Hell's Redeemer

Chapter 57

As Lute meticulously examined the site of destruction, her eyes narrowed at a peculiar set of impressions left on the battered ground and walls. Initially, she assumed they were random scuffs from the chaos, but upon closer inspection, they formed an unusual pattern.

Chains. The distinct outlines of thick, heavy links were faint but unmistakable, as if something powerful had dragged them with enough force to leave deep marks. She’d encountered infernal and divine marks before, but this felt different—controlled, intentional, like someone wielded them with precision and purpose.

One of her Exorcists, noticing her intense focus, stepped closer. “Commander Lute, what do you make of these marks? They’re not like anything we’ve seen from hell’s usual players, are they?”

Lute shook her head slowly, her brow furrowed. “No, they’re not. Whoever—or whatever—left these has a power that doesn’t match any demon we know of. There’s intent behind this destruction. Purpose.” She trailed her fingers along the outline of a chain link, a sense of foreboding settling over her.

As she scanned the scene, her mind raced with questions. How could a force capable of leaving these marks exist here without notice from heaven? And why were they surfacing only now, in the wake of these strange energy bursts?

Lute turned to her team, her voice carrying a note of urgency. “Document everything. We need to cross-reference these markings with any ancient records on infernal weapons or divine anomalies. This isn’t a typical demon or rogue spirit. Someone—something—is here that shouldn’t be, and I intend to find out what it is.”

Her team moved quickly, every detail scrutinized. Lute took a final glance at the chain impressions, a cold determination filling her.

Whoever this was, they were powerful enough to move through hell and leave a wake of destruction that didn’t fit any known entity. And if they could wield something this potent, heaven had a problem far more pressing than they realized.
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Spawn stared out over the sprawling cityscape of Pentagram City, the twisted, crimson glow of Hell casting its eternal light over everything. Sitting alone on the hotel roof, he let his thoughts drift over the events that had led him to this strange new world. Every encounter, every odd alliance, every friend he’d made—none of it made sense in the life he used to know.

Back on Earth, he’d been a lone wolf, a weapon in constant motion, only fueled by anger and revenge. And yet, here in this version of Hell, he’d found himself caring. Against every instinct, he was starting to see these demons, sinners, and misfits as something more than just souls condemned to suffer. They had stories, pasts, struggles—some of which mirrored his own.

He thought of Charlie, with her unbreakable optimism and stubborn determination to make Hell a better place. Her kindness and compassion had worn down his defenses more than he wanted to admit. There was also Vaggie, who was always wary of him but respected his strength and focus. And even Verosika, who’d opened up in a way that had surprised him, resonating with parts of himself he’d tried to bury long ago.

How had he come to be here—someone they actually relied on? Someone they looked to as a friend?

He clenched his fists, almost frustrated by the realization. Part of him didn’t want this. Caring about others was dangerous. Attachments meant vulnerability, and vulnerability had burned him before. But… maybe it didn’t have to be like that this time. Maybe he could still find strength in letting himself be close to these people, even if it meant accepting some scars along the way.

Spawn sat in silence, looking out over Hell with a faint sense of unease… but also something new—a sense of purpose he hadn’t felt in years.

As he sat there in his internal turmoil, Spawn heard someone come up to where he was. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Angel.