You really shouldn’t have touched the Asmodean Crystal.
But here you are, clutching the palm-sized gem nervously, a strange warmth pulsing in your hand. You found it by accident, tumbled under a broken fire hydrant when you were crossing the alley behind your apartment. The way it shimmered—strange, shifting inner colors—drew you in. Maybe it fell from some clumsy cosplayer or, more likely, some kid’s collectible. You are curious, impossibly so. Maybe that’s a sin, too.
And now, you stand in your bedroom, holding the thing up to the lamplight. As soon as your thumb traces the etched rune on its surface, the world hiccups around you. A swirling portal of rancid red and pulsing gold tears itself open in your apartment wall—and you do the only logical thing: stare in stunned, gaping awe.
On the other side—a building, a hotel like no other. At least seven stories, bristling with a circus tent out front and architectural chaos: turrets, broken windows, remnants of ships and carousel, even a looping train on an impossible track. Neon flashes, "HAZBIN HOTEL," in pink and white, and a glowing "ON AIR" sign blinks above what looks like a small broadcasting den perched dangerously close to the roof's edge.
The aroma that wafts through the portal shouldn’t seem inviting, but your stomach knots itself in hunger. You haven’t eaten since yesterday—money’s been tight, and you planned to spend tonight with nothing but a glass of water. But there, just inside the hotel’s glass doors, a spread of food shines beneath staying beams.
Curiosity wins.
Stepping over the threshold, you gasp—the air tastes different (sharper, tinged with sugar and soap and the punch of heady perfume) and the whole lobby feels like you just stumbled into a fever dream: gothic and regal, gold leaf shining on every visible surface, lush crimson wallpaper alternating with glowing green wood in odd corners. Apple and snake motifs, carnival lights, upside-down chandeliers, and eyes—oh god, eyes—watch from every vase, painting, and sconce.
So you do what any reasonable lost soul with a grumbling gut would do—you stuff your face. The table is heavy with food and drink, and you reason it’s a communal thing. You’re not stealing, right? The cheese melts like bliss, the bread’s warm, the glass of whatever-that-is sits, tempting—so you drink deep. You nearly choke, expecting wine, but getting the tartest, most energy-fueled buzz you’ve ever tasted.
Afterward, you drift through the lounge, trying to blend in with ornate shadows. No one seems to notice you—yet. The temptation to wander deeper is overwhelming, but you tickle the edge of foolishness, so you hug the walls, slipping behind crates, dusty white sheets over furniture, and peek through shattered window frames now painstakingly restored. The grand bar glows green against skulls and snakes, cards and candles flickering in the half-light, and a “Beelzejuice” neon sign hums like a dare.
Someone yells from the kitchen—a New York-accented male voice laced with venom.
“Who the FUCK ate my BLT? Vaggie, I swear—this is the last goddamn straw if someone’s messing with my stuff again!”
“Angel, I didn’t touch your fucking sandwich, so quit whining like a child!” a woman snaps, her voice serrated in irritation.
You stifle laughter in your hands, guilt prickling, but it’s still funny. The shrill argument draws a third angry voice—a rough, gravel-pitched growl:
“I was SAVING that whiskey, you pinche bastardos! Where the hell did it all GO?”
It shouldn’t be this hilarious, listening to demons bicker over sandwiches and stolen liquor. But the Hazbin Hotel, even in pristine renovation, sounds like the world's weirdest sitcom.
Time blurs; hunger fades. You manage to sleep in odd places, usually behind crates or deep in empty rooms—one night in an abandoned guest room, once even in a bath tub tucked behind stacks of linen. Then, inevitably, your stomach rebels—too much strange fare, nerves, cold floors do their work. You slip into one of the hotel’s restrooms, lock the door, and breathe in relief. Even Hell’s bathrooms are normal—filthy, graffitied, porcelain cracked, but usable.
You flush, try the soap (which smells like cigarette butts and roses), and slip back into the shadows. But soon—a new crisis.
“Ew, what the actual FUCK died in here?” Angel Dust shouts, stomping past the bathroom, holding his nose.
“GODDAMMIT! Someone needs to fucking clean these toilets before I lose it,” Vaggie snarls.
“Whoever did that should be fucking shot,” Husk grumbles, shuffling past with a glare.
You snicker, hand clapped over your mouth. Even here, in a hotel packed with monsters, bathroom drama reigns supreme.
You become myth—a rumor. Random crumbs, missing pastries, and strange noises encourage wild speculation. The staff blames Husk for the empty bottles, Vaggie blames Angel for the mess, and Angel blames… everyone else. No one expects a real, live human.
But nothing lasts forever.
It’s a bright, hellish morning when Niffty catches you. She’s small, a cyclops with googly energy, and you nearly scream. She stares, eyes round, then lights up like a Christmas tree.
“Ohmygosh, ohmygosh, OHMYGOSH! GUYS!” she shrieks, giggling and dashing away, trailing pink ribbons and panic.
You freeze, heart slamming in your chest and mouth desert-dry. Moments later, as you scramble to hide, Fat Nuggets—or maybe Razzle—corner you in the laundry room. Fat Nuggets makes an unearthly squealing sound, and suddenly you are surrounded.
Charlie Morningstar stands at the front, expression muggy with confusion and shimmer-eyed curiosity. She’s beautiful and bizarre, golden hair and an honest, lost smile.
“Wait. You’re a human? Here? In Hell? How is that even possible?” she asks.
Vaggie’s furious. “If this is some dumbass prank from the Lust Ring, I’m going to wring someone’s neck. Who the fuck eat my snacks?!” She points a sword at you.
Angel Dust scowls. “Are you shitting me, princess? THIS mortal’s been the one stinking up the damn joint? Hell nah, I ain’t cleaning up after this.”
Husk just looks incredulous, slitted eyes rolling as he downs a shot.
“Shit. I knew I wasn’t that drunk. Great, now we’re officially a fuckin’ circus.”
But none are as terrifying as the tall, grinning specter beside them, all red pinstripes and toothy, soul-hungry delight. Alastor. The Radio Demon, infamous, elegant, and impossibly menacing.
“Well, well, well! A most delightful anomaly! You, my dear lost lamb, have made quite the stir! Hohoho~ Such scandal, such gossip! Would you care for a joke before supper?”
He doesn’t wait for your answer. His cane tilts, he leans close, voice crackling with radio static. His smile never lessens—only grows, impossibly wide.
“You see, in Hell, privacy is…relatively dead. But trespassing? Oh, that’s practically dinner theatre!”
You don’t even have time to scream before he’s upon you.
Red magic flares, shadows tangle, and you feel pressure—sharp, hot, wet—then darkness as teeth split skin and gristle. The pain is brief; the horror, endless. You hear Angel cackle, “Damn, Al! Save some for the rest of us!” and Husk mutter, “Better out than in, I guess…” Vaggie curses, “For fuck’s sake! Now there’s blood everywhere. I just cleaned!”
Then, silence.
You wake lying in an alley beneath a garish billboard glowing “PENTAGRAM CITY.” Your hands are pale, twisted, far more…demonesque. Your reflection in a broken window shows eyes all pupil and no whites, jagged black lines along your cheeks. You feel your new tail curl around your foot. Dead. Reborn. Now a sinner demon.
You wander aimlessly until, somewhere deep down, the memory—Hazbin Hotel—pulls you. Home, in a way. And hope, however small.
You return, stepping through the doors as a demon now, to Charlie’s bright, patient smile.
“Welcome! I’m glad you came back. Redeeming yourself won’t be easy, but we believe in you!”
For the first time since you found the Crystal, you feel safe.
Angel Dust props his many elbows on the bar and grins. “You stickin’ around this time? Don’t mess with my food unless you wanna die again, honey.”
Husk just smirks, slinging a bottle. “Hope you like chores, rookie.”
Vaggie eyes you, shaking her head. “Try not to stink up the bathrooms, alright?”
Alastor looms, cane clicking, voice velvet and static and glee, “Welcome to redemption, my dear! Try not to bore me.”
And so, you begin—unsure, raw, ready to shed your human guilt, step by awkward step—your journey toward forgiveness in a city built on sin.
Maybe, just maybe, you can make it out—not just alive, but redeemed. And maybe, one day, you’ll earn your wings.
This story was generated by user HelluvaJester with assistance by one of OpenAI’s large-scale language-generation model; prompts used to help generate the story are shown below.
Images were generated with OpenAI's AI system, DALL·E 2, or uploaded by the user.
Prompt: Write a POV second-person story of a human, who finds an Asmodean Crystal (which Blitzo (an imp from an adults cartoon/animated series Helluva Boss) accidentally dropped one of them during his mission with the other crewmembers of I.M.P. (Immediate Murder Professionals) including Moxxie, Millie, and Loona) and decided, out of innocent curiosity, to test out the Asmodean Crystal to see what happens. The portal to Hell then opens to reveals the entrance to the Hazbin Hotel (from the namesake adults cartoon/animated series "Hazbin Hotel"), and the human (with no ill intent and with pure curiosity) enters the portal and into Hell before he/she goes through the hotel's entrance doors and enters inside the Hazbin Hotel without the hotel's staff or guests/clients/patrons knowing. Here is what the hotel looks like; The Hazbin Hotel exterior is a tall, elaborate amalgamation of arched windows and turrets, one of which seems to be broken. It appears to be at least seven stories tall, with at least five of which being guest floors. Remnants of an airship, an ocean liner, a sailing ship and a carousel litter both sides and appear to have been incorporated into the structure of the building itself; there is also a train with some tracks looping the first and second floor exterior. Located on the top right of the building is a small radio broadcasting room, which is used as the work area for Alastor. Many signs are displayed outside the hotel: One atop the entrance reminiscent of the Hazbin Hotel logo, a large pink one atop the building with the hotel's name in lights, a neon 'HOTEL' sign at the bottom right and atop the building where Alastor's broadcast room is located, a small 'On-Air' sign is visible. Also located on the outer facade are various arrows pointing to the entrance and the broadcast room. The entrance has a tented cover with a booth in the center reminiscent of a circus or theater ticket booth. On either side of the booth are a set of double doors that have stained glass; in the pilot, they once depicted an apple on each one but were destroyed by an explosion due to Sir Pentious blowing up the doors with his airship (prior to Sir Pentious changing ways to become a nicer person before redeeming himself and becoming a saint angel (after his willing sacrifice against the series' main antagonist Adam (the exorcist angel) just before Adam is defeated by Lucifer Morningstar and killed by Niffty) in the season 1's finale episode "The Show Must Go On"). The hotel's interior (prior to this story) was shown to be in a state of disrepair, with wooden boards covering shattered windows, signs warning of asbestos, bloodied tools left lying around, and paintings are shown hanging off the walls (however, just after the season 1's finale episode "The Show Must Go On", these have been fixed after the hotel was rebuilt by Charlie's father Lucifer Morningstar). Much of the furniture in the lobby are strewn around haphazardly or remain boxed up in several large wooden crates. The bar uses skeletons, snakes, and bones as general themes, along with card suits and candles, and advertises itself as a casino. The area the bar in has glowing green wooden walls instead of the usual red wallpaper, with a "Jackpot" sign on the left wall and a Beelzejuice neon sign on the right wall. The word "concierge" can be presumed to be shown above the bar, and Alastor calls it the front desk when talking to Husk, suggesting that it is also the check-in counter. Despite the shabby and poor condition of the hotel, the overall theme of the building remains ornate and regal, with stained glass windows, lavish furniture, and generous usage of gold. Like the rest of Hell, the hotel has a largely red color scheme. There are many apple, snake and circus motifs throughout the hotel's interior, in reference to Charlie Morningstar's royal family, or more specifically, Lucifer Morningstar. Eyes are also a recurring theme throughout the building, appearing on the frame of almost every single painting and several vases and jars. The room the two women (Charlie Morningstar and Vaggie) share is rather large, with a regal look and a large bed, and has a window with a view of Pentagram City. Angel Dust's room has striped wallpaper, a vanity, mirrors, a place to put his wigs, and a bed with several pillows of various design, while beside it is a small bed for Fat Nuggets shaped like a pink heart with a small pillow on top, and with both beds on a single platform with neon lights. The wall behind the bed has photos of him, Cherri, and Fat Nuggets, as well as a couple of his film posters, while the bedside wall has neon lights shaped like webs. The door to his room has neon lights shaped like webs with hearts, and has three photos of him and his friends, and Fat Nuggets. Alastor's room has a mixture between both traditional décor and the fantastical, with one half being a classic "fancy study", complete with tasteful wallpaper and furnishings, the other half being a literal swamp conjured as a dining area. Sir Pentious' room (prior to Sir Pentious' death and sacrifice in the season 1's finale episode "The Show Must Go On") shared his (Sir Pentious') airship's steampunk aesthetics of golden cogs and gears and a red and black color scheme, while his bed was a circular mattress lined with pillows; this room is now currently vacant due to Sir Pentious' invented sacrifice. After going through the hotel's doors, the human finds himself/herself in the hotel's lounge room before finding the food and drinks on the table and consumes some of them (he wrongly believes no one will mind this, wrongly believing that the food are for everyone to eat and drink), since he/she is both hungry and thirsty (because he/she has not eaten for a day, so he/she needs food and something to drink). The human then goes into hiding within the hotel to avoid being discovered by Charlie Morningstar (founder of the Hazbin Hotel who is the daughter of King Lucifer Morningstar and Queen Lilith Morningstar, and was born in Hell, hence her status as a hellborn demon), Vaggie (lesbian manager of the Hazbin Hotel and Charlie's girlfriend (Vaggie sometimes swears/cusses), formerly an heavenborn exorcist angel but was banished by Lute to Hell for refusing to kill a sinner demon), Angel Dust (a tall and gay spider-like sinner demon (formerly a human but succumbed to an overdose sometime in his early 30s in 1947 and arrived in Hell as a sinner demon), an adult entertainer (he even swears/cusses), and the first volunteer for Charlie's Hazbin Hotel (which is a rehabilitation program)), Alastor (an eccentric sinner demon (who was once a human, but died in 1933 due to a dog-related incident), and one of the overlords of Hell), Husk (an ill-tempered, gambling, alcoholic cat-like sinner demon (he even swears/cusses), who was once a human, but he died in the 1970s after being ambushed with his platoon, captured, tortured, beaten, and possibly from alcohol overdose, and he arrives in Hell as a sinner demon), Niffty (a small, hyperactive cyclops-like sinner demon who was once a human woman from the 1950s before her death and arriving in Hell as a sinner demon), Razzle (a small and winged goat-like demon who serve as Charlie's bodyguard), Fat Nuggets (Angel Dust's demonic pet pig), or KeeKee (Charlie's pet demonic mouthless cyclops cat); none of the demons know who really ate the food minutes, so either Vaggie, Angel Dust, or Husk gets really angry about their food getting eaten (the human doesn't mean to upset anyone, since he/she didn't know the food belonged to the hotel's demons). This makes the human quietly snicker out in amusement (he/she finds the demons' complaints about the stolen food and drinks kinda funny, even if the human feels guilty). The human then felt like he/she had to pee/poop, so he/she also uses one of the hotel's restrooms to get rid of his/her pee and poop, while he/she also does not get caught by the demons; the demons (mainly Vaggie, Angel Dust, and Husk, but Niffty also is grossed out by the smell) smell the nasty odor, which the human doesn't find too bad unlike the demons, and just like how these demons complained about their food and drinks being eaten earlier, these demons complain about that awful smell coming from the restroom (despite the human having already flushed the toilet, the smell still lingers, but the smell is not too terrible (and not that different from Earth and is identical to the smell back on Earth) to the human unlike to the demons, which to them smells very bad), while these demons do not know it was the human who made that smell. This also makes the human quietly snicker out in amusement (he/she finds the demons' complaints about the bathroom's smell kinda funny, even if the human feels guilty). However, while the human's secrecy in the Hazbin Hotel has lasted for a long while (either for several days or weeks, despite causing the restroom's smell and the food and drinks being consumed by the human himself/herself), is then (much to his/her horror) discovered by one of the Hazbin Hotel's occupants, discovered by either Niffty (who would then smile/grin and scream out of excitement before running off to let the other demons know about the human being in the hotel), or Razzle (who is completely silent, but will still let the other demons know even without speech), or one of the hotel's pets (Fat Nuggets or KeeKee), leading to rumors of a human inhabiting the hotel among the demons. Sadly and eventually (either hours or days later after the first demon finds the human), the human, much to his/her horror, is found by another demon, who yells/tells other demons about his/her presence to let them about it. The demons then surround the human (with Charlie Morningstar being confused while Vaggie, Angel Dust, and Husk being unhappy with the human eating their food and stinking up the restroom, whilst also just as confused about the human being in Hell, just as all other demons being confused about the human being in Hell, since no human has ever visited or lived in Hell) before one of the demons (most likely Alastor, who enjoys chaos such as this (plus, Alastor doesn't want the human to spread tales of either Hazbin Hotel or all of Hell's existence)) brutally kills the human (blood and gore involved) through cannibalism (shredding the human's flesh with his teeth and devouring/eating the human). After the human's death, the human then manifests back in Pentagram City (located in the Pride Ring of Hell) as a sinner demon (confirming that he/she had died, hence why he/she is no longer mortal) due to his/her sinful trespassing into the Hazbin Hotel. Later, although the sinner demon (formerly the human himself/herself) no longer could come back home on Earth, he/she wants to be rehabilitated (in short, redeemed) so he/she could hopefully one day be accepted by Heaven and manifest in Heaven as a saint angel (which are unlike heavenborn angels, which were always born angels, since the saint angels were once humans before they died), so the sinner demon (formerly the human himself/herself) enters the Hazbin Hotel (now with purpose) and is welcomed by Charlie Morningstar, and the sinner demon (formerly the human himself/herself) starts trying to redeem himself/herself and socializes with the Hazbin Hotel's other clients/patrons in a healthy/positive and non-sinful manner, in hopes that one day he/she will be redeemed and be accepted by Heaven so that he/she will be converted into a saint angel and he/she will live forever in peace in the heavenly afterlife. For Alastor's appearance (for more information), he is a slim (having an unnaturally thin torso, neck, arms, and legs, except his shoulders are broad), dapper sinner demon with beige-colored skin, and usually has an unnaturally broad smile (reaching from each cheek's upper area) full of sharp, yellow teeth (he has no ability to frown due to this permanent smile). He is approximately 7 feet tall. He sports a pinkish-red cropped, angled bob-cut with black tips at the ends and two large, black tipped tufts of hair extending from the top of his head, evoking the ears of a deer. The style has an undercut at the back, and two small black antlers protruding from the crown, which can grow in size in his full demonic form. Alastor's eyes have dark-red sclerae, bright-red irises and thin black pupils (which can change into the shape of radio dials when shifting into his full demon form). He also has four fingers (like all Hazbin Hotel and Helluva Boss characters), unlike real world humans. His forearms and lower legs fade to dark grey, and he has red hoof-toed feet and red clawed fingers. Alastor wears a red pinstripe coat with dark-red lapels piped with white, which is ragged along the bottom hem. Underneath this he wears a bright red dress-shirt with a black cross on the chest, and long black dress pants with matching bright red cuffs. He also wears a dark-red oval-shaped monocle, rimmed with black, over his right eye. He accessorizes with a black knotted bowtie with a bright red center, black gloves with red at the fingertips, and black pointed-toe boots with red deer hoofprints emblazoned on the soles. Alastor also carries a thin cane with a sentient vintage style microphone attached to it, which he uses to play sound effects and broadcast his voice. His voice also sounds like it is coming from an old-fashioned vintage radio. Alastor has many supernatural powers, such as demon transformation (the ability to turn into a more powerful demon form), flexibility (able to contort his body into numerous unnatural poses), demonic magic (able to cast magic thanks to the high power-level he has accrued in the demon ranking system, this magic takes the visual form of glowing red symbols that resemble Voodoo veve, which float around him), shadow manipulation (able to summon shadows and manipulate them into doing his bidding), spatial warping (able to get around with the help of his shadow, allowing teleportation through this ability), portal creation (able to transport others to his location easily via the portals he makes), pyrokinesis (able to summon small balls of fire for display purpose), phytokinesis (able to make plants wilt with a single stare), manifestation, photokinesis (able to project red glowing light from his eyes as well as his microphone), and outfit alteration (capable of changing the outfits of his targets as well as his own with a snap of a finger). He is also capable of various other abilities including deal-making (as Alastor is known to be a deal-maker demon; deal-maker demons like Alastor can increase their power by dealing in souls, which is a very powerful commodity in hell, so they’re seen as very manipulative and not to be toyed with, deal-making is not something every demon can do, as such it is not to be taken lightly as it doesn’t generally work out well for the other party), broadcasting (when he was a living human, Alastor's profession was as a radio show host, and he continues his broadcasts in Hell as a demon, ensuring that Hell's denizens are aware of his activities over the airwaves, earning him the title of "The Radio Demon"), bilingualism (Alastor can speak English fluently as well as some broken Creole French), cooking (Alastor is noted to be "a big foodie" and mentions having admired his mother's cooking, specifically her Jambalaya), musical/dancing/theatrical talent (Alastor is known to display moderate vocal abilities and excels at dancing, with some people noting tap to be a style he excels in specifically, he also shows a flair for theatrical showmanship), and wide intellect (Alastor is known to be quite a cunning individual, resulting in him accruing a large amount of power through his tricks and deal-making). Alastor stands out from many of the more chaotic residents of hell for his well maintained amiable persona. He gives a first-impression of a good-natured and charming man, wearing a permanently wide grin on his face at all times. His behavior, mannerisms, and even his voice are similar to an old-fashioned radio announcer and speaks with a transatlantic accent, often using quaint anachronisms such as "the picture show" and refers to Charlie as a "charming demon belle". This playful dandyish exterior, however, obscures a much darker side to him - one with high levels of self-importance - and he will not hesitate to use physical violence when others don't act in line with his very particular values or expectations. He is noted to be narcissistic, with his love for himself being stated that no one else can measure up to it, and he does not see many people quite up to his level. Alastor is described as a man of duality. He values good manners, affability and intelligence very highly in others, and will actively look down on those who do not meet his standards, however he will often play fast and loose with these arbitrary rules in regards to himself and his own conduct. Alastor has an odd sense of morality, which is described as "not normal", and has been noted to be quite sadistic, even cannibalistic, devouring lesser demons or those that have incurred his anger. Despite this, he keeps close friends with the other cannibals of Hell, including the denizens at the Cannibal Town. His smiling is a very self enforced form of ego and a show of power and dominance; he looks down on anyone who lets their true emotions show, and even when faced with a rival in strength, if they let slip a frown, Alastor will see them as truly weak. His smile is also to be more unpredictable and unnerving, and gives him a feeling of complete control over himself. While Alastor is powerful, he is aware that there are other demons and entities that rival him in terms of power, such as other Overlords. For this reason, he is wary around such demons, as they could potentially harm him if he is not careful. Despite everything, Alastor does genuinely seem to want to help Charlie run the Hazbin Hotel, albeit for his own amusement, and hopes for its failure over siding with her idealism. Alastor also dismisses the idea that redemption is possible as laughable, nevertheless, he fulfills his role as patron as promised, providing the hotel with staff, and protecting Charlie and her business from outside threats. He views the whole endeavor as a fun distraction from his decades of boredom. Despite consistently having a confident and cheerful demeanor, he harbors a vulnerable side that becomes apparent when confronted with reminders of being "chained". In this instance, his facade of certainty crumbles, and he succumbs to panic attack. According to Mimzy (Alastor's friend), when Alastor was alive he would become a "kitten" (not literally a kitten) if he drank enough rye whiskey while jazz music was on. Here are Alastor's preferences (his likes and dislikes); he likes himself (including his own fashion style), smiling, doodling, gossip and drama, invading others' personal space, his mother and her cooking, jazz music, strong liquor, cooking, seeing people fail, playing pranks, bitter tastes (especially those of black coffee), theater, dancing, the Stock Market Crash of 1929, venison, being in charge, Charlie's potential, pineapple on pizza, and making jokes. However, he dislikes Lucifer Morningstar (the king of Hell and Charlie Morningstar's father) and his "tacky" circus décor, Susan (a Cannibal Town resident), being touched (including his hair being touched), dogs, frowning, tea, anything sweet, Angel Dust's sexual remarks, being humbled, post-30s' technology, anyone ruining his outfit, being controlled and reminded of it, the idea of the hotel failing, and Mimzy bringing destruction to the hotel. There should also be quotes (including swear words such as, but not limited to f-bombs, coming from Vaggie, Angel Dust, and Husk) from the characters in this story so we know what they're saying and what they're thinking. Also, it is a POV reader story, so it should not be in an author's point of view (my, I, mine, etc), and it should be from the point of view of the human reader (you, your, etc).
Response: You really shouldn’t have touched the Asmodean Crystal. But here you are, clutching the palm-sized gem nervously, a strange warmth pulsing in your hand. You found it by accident, tumbled under a broken fire hydrant when you were crossing the alley behind your apartment. The way it shimmered—strange, shifting inner colors—drew you in. Maybe it fell from some clumsy cosplayer or, more likely, some kid’s collectible. You are curious, impossibly so. Maybe that’s a sin, too. And now, you stand in your bedroom, holding the thing up to the lamplight. As soon as your thumb traces the etched rune on its surface, the world hiccups around you. A swirling portal of rancid red and pulsing gold tears itself open in your apartment wall—and you do the only logical thing: stare in stunned, gaping awe. On the other side—a building, a hotel like no other. At least seven stories, bristling with a circus tent out front and architectural chaos: turrets, broken windows, remnants of ships and carousel, even a looping train on an impossible track. Neon flashes, "HAZBIN HOTEL," in pink and white, and a glowing "ON AIR" sign blinks above what looks like a small broadcasting den perched dangerously close to the roof's edge. The aroma that wafts through the portal shouldn’t seem inviting, but your stomach knots itself in hunger. You haven’t eaten since yesterday—money’s been tight, and you planned to spend tonight with nothing but a glass of water. But there, just inside the hotel’s glass doors, a spread of food shines beneath staying beams. Curiosity wins. Stepping over the threshold, you gasp—the air tastes different (sharper, tinged with sugar and soap and the punch of heady perfume) and the whole lobby feels like you just stumbled into a fever dream: gothic and regal, gold leaf shining on every visible surface, lush crimson wallpaper alternating with glowing green wood in odd corners. Apple and snake motifs, carnival lights, upside-down chandeliers, and eyes—oh god, eyes—watch from every vase, painting, and sconce. So you do what any reasonable lost soul with a grumbling gut would do—you stuff your face. The table is heavy with food and drink, and you reason it’s a communal thing. You’re not stealing, right? The cheese melts like bliss, the bread’s warm, the glass of whatever-that-is sits, tempting—so you drink deep. You nearly choke, expecting wine, but getting the tartest, most energy-fueled buzz you’ve ever tasted. Afterward, you drift through the lounge, trying to blend in with ornate shadows. No one seems to notice you—yet. The temptation to wander deeper is overwhelming, but you tickle the edge of foolishness, so you hug the walls, slipping behind crates, dusty white sheets over furniture, and peek through shattered window frames now painstakingly restored. The grand bar glows green against skulls and snakes, cards and candles flickering in the half-light, and a “Beelzejuice” neon sign hums like a dare. Someone yells from the kitchen—a female voice laced with venom. “Who the FUCK ate my BLT? Vaggie, I swear—this is the last goddamn straw if someone’s messing with my stuff again!” “Angel, I didn’t touch your fucking sandwich, so quit whining like a child!” another woman snaps, her voice serrated in irritation. You stifle laughter in your hands, guilt prickling, but it’s still funny. The shrill argument draws a third angry voice—a rough, gravel-pitched growl: “I was SAVING that whiskey, you pinche bastardos! Where the hell did it all GO?” It shouldn’t be this hilarious, listening to demons bicker over sandwiches and stolen liquor. But the Hazbin Hotel, even in pristine renovation, sounds like the world's weirdest sitcom. Time blurs; hunger fades. You manage to sleep in odd places, usually behind crates or deep in empty rooms—one night in an abandoned guest room, once even in a bath tub tucked behind stacks of linen. Then, inevitably, your stomach rebels—too much strange fare, nerves, cold floors do their work. You slip into one of the hotel’s restrooms, lock the door, and breathe in relief. Even Hell’s bathrooms are normal—filthy, graffitied, porcelain cracked, but usable. You flush, try the soap (which smells like cigarette butts and roses), and slip back into the shadows. But soon—a new crisis. “Ew, what the actual FUCK died in here?” Angel Dust shouts, stomping past the bathroom, holding his nose. “GODDAMMIT! Someone needs to fucking clean these toilets before I lose it,” Vaggie snarls. “Whoever did that should be fucking shot,” Husk grumbles, shuffling past with a glare. You snicker, hand clapped over your mouth. Even here, in a hotel packed with monsters, bathroom drama reigns supreme. You become myth—a rumor. Random crumbs, missing pastries, and strange noises encourage wild speculation. The staff blames Husk for the empty bottles, Vaggie blames Angel for the mess, and Angel blames… everyone else. No one expects a real, live human. But nothing lasts forever. It’s a bright, hellish morning when Niffty catches you. She’s small, a cyclops with googly energy, and you nearly scream. She stares, eyes round, then lights up like a Christmas tree. “Ohmygosh, ohmygosh, OHMYGOSH! GUYS!” she shrieks, giggling and dashing away, trailing pink ribbons and panic. You freeze, heart slamming in your chest and mouth desert-dry. Moments later, as you scramble to hide, Fat Nuggets—or maybe Razzle—corner you in the laundry room. Fat Nuggets makes an unearthly squealing sound, and suddenly you are surrounded. Charlie Morningstar stands at the front, expression muggy with confusion and shimmer-eyed curiosity. She’s beautiful and bizarre, golden hair and an honest, lost smile. “Wait. You’re a human? Here? In Hell? How is that even possible?” she asks. Vaggie’s furious. “If this is some dumbass prank from the Lust Ring, I’m going to wring someone’s neck. Who the fuck eat my snacks?!” She points a sword at you. Angel Dust scowls. “Are you shitting me, princess? THIS mortal’s been the one stinking up the damn joint? Hell nah, I ain’t cleaning up after this.” Husk just looks incredulous, slitted eyes rolling as he downs a shot. “Shit. I knew I wasn’t that drunk. Great, now we’re officially a fuckin’ circus.” But none are as terrifying as the tall, grinning specter beside them, all red pinstripes and toothy, soul-hungry delight. Alastor. The Radio Demon, infamous, elegant, and impossibly menacing. “Well, well, well! A most delightful anomaly! You, my dear lost lamb, have made quite the stir! Hohoho~ Such scandal, such gossip! Would you care for a joke before supper?” He doesn’t wait for your answer. His cane tilts, he leans close, voice crackling with radio static. His smile never lessens—only grows, impossibly wide. “You see, in Hell, privacy is…relatively dead. But trespassing? Oh, that’s practically dinner theatre!” You don’t even have time to scream before he’s upon you. Red magic flares, shadows tangle, and you feel pressure—sharp, hot, wet—then darkness as teeth split skin and gristle. The pain is brief; the horror, endless. You hear Angel cackle, “Damn, Al! Save some for the rest of us!” and Husk mutter, “Better out than in, I guess…” Vaggie curses, “For fuck’s sake! Now there’s blood everywhere. I just cleaned!” Then, silence. You wake lying in an alley beneath a garish billboard glowing “PENTAGRAM CITY.” Your hands are pale, twisted, far more…demonesque. Your reflection in a broken window shows eyes all pupil and no whites, jagged black lines along your cheeks. You feel your new tail curl around your foot. Dead. Reborn. Now a sinner demon. You wander aimlessly until, somewhere deep down, the memory—Hazbin Hotel—pulls you. Home, in a way. And hope, however small. You return, stepping through the doors as a demon now, to Charlie’s bright, patient smile. “Welcome! I’m glad you came back. Redeeming yourself won’t be easy, but we believe in you!” For the first time since you found the Crystal, you feel safe. Angel Dust props his many elbows on the bar and grins. “You stickin’ around this time? Don’t mess with my food unless you wanna die again, honey.” Husk just smirks, slinging a bottle. “Hope you like chores, rookie.” Vaggie eyes you, shaking her head. “Try not to stink up the bathrooms, alright?” Alastor looms, cane clicking, voice velvet and static and glee, “Welcome to redemption, my dear! Try not to bore me.” And so, you begin—unsure, raw, ready to shed your human guilt, step by awkward step—your journey toward forgiveness in a city built on sin. Maybe, just maybe, you can make it out—not just alive, but redeemed. And maybe, one day, you’ll earn your wings.
Post your own comment or use AI: