Hell's Redeemer

Chapter 60

The world around him twisted and blurred, and he was pulled forward into an overwhelming flash of light and sound. He landed with a heavy thud, the ground beneath him hard and polished, catching his balance as he took in his new surroundings.

Spawn was now in Mammon’s domain—the ring of Greed. Towering golden structures glinted beneath an eerie, almost blinding light, each one shaped in distorted, decadent excess. Glittering spires, statues, and symbols of wealth surrounded him. Lavish decorations and grandiose designs filled every inch, each display more extravagant than the last, all awash in the sickly glow of greed incarnate.

In front of him, Mammon awaited—a rotund demon dressed in a jester’s outfit far more elaborate than the one his lackey wore. His long, sharp grin stretched as he took in his new guest, a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes.

“Well, well… I finally get to meet the infamous Spawn,” Mammon drawled, his voice laced with smug amusement. “You could say you’re a… valuable guest in my ring.” He gestured around at the golden towers and opulent displays, as if flaunting his realm.

As Spawn took in his new surroundings in Mammon's domain, his gaze fell upon an astonishing sight—a sprawling marketplace stretching as far as he could see, filled with gaudy displays of merchandise. And, to his utter disbelief, much of it bore his own image.

Rows upon rows of cheaply made figurines, shirts emblazoned with his face, posters, comic books, and even action figures. Each one featured his suited form, his chains, and the faint green glow of his necroplasm, rendered with varying degrees of accuracy.

Spawn's eyes narrowed in disgust as he walked closer to one of the stands, glaring at a bobblehead version of himself, its head bouncing with every slight movement. The sheer volume of merchandise dedicated to him was absurd—like something out of a surreal nightmare.

Behind him, Mammon's voice cut through his bewildered silence with a laugh. "Ah, I see you've noticed our little… tribute. You know, the people here can’t resist an icon of mystery and power,” he sneered, leaning into every word with smug pride. "You've been the talk of the rings since you started making waves.”

Spawn turned to face him, his fists clenched tightly. “You’re cashing in on me?” His voice was low, laced with a growing anger.

Mammon’s grin was unrepentant as he spread his hands. "Call it a business venture, if you will. And don’t think of it as cashing in—think of it as… giving the people of hell something to aspire to. Even someone like you can become a household name.” His tone was mocking, clearly enjoying every moment of Spawn’s irritation.

Spawn’s gaze swept over the display again, his anger simmering beneath the surface. “You got five seconds to get all this garbage out of my sight.”

Mammon merely chuckled, unbothered. “Oh, come now, you’re an icon. Fame is currency in hell."

Mammon leaned in, a sly grin spreading across his face. "Think about it, Spawn. I’m offering you a mutually beneficial arrangement. You let me continue to use your image, and I’ll make sure you get anything you desire. Power, freedom, revenge… whatever it is, I can make it happen." He held out his hand, waiting for Spawn’s response.

But Spawn only glared, his stance unwavering. “I’m not interested. Not in deals, and definitely not in being turned into some cheap mascot.” His voice was hard, dripping with disdain. “I know your kind. You dangle whatever you think people want to hear. But I’ve seen enough lies for a lifetime.”

Mammon’s smirk faltered, his hand dropping to his side. "Come now, I’m being reasonable here! The people love a figurehead. And with your reputation, you could be unstoppable. Why throw it all away?"