Hell's Redeemer

Chapter 51

Mammon's eyes glinted with a cunning spark as he leaned back, already formulating the next steps. In his world, everyone had a price, a desire, a craving—something that would inevitably lead them into his gilded grasp. Spawn might have kept himself hidden from the usual web of Hell’s vices and greed, but that only made him more valuable. Someone so hard to pin down would be a goldmine if Mammon could figure out the right bait.

He summoned a handful of his most seasoned spies, notorious for digging up the dirtiest secrets and deepest desires of Hell's denizens. With a tap of his finger, he handed down the new orders. They weren’t just to look for scraps of information but to uncover any hint of weakness, any lingering attachment or longing that Spawn might harbor. Whatever Spawn wanted, Mammon would find it—or fabricate it, if necessary.

“Dig deeper,” Mammon sneered. “Everyone wants something. Find out what his is. I don’t care if he’s the biggest enigma in this pit—I’m not letting a potential investment like this slip away. He’ll come to me eventually. They all do.”

His men scattered, spreading out across Pentagram City and beyond. They would monitor Spawn’s every move, shadow his encounters, and sift through the wake of every skirmish he left behind. No matter how guarded Spawn was, there had to be a crack in his armor, a flicker of desire hidden somewhere beneath that cold, calculating surface. And once Mammon found it, he'd make Spawn an offer so irresistible, so perfectly tailored, that even he would have to take the bait.

The message was clear: Spawn wasn’t just a threat; he was a potential prize. And if Mammon had to reshape the very nature of Hell itself to bring Spawn into his fold, he was more than willing to pay the cost.
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Spawn approached the group of new arrivals with a reserved air, watching them with a careful gaze. Though he’d chosen to sit among them, there was still a stiffness to his posture, a reluctance he couldn’t quite shake. He wasn’t used to this—to introductions, to letting others get close.

But after a moment, he leaned forward just enough to be heard, and in a low, cautious tone, he spoke. “My name is Al... Al Simmons,” he said, his voice almost gruff, like he was testing how it felt to say his own name aloud in such a place. The name lingered in the air, and he could feel all eyes on him.

Charlie’s face lit up, but she didn’t press or make a big show of it. She understood what it took for him to share even that much. It was a huge step for someone who’d spent so long wrapped up in solitude and shadows. He glanced at her, seeing the quiet support in her expression, and he felt a small flicker of something close to relief.

Niffty immediately perked up, as lively as ever. “Well, hiya, Al! Glad to finally meet ya for real!” She chirped with enthusiasm, and he gave her the slightest nod. He still wasn’t used to her kind of bubbly energy, but he found it less grating tonight, almost... comforting.

Across the table, Angel Dust raised a brow with an amused grin. “So, Al,” he said, leaning back. “Glad to see you’re not just all cloak and shadows.” There was a hint of teasing, but also something respectful in his tone. Spawn gave him a quick glance, but didn’t respond, feeling it best not to encourage any prying.

Instead, he shifted his attention back to the others. He still felt the weight of their gazes, the curiosity in their eyes, and though it unnerved him, he stayed put. But as they went around sharing their stories, their backgrounds, Spawn stayed mostly silent, only nodding along as each new guest spoke. He didn’t want to say too much about himself—didn’t feel like he even knew how.

But as each person shared a small piece of themselves, he started to feel something shift inside him, some barrier easing up. He wasn’t sure he was ready to say more, but he found himself listening a little closer, feeling a sense of connection he hadn’t allowed himself in a long time.