Chapter Text
Chapter 1 – A New Beginning
I don’t remember how I got here. A few minutes earlier, I was simply watching a reaction video about the ending of Hazbin Hotel season two. And now… now I’m standing in a dark, filthy alley, full of trash and sounds echoing violently off the walls.
The racket pounds inside my skull. The heavy, suffocating smell doesn’t help at all.
“I’m alive!… I’m alive!”
I jump and whip around just in time to see a man — or rather a vaguely humanoid figure — stumble into the middle of the street. He doesn’t even have time to get back up: a car speeds by and crushes him right before my eyes.
I freeze. My throat burns, ready to release a scream, but something inside me — a prey instinct I never knew I had — commands me to stay quiet. Invisible. I’ve never been so afraid of the sound of my own breathing.
Then I see it in the distance. Tall, imposing, almost arrogant in the way it towers over the city: a massive clock. Its crimson numbers display 365 days until the next purge. A cold shiver runs down my spine.
This all feels familiar.
The clock. The… crushed creature.
But that’s impossible, right? I can’t be in the Hazbin Hotel pilot. It’s not real. It’s just a show. Fiction.
As if mocking my denial, the car door opens. A sinner steps out — maybe the driver, maybe just a passenger, it doesn’t matter — and my heart stops.
He looks like Angel Dust.
Not a cartoon version, not a cosplay.
No. A realistic version that’s chilling to look at: tall and skinny, pale fur, a grin far too wide to be comforting, eyes painted as if they were drawn on living skin. Everything is… tangible. Organic.
And terrifyingly real.
Then a line slams into my memory, like a hammer.
“Thanks for the good time, hot stuff!”
The voice is exactly the one from the pilot: a nasally cackle, like a strangled laugh wrapped in silk.
Hearing it here, in the air, not through my headphones… it’s unreal. Horribly real.
My legs start shaking.
If Angel Dust exists… then everything else does too.
And I’m in the middle of Hell.
I’d love to have a good panic attack right now, curl into a ball and scream that this is just a nightmare…
But I’ve just realized something else. Something even more frightening than Hell itself.
My body. My body has changed.
My skin is white — deathly white, an unsettling, almost translucent pallor like snow on a fresh grave. My hands… oh my god.
They’re covered in a gradient of dark, wine-red that deepens toward the fingers, and my nails — no, my claws — are jet black and glossy.
Surreal.
Terrifying.
And yet real.
I look down abruptly — and almost lose my balance.
I’m not wearing anything.
Absolutely nothing.
Which is extremely bad in a place like Hell… but it does allow me to notice one more detail: a thick pelt covers my chest, soft but dense, white with crimson reflections, as if someone mixed snow and rubies.
My breath catches.
Am I… am I stuck like this? Is this my final form?
Am I a demon? A sinner?
I don’t even have time to finish examining myself.
Something hits me from behind.
A brutal, sharp impact knocks a strangled cry out of me. I pitch forward, my clawed hands scraping the filthy ground, and a monstrous weight slams down on my back. A hand — or a paw? A talon? — clamps onto my hip with inhuman strength.
Hot, foul breath seeps against my ear.
And I hear a deep, raspy, hungry voice:
“Fresh meat…”
The world spins.
I’m being attacked.
I struggle. At first weakly, like prey already resigned. The weight on my back is crushing, the grip on my hip nearly breaking bone. I can barely breathe.
I’m going to lose. I’m losing.
Then an idea strikes me, sudden and violent:
I’m in Hell.
By definition, the place where only monsters, the cruel, and the violent survive. The bottom of existence’s barrel.
I’m not violent. Or sadistic. I’m none of that.
But my survival instinct screams louder than logic, louder than fear, louder than anything that’s defined me so far.
The sinner must see it in my face — that messy mixture of panic and inexperience — and he must also notice I’m completely naked. Fresh prey. A newcomer.
A gift fallen from the sky… or rather, from above.
He probably assumes I’ve just arrived. He’s right.
But he doesn’t know something crucial.
If I manage to escape… I will never see him again. Never fall into his hands.
I’ll never — I hope — cross paths with any of the filthy vultures lurking in this alley.
Because to me, he… this sinner… this disgusting predator…
he’s just a character.
An extra. A background mob in a story I’ve watched dozens of times.
And he has no idea what someone who refuses to die is capable of.
Something boils in my veins.
A deep rumble — not an emotion, not a thought.
An instinct.
Animal.
Wild.
My fingers curl, my claws lengthening by a millimeter — or maybe it’s just the light.
I twist abruptly, trying to throw his weight off, and my voice — a voice I don’t recognize — comes out rough and vibrating:
“Get off me.”
The sinner chuckles, confident.
Big mistake.
I grab a handful of my own fur — soft, fluffy, too delicate for this nightmare body — and slam my head into the ground. Hard enough to bleed, not enough to pass out.
The sinner freezes, stunned by my brutal move.
I take advantage and collapse onto the ground, completely still, pretending to have lost consciousness.
“Hahaha! That’s not how you’re gonna die, little doe!”
He mocks me.
Let him. I don’t care.
I lie motionless, time blurring around me. A few seconds… or thirty minutes. Impossible to tell.
I just wait for his vigilance to rot into negligence, for him to think he already won.
And as soon as he relaxes completely, ready to do whatever he planned…
I’m ready to strike.
—————————————
I walk alone through this unknown city, desperately trying to find the way to the Hazbin Hotel. I’m completely lost in these streets I’ve only ever seen through a screen.
Nothing smells the same. Nothing feels the same. Nothing is as unreal as it used to be.
I’m now wearing a long brown coat — which reeks of sweat… and maybe sex? — the stench so strong I want to gag. But I have nothing else to wear, so I grit my teeth and bear it.
I’m barefoot.
The man I stole the coat from was too tall — even reincarnated in a cartoon universe, I’m only about 1.64m, and my feet (yes, still normal feet, miracle!) are far too small for his boots.
The coat reaches down to my ankles. Lucky: at least it hides the fact that I’m wearing nothing underneath.
I keep walking, alone, cold from fear and the smell of the coat, hoping to find the hotel before another demon decides I’m an easy target.
I freeze when the news broadcast blares from a cracked screen hanging on a wall.
“Good morning! I’m Katie Killjoy.”
“And I’m Tom Trench. Chaos in Pentagram City today, as a turf war rages in the west between a certain Sir Pentious and the fiery and powerful Cherri Bomb.”
“That’s right, Tom! After the recent extermination, many territories are now up for grabs! Demons all across Hell are fighting to claim new land!”
I stop dead, staring at the screen. Those voices, that tone, that aggression…
It’s exactly the pilot’s news broadcast, the one right before Charlie’s appearance.
I recognize every word.
Every intonation.
Every line.
But I’m not really listening anymore.
The sound feels distant, drowned by my racing thoughts.
The scenery, the smell, the heat, the filth, the disgusting coat… it’s too real to be a dream.
I stand there in the middle of Pentagram City, feeling like I’ve stepped inside a scene I once knew by heart.
And suddenly I realize:
Charlie is about to appear.
The screen glitches, changes image, then Katie Killjoy appears with her predatory smile perfectly in place.
“Welcome!” Katie announces.
A sickening crunch of broken bones echoes, followed by a muffled yelp. “So, Charlotte.”
A nervous squeak escapes Charlie, exactly like in the pilot. She’s tense, uncomfortable, but determined.
“It’s… Charlie…”
“Whatever.”
Katie’s voice sharpens with aggression, dripping contempt with every syllable.
“Tell us about this exciting new project you’ve been pestering our news network about.”
I stare at the screen, heart tight. I know this scene. Every second. Every word.
And I’m no longer a spectator.
I’m inside it.
Charlie appears on the screen, hands gripping her knees. She takes a shaky breath, trying to smile.
“Well…” She clears her throat. “As most of you know, I was born here in Hell, and growing up, I always tried to look on the bright side of everything around me.”
A click of a pen. A metallic sound.
Then a brief, stifled cry.
Charlie tries to stay focused.
“Hell is my home, and you are my people. We… we just went through another extermination.” Her voice trembles slightly.
“We lost so many souls, and it breaks my heart to see my people massacred every year. Nobody even gets a chance!”
She continues, determined despite everything:
“I can’t just sit around while the place I live in is subjected to such violence! Ladies and gentlemen, I’m opening the first of its kind!”
She pauses.
“A hotel that rehabilitates sinners!”
Silence.
A cringe-inducing noise.
Charlie adds, with a timid gesture:
“You know? Because hotels are for people… passing through. Temporarily.”
Mocking laughter erupts.
Katie Killjoy bursts into cruel laughter.
“This girl is serious?”
She turns toward the camera, still laughing.
“She thinks— you hear what she thinks?”
A short, scornful snicker. “Oh, she’s insane.”
I stand there frozen, my mouth dry.
I know this scene by heart…
But seeing it with my own eyes, here, now…
It’s completely different.
Charlie tries to keep her smile, though it wavers slightly.
“I just think it could really help… a place to work toward redemption!” She raises her arms timidly. “Yay…” she says weakly.
A radio-static sound crackles. I ignore it.
Charlie keeps going, trying to maintain her composure despite the tension and ridicule:
“Look, each one of you has something good inside. I know it. Maybe I don’t understand you.”
I can almost hear, both in my head and in reality, Vaggie’s iconic “Oh no.”
A snap of fingers echoes, followed by a high-pitched hiss —
Then a small explosion, like a faulty magic firecracker.
Charlie resumes, smiling shakily but with genuine conviction in her eyes.
And she begins to sing.
Music appears out of nowhere — cheerful, almost misplaced in Hell’s darkness.
“I’ve a dream, I’m here to tell
About a wonderful, fantastic new hotel.
Yes, it’s one of a kind, right here in Hell.
Catering to a specific clientele— (Oooh!)
Inside of every demon is a rainbow.
Inside of every sinner is a shining smile.
Inside of every creepy hatchet‑wielding maniac…
Is a happy cupcake-loving child!”
Her voice rises, warm and bright — wildly out of place in this place.
I decide to keep moving. Watching the news won’t help me find the hotel, and I still have no idea where I am in this damn city.
Every street looks the same. And the coat still stinks.
I leave the screen behind when, around the corner of an alley, something catches my eye.
Someone. Him.
I freeze instantly.
In the distance, straight as a radio antenna brought to life, with his impossible smile and retro posture… I recognize Alastor.
The Radio Demon.
My blood turns to ice.
For one split second, I consider following him — after all, if he’s heading to the hotel, maybe I could sneak behind him, right?
But reality slams back.
First: this Alastor hasn’t met Charlie yet.
He’s not involved with the hotel.
So he probably won’t go there now.
Second:
Even if he did…
Being noticed by him this early is the perfect recipe for instant death.
And third:
I’m not part of the hotel.
Not yet.
Showing up out of nowhere in front of a notoriously unpredictable Overlord would be pure suicide.
I hold my breath, step back slowly, hiding in the darkest corner I can find.
(Because… that’s probably what my life depends on.)
—————————————
Eventually, I finally reach the Hotel.
Since it’s perched on the tallest mountain of Pentagram City, I simply walked in a straight line to the outskirts, then followed the cliffs until I spotted it.
It was… much faster than I expected.
The place is even more impressive — and more unsettling — in real life.
Massive, twisted, colorful, threatening, like a gothic mansion merged with a cartoon that forgot to be friendly.
And that’s when I hear it.
Alastor’s voice. Distant, but clear.
Too clear.
Alastor: “Well, I’m STARVING! Who wants some jambalaya? My mother gave me a wonderful jambalaya recipe! In fact, it almost killed her!”
A laugh erupts, cheerful, theatrical, grating. A laugh that isn’t human.
“One could say the die is cast! Now…”
A magical hiss slithers through the air, accompanied by a strange radio-like sound, as if someone were changing stations inside the atmosphere itself.
“Stay tuned.” A muffled chuckle follows, sliding like a shadow.
I stand frozen, my heart pounding in my temples.
I made it. I’m really here.
And the Radio Demon is somewhere behind these walls.
The hotel I once knew as a musical joke on YouTube…
is now a real, living, dangerous place.
And I’m standing at its entrance.
Alone.
Unprotected.
Wearing a coat that reeks.
I knock three times, sharply, because there’s no doorbell and I feel like the whole façade is watching me.
The door swings open.
Vaggie appears, hard gaze and exhausted expression of someone who’s already had too much for one day.
“What do you want?”
Charming. Really welcoming.
I straighten my shoulders a little, ignoring the awful smell coming from my coat.
“I arrived today, and I heard about your hotel on the news. I’d like to stay.”
Vaggie opens her mouth, ready to respond, but I don’t give her the chance to get worked up.
“Unfortunately… not as a guest.”
I clear my throat. “More like… as staff.”
Her stare becomes even more suspicious, if that’s possible.
“And what do YOU gain from it?”
I hold her gaze for a moment.
Then I simply gesture toward myself — barefoot, and wearing the world’s worst-smelling coat.
I raise a brow, as if the answer is obvious.
To my surprise, Vaggie doesn’t comment.
She just keeps staring for a few seconds, as if trying to figure out whether I’m a threat or just… another problem.
Then she sighs.
“Fine… come in.”
She steps aside — not welcoming, but enough for me to slip inside. The hotel’s air is different from outside: less sticky, less burning… almost breathable.
She rummages in a drawer behind the reception desk, mumbling something about “lack of organization” and “fucking day.”
Finally, she hands me a room key and… a small folded bundle of clothes.
“Here. That’s all we’ve got.”
She frowns slightly.
“We’re not really prepared for new sinners… at least not ones who show up like you.”
Not surprising. I nod, grateful despite everything.
Vaggie points at the stairs with a brief gesture.
“Your room’s 777. Straight up.”
I climb the creaking steps. The inside is old, a bit run-down, but strangely warm — like a haunted house trying desperately to make a good impression.
On the third floor, I walk down the hall until I see the door labeled 777.
The number glows faintly in the dim light, as if welcoming me…
…or warning me.
I squeeze the key. My new room awaits.
The room is large, much more spacious than I expected.
A double bed rests against one wall, a bathroom sits to the side, and there’s a small lounge area with a chair and a coffee table.
Everything needs personalization — a touch of humanity, or at least something livable.
I unfold the clothes Vaggie gave me.
A white oversized wool sweater: it goes almost down to my ankles, the sleeves heavy on my shoulders, extending far beyond my hands. Ridiculous, but comfortable.
There’s also a black legging, but it’s way too big. I leave it aside.
I take a quick shower. The hot water is surprisingly comforting for Hell.
But what truly hits me is my reflection in the mirror.
My face is the same… but not really.
My eyes are golden, framed with metallic gray, and my crimson irises glow strangely.
My long hair, white with carmine reflections, falls in soft waves.
Golden freckles dot my deathly pale skin — an almost unreal detail on such corpse-like complexion.
And then…
Two deer-like ears, white with a wine-red tip, peek through my hair.
A white tail sways at the base of my spine, silently, undeniably real.
I step back, fascinated and slightly terrified.
This body… isn’t me.
And yet I’m still here, conscious, ready to navigate this hell that’s becoming far too real.
When I finally look somewhat presentable, I head downstairs for dinner.
And there… it’s jambalaya!
At last! Ever since I first watched the pilot, I always wanted to taste it.
The smell hits me before I even reach the room.
Once in my mouth… it’s delicious. Explosive. I instantly understand why Alastor talked about it with such enthusiasm — and danger.
As I enter the dining room, I notice the stares. People look me up and down like I’m a walking curiosity.
Newcomer = interesting.
I hear murmurs, mixed with disbelief and curiosity.
Well… I definitely don’t blend in.
But I expected that.
And honestly… I don’t mind.
The first to break the silence is Angel Dust. “You in the business, little doe?”
I blink, confused, before understanding.
He thinks I’m a prostitute… because of the giant sweater barely covering anything.
I stay calm and answer timidly:
“No… I just arrived in Hell, and I’m too… small.”
Another one speaks, voice rough but calm. “Well… you’re getting used to the differences here pretty quickly.” It’s Husk, and it’s obvious he mostly means everyone’s demonic shapes… including mine.
Luckily, I manage fine.
After all, I watched the show. I know what to expect.
I smile slightly as I take my seat.
As I settle in, the dining hall door bursts open. Everyone turns instantly.
Charlie appears, radiant as always despite Hell’s heavy atmosphere. Her smile brightens the room, that unique mix of warmth and determination almost unreal here.
“Good evening everyone!” she announces as she enters. Her voice is cheerful, but not naïve. She scans the room, her gaze landing briefly on me. “And you must be new, right?”
I nod, a little intimidated.
She approaches and gestures kindly for me to sit closer to the buffet.
“Don’t worry, you’ll feel right at home here.” Her eyes shine with sincerity, contrasting sharply with the surrounding chaos.
Angel and Husk, who were looking at me with curiosity (and a bit of suspicion), soften slightly in her presence.
Charlie takes her seat, placing her hands gently on the table. “So… who’s hungry for some jambalaya?” she says with a playful wink at Angel.
I smile, relieved.
As we begin to eat calmly, rhythmic footsteps and a faint creak echo from the back of the hall.
Everyone tenses slightly — even Charlie — eyes bright with anticipation.
And then he appears.
Alastor, the Radio Demon, enters the dining hall with a wide, terrifying smile, as if he just invented joy in the middle of chaos.
“Good evening, my dear inhabitants of the hotel!” he announces in a melodic, high-pitched tone, a muffled radio laugh trailing behind each phrase.
“I’ve finished cleaning the kitchen… well, almost. You know, one must always leave a bit of chaos behind, otherwise life gets so boring!”
His gaze lands on me for a moment.
A predatory smile — but oddly curious — curls his lips.
I can tell that, to him, I’m… interesting.
New. Unknown. A potential toy in this deranged world.
“And who might THIS be?” he asks with fake innocence, leaning slightly, eyes sparkling with mischief.
A chill crawls down my spine.
My instinct screams at me to back away, but Charlie gives me a gentle smile, as if saying everything’s fine… for now.
Alastor takes a seat, his radio laugh echoing subtly through the room.
The air becomes electric.
I know I shouldn’t, but I refuse to be bored in this new life.
Alastor is one of the most fascinating characters in all of Hell.
And honestly… he’s dangerous, unpredictable, and incredibly fun to observe.
But I’m not powerless. I know things.
Season 1 and 2 events, extra lore from Vivziepop… all of it gives me a huge advantage.
With a bit of caution, some tact… and a lot of luck, I could become essential to Alastor.
Maybe even to Charlie. Or Lucifer.
I could secure my survival — and make my life in Hell infinitely more entertaining.
So I make a choice. I won’t remain a spectator.
I’ll join the game.
And if possible… I’ll play it to my advantage.