Vaggie The Moth Babe

Chapter 1: The Fire Below

The underworld was never quiet, even on the stillest of days. Rivers of molten brimstone bubbled in the distance, casting a faint orange glow through the windows of Hazbin Hotel, Hell's most curious establishment. At the top floor, in her office, Charlie Morningstar, princess of Hell, sat hunched over an endless stack of paperwork. She twirled a pen between her fingers, her once bright smile now dulled by hours of bureaucratic nonsense. Her golden curls shimmered in the dim light of the desk lamp, but her eyes carried a certain heaviness.

As she signed another form, the distinct crackle of fire echoed in the distance, though it barely stirred her. Hell was noisy—she had learned to tune out the ambient chaos. But what she couldn't ignore was the unmistakable thud of an angelic spear meeting solid ground. Over and over again.

She glanced toward the far wall where a single red light blinked. Vaggie was in the training facility again. Alone, of course. The room was built for her, and her alone. Access was restricted, and for good reason.

In the reinforced chamber below, a rhythmic pounding echoed through the facility. Vaggie stood in the center of the room, a blur of precise, calculated motion. Her angelic spear—a weapon she wielded with deadly grace—cut through the air with a soft, divine hum. Every swing was sharp, deliberate, and backed by an intensity that reflected not just her skill, but her inner turmoil. Her light tracksuit clung to her form, drenched in sweat as she moved, and her sneakers squeaked faintly with each pivot on the polished floor.

The red bow that held her hair in place fluttered slightly, the only delicate thing about her at the moment. Her left eye—marked by the glaring red X—flashed sporadically, a testament to the anger simmering within. Her teeth were clenched, her lips tight.

"Motherf—!" she swore, her words barely escaping before the next thrust of the spear punctuated the air. Her voice was rough, filled with anger that simmered just below the surface, struggling to break free.

She growled, "Piece of... garbage!" Another powerful thrust followed as she hurled curses at the imaginary enemies that filled her mind. The foul language rolled off her tongue as easily as her spear moved through the air. The harder she fought, the angrier she became, until each movement, every jab, was infused with rage.

Vaggie's style was beautiful, yet brutal. Every strike of the spear landed exactly where it was intended, the tip gleaming with a light that was paradoxically angelic, given where they were. Her arms moved like clockwork, each motion precise, each step calculated. This was her release, her way of controlling the uncontrollable—of letting out the anger and frustration that boiled within her, even if there was no visible foe in front of her.

But Hell had its enemies, and she knew they would return. They always did. She had to be ready, no matter the cost.

As her foot planted firmly for the final strike, she let out a deep, guttural scream, the red X on her eye flashing violently. The angelic spear shot forward with a force that made the ground beneath her tremble.

Then, silence.

Vaggie stood still, her chest rising and falling rapidly as sweat dripped down her face, her knuckles white from gripping the spear too tightly. Her hair was damp, strands sticking to her forehead, but the red bow remained perfectly tied. She bit her lip, swallowing the last curse on the tip of her tongue.

She walked to the side of the room, grabbing a towel from the rack, her hand trembling slightly. Wiping the sweat from her brow, she glanced at the mirror across the room. The reflection that stared back wasn't quite her own. The red X on her left eye blinked faintly, a reminder of her past, of her anger, of everything that had been taken from her.

"I'll get better..." she muttered to herself. "I have to..."

Just as Vaggie turned to leave, a soft chime echoed through the room—Charlie's voice over the intercom, her usual sweet tone cutting through the lingering tension.

"Vaggie, when you're done, could you come to my office? I... I need some help with something."

Vaggie sighed, looking down at the spear in her hands, feeling the divine weight of it. Her anger still simmered, but there was always something calming about Charlie's voice, something that softened the edge of her rage. Wrapping the towel around her neck, she took a deep breath and placed the spear back in its holder.

"Yeah, babe. Be right up."

With one last glance at the training facility, Vaggie headed for the door, her thoughts already shifting to the paperwork waiting for her in Charlie's office. The battles she fought were never just physical, and in Hell, there was always more to come.