—that place is just a revolving door for cursed souls. One touch from Idle Transfiguration and the whole Hellaverse turns into a goddamn domain expansion playground. Mahito wouldn't even need to try hard. He'd just… reshape the entire cast into abstract art. Charlie? Now she's a crying meat puppet. Alastor? Radio static with extra tentacles. Vaggie? One less eye, two more mouths. It'd be beautiful. Tragic. Hilarious."
He scrolled down, refreshing the thread every few seconds, watching the flame war ignite like fireworks over a funeral. A smirk tugged at his lips.
Then his private messages pinged.
Unknown user:
{You'd like to see Mahito solaria the Hazbin verse?}
Midas raised an eyebrow, the blue light reflecting off his tired eyes. He stared at the message for a long second, trying to parse the broken Portuguese-English hybrid. Solaria? Probably meant "solara" or some shit—maybe "slaughter"? Whatever. The energy behind it felt… off. Playful in a dangerous way. Like the kind of bait a curse would drop right before it decided your soul looked like fun clay.
He typed back slowly, fingers hovering with theatrical flair.
{Okay, so I gotta write an impartial book? With hot girls or something? Fan-service? Maybe a little plot armor for the sinners so it doesn't end in five chapters?}
The reply came almost instantly, smooth and eerily calm, like a voice whispering from inside his own skull.
{Be more… "specific."}
Midas snorted, leaning closer to the screen. The apartment felt quieter now. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that happened right before a domain unfolded in Jujutsu Kaisen—when the air got thick, colors bled wrong, and you realized the world had just become someone else's playground.
{Heh, I dunno… thick women? Massive asses, maybe? Femboys if we're feeling generous. You know, the usual webnovel and anime slop i tink}
He hit send, then immediately felt it.
That wrongness.
A crawling sensation under his skin, like idle transfiguration brushing against his soul but not quite committing. The shadows in the corner of the room stretched a little too long. The laugh track from some distant Hazbin clip playing on loop in another tab suddenly sounded layered—like multiple voices giggling at once. One of them sounded suspiciously like Alastor's radio static mixed with Mahito's playful cruelty.
Midas blinked hard, shaking his head. "Nah… just tired. Three in the morning brainrot. Classic."
He glanced at the clock. 3:07 AM.
"Alright, bedtime. Four hours of sleep, then another glorious Tuesday pretending I'm a functional human at work. Same shit, different curse," he chuckled to himself, the sound hollow and echoing just a fraction too much in the empty apartment.
Midas shut the laptop with a soft click, the screen's glow dying like a soul being exorcised. He stumbled over to his unmade bed, collapsing face-first into the pillow that smelled faintly of instant ramen and broken dreams.
As his eyes fluttered shut, the last thing he registered was the faint ping of another message arriving in the dark.
Andand infinite possibility.
"Mahito in Hazbin verse, huh?" the curse whispered to no one and everyone, voice light and singsong. "Sounds fun~ Let's make it a real domain expansion. No holding back. Maximum… entertainment."
The apartment lights flickered once.
Midas was already snoring.
But the dream wasn't normal; in the background of a black space, there was a person, with skin as white as porcelain, wearing a top hat with an eye that saw him at all times. Who was that being? He would never know or see again...
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Hello my dear readers, I know some of you won't be too fond of the more adult theme, because, let's be honest, one of Midas's or Mahito's women is going to be the spider demon and the fall demon from Chainsaw Man (mi wife~)