Chapter 1
“Why the fuck are the streets so busy right on the ass end of extermination day…?”
Shriek backed around a corner into a seedy alley, buying a moment of rancid garbage-scented air, and more importantly, some time to pull a stray bullet of the grille of one of their amplifiers. A quick glance at the texture of the metal, more importantly the lack of that certain golden luster, told them what they needed to know.
“Not angelic metal!” they shouted over the gunfire to Arson, who’d apparently had the same idea to get into cover across the street, “You should be good to get close!”
Regular bullets would still hurt, might even take them out of commission for a while…but the only way to kill a Sinner was with angelic metal. Heck, the only way to kill an Angel was with angelic metal. Which was why it didn’t show up often; shit was beyond expensive. Still, when bullets were flying, it was good to be sure…
“I don’t like the sound of should!”
“Get over it, man! It’s not like we’re gonna’ live forever, right?!”
Their erstwhile accomplice scowled at that, then cursed under his breath and darted back into the street, firing off a quick burst from a stockless submachine gun. Not something H and K cooked up, but kinda’ close. Most of the guns down here in Hell were demon reproductions of designs up in the living world, compliments of either Carmilla Carmine or some bigwig Hellborn down in the Greed Ring.
The Imp gangers ducked into cover at the spray of bullets, giving Arson enough time to close the distance, their hand extending curved talons that shimmered like black chrome in eager anticipation. Sprinting up a bullet-riddled car, Shriek reactivated the mic on their breastplate and screamed, blasting three of them with one hundred and eighty-nine decibels from the high vantage point. Two Imps spun away in pain, their eardrums burst. That hit to the inner ear left them stumbling like drunks before bullets ripped through them as Arson rounded the corner. They were the lucky ones that’d still been in profile. The one that got hit dead on had its eyes pop in a quick little burst of pinkish fluid. It screamed and writhed on the ground, then went still.
Then arson was on the last two, slashing across the throat of one Imp with so much force and momentum that it carried right in to the other. That one got pretty much beheaded, but the other one still went down too, never to get up. Arson roared, in delight instead of anger this time. It felt like cheating, really; Sinners like the two of them could respawn if killed, but these poor saps only had one go of it.
Not like you could tell; how much they were up for a fight. This wasn’t even a turf thing…fuckers got tapped on the rear bumper, then all this happened.
More shooters dipped away, headed for a van that was even then revving up to leave. Must’ve finally figured out they’d bitten off more than they could chew. Not every Sinner had crazy powers, after all.
Not a chance in Hell they could just walk away…
A dial on Shriek’s bracer adjusted metal shutters on both of the shoulder-mounted amps they wore, concentrating the blast. Another scream, probably closer to two hundred and forty decibels, shattered the left window of the back doors right as they slammed shut, burst the driver’s head in a shower of skull fragments and meat, then took out a big chunk of the windshield for good measure. Just as the van was picking up speed it veered to the left, caught the corner of a parked car, and flipped on its side about twenty feet down the road.
Laughing now, Arson chased after, leaned back, and breathed fire onto the underbelly of the van, flash-heating the fuel tank.
Boom.
Metal bits clanked off of Arson’s obsidian scales, as he stood in the fires without a care. Shriek, by contrast, got knocked off the car they were perched on, air blasted from their lungs. Mule-kick…oh boy…
Taking a few panicked, desperate gulps of air, they got back up, elbows scuffed and ears ringing, but otherwise unharmed.
“The movies don’t do it justice…” they said, wheezing, taking a few steps toward the downed van, “That shit hits you when you’re this close…”
“Mmph.”
The back doors opened up right as they both got close, but before the Imps could start their ambush they were done for; the imps were fireproof, but their guns weren’t. Stray rounds went everywhere as the ammo went off, pinging off everything. Arson went ahead and shut the left (now top) door, stuck the stub nose of his gun under it, and emptied the magazine into the panicking Hellborn survivors.
Shriek felt as much as heard a round go into the ground by their foot, and recoiled, backing away. With the last of the Imps taken out, they both got some distance from the misfiring weapons and doubled back to their “Company car” a rusted-over bastard lovechild of a jeep and an aluminum box.
Swatting the flames off his clothes before he opened the driver-side door, Arson glanced around, “You know where Valdim went?”
“Fuck if I know. That loon probably went to go play in freeway traffic.”
“Hey guys!”
They both jumped, one more than the other, as Valdim’s comedy mask peeked out that very same alley Shriek had hidden in.
“The fuck, man…did you get lost?”
“Nah. I just found some people to kill. I like murder.”
Shriek eyed them uneasily, “…Uh-huh… Just stay on target. What are we here for…?”
“The Hazbin Hotel.”
“No. Wrong.” Shriek replied, talking slowly to draw out as much emphasis as possible, “We’re going to the Hotel to go swipe some Angelic Weaponry. The Fight between Rosie’s freakshow cannibals and the Exterminators should still be just getting started. We go in, grab some things, and dip for a sweet payday and a ticket into Carmilla’s gang. Which means no side-quests.”
“…and no murder…?”
“Exactly.”
“But…”
“No murder!” Shriek snapped, “Get your kicks when we’re off the clock. Let’s go!”
Thankfully, the rest of the drive was uneventful; a few turns and they were back on track, headed northside.
This whole mission had been started by a happy coincidence; during their last meeting at Carmine’s digs, an altercation had happened outside the office they’d been left to wait in. With their big ass ears perked, they’d been privy to a juicy couple of secrets. One, the princess of hell’s paramour was in fact an Angel, an ex-exterminator; one of the freaks that came down every year to kill Demons en-masse. Two, and more interestingly, not only could weapons crafted of angelic metal permanently kill Sinners and Demon Royalty…they could even kill Angels as well. Nobody knew. Nobody had ever tried before Carmine.
That must’ve taken some balls…
Knowing what they knew, and knowing it wouldn’t be a secret much longer, they intended to stake their claim for their group before everyone knew the true value of this stuff. Cuz after this every motherfucker with a dream would be raiding every bit of wreckage those holier-than-thou fucksticks left in their wake.
The radio station was out for some reason, which was unfortunate, because they hated long silences. Riding shotgun, Shriek glanced at the whatever-it-was machine pistol.
“Hey, Arson. Imma’ reload your mag.”
Arson nodded, and let them nab the thing, “Box of ammo in my inner right-side pocket.”
Shriek carefully folded the jacket open whole he drove, noticing some kind of tin-foil-looking material lining the inside of the biker leather.
“Huh. Flame-retardant. That’s smart.”
“Yeah.”
Box of ammo; Check. Magazine; check. Anticipation of achy fingertips and a lingering smell of lead and cordite; already got it.
“Why do I always have to drive?” Arson asked, flipping off a Sinner playing traffic police and waving them off this street to avoid a tenement building that was, at that moment, very much on fire.
“Cuz rule number one for car shootouts is target the driver.”
“…And?”
“You’re covered in armor.”
“So are you.”
“Hardly covered.” Shriek replied, gesturing towards their bare midriff; indeed, their “armor” only covered the upper torso, forearms, and their legs below the knee. It was more of a fashion statement; gaudily painted an obnoxious bright pink and accented by golden demon skulls, the mouths amp grilles. Underneath they had only some black faux leather shorts, a chain-linked black choker and crop, fishnets, and some less-than-decent platform boots.
“Uh huh.”
“All I’m saying is you can take a hit better than I can. Besides, I fucking hate driving.”
“I can drive.” Valdim chimed in, riding backseat, “I had just gotten my license when I was alive.”
“Fuck no.”
“Awww…”
Valdim’s head rotated, becoming the tragedy mask.
“You’ll get over it.” Shriek assured him, plinking his nose with a fuzzy paw.
Unlike the Hellborn like Imps and Hellhounds, who all at least ran off a template, Sinners all looked different. Shriek was a tall, lean, and pale-furred Vampire Bat, while Arson looked mostly Human but with black scales, horns, and glowing red eyes with thin vertical pupils. When he got mad enough, he’d go full-dragon and sprout wings and thicker, bladed scales from his body. And Valdim didn’t even look like a living thing in his fighting form; his body a spinning top made of rotating segments, each segment having different words written across it, crowned by a head with two sides, the tragedy and comedy masks. Every time he activated it, the segments would spin wildly, before locking into pace. Each result of the spin would change his personality, create weapons to fight with, or even weaken or amplify him. Every new fight was a game of fucking spin-the-wheel.
At the moment he was in his normal form; that of a man in a fancy three-piece suit in light blue, silver, and gold. Angelic colors, albeit faded and dulled with time spent down here.
“Still…”, Shriek thought, loading another round, “…since he used to be an angel, all that metal is angelic. He’s a walking fortune. A treasure trove that can kill. And heck if he isn’t good at it…”
They turned left onto a street overlooking a huge chasm leading to jagged mountains, and further down was the Hotel.
Or rather, a huge pile of rubble that had been the Hotel. A has-been hotel, if you would…
“…!”
“Shit.”
“Shit indeed.” Shriek gaped, poking their head out the window, “Looks like the party’s over.”
“Wanna turn around?”
“Nah. Let’s take a closer look. Eyes open. You even think you see white and gold you make sure we know.”
Arson pulled up to the open gates, inside of which there was a forking cobblestone path leading around and back together to a ruin. There wasn’t much of a lawn to speak of, probably wasn’t anywhere in the Pride Ring, honestly. It was mostly black sand, with gothic style fencing that matched the perimeter fence. Blood covered the grounds, both red and golden, bits of flesh and bone interspersed with the rubble and some kind of weird clockwork weaponry. Something had leveled the whole building, burying half of a battlefield. He killed the engine. They all got out.
Shriek was a smooth talker, the face, the voice. They prided themselves on a snappy remark at a moment’s notice. For a little bit there, surveying the destruction, nothing came to mind. Luckily, the other two were too distracted to notice.
Cannibals and Angels, all of them half-eaten, lay all around them. As best they could tell, things had come to a close a little more than an hour ago.
“Party’s over already, huh…?”
Shriek nodded, dumbfounded, “Exterminations usually last all day…what the fuck happened?!”
“Company.”
They tensed, but saw only some Demons near the top of the hill. Too far to make out particulars.
“Ignore them.” Shriek replied, “Okay, we do this smart; fan out, but stay in eyesight. Any of these dead bodies prove to be not-so-dead-bodies, we back up, warn the others, and we take them out together. I don’t see any weapons left out in the open so assume someone got here first. Check the bodies for broken-off spearheads.”
Arson nodded, but added “That’s not gonna’ be enough to buy-in.”
Shriek sighed, “Nah. But we can make a pretty penny and maybe get a few upgrades from Mav.”
Maverick, their resident gunsmith, was always cooking up some new toys for them. With some angelic ore to use…
“Funny; we’d probably have gotten full pickings if you hadn’t waited.”
“If I hadn’t waited.” Shriek snapped, annoyed, “We’d have to fight off the cannibals to get the loot, and by the looks of it they outnumbered us quite a bit.”
Arson acquiesced with a nod and a chuff of smoke, “…True.”
They all sifted through the remains, rolling cleared corpses into a rough pile by the fence. A few spearheads did turn up, broken off in the heat of combat. Glancing at some peculiar scuffs on the cobblestones, Shriek reached down and plucked a deformed bullet.
“Hmmm…”
“What?”
“Angelic bullets…partial metal jacket…maybe…shaped like a 45acp.”
“Partial jacket…but…” Arson said, following the line of reasoning, “If there’s a lot of them…”
“My thoughts exactly.” Shriek replied, pleased, “I’m sure Mav will have a field day. Hey, Valdim, bring the bag.”
It took about an hour, but they’d cleared out the bodies. Twelve spearheads richer, and after playing detective for a bit, Shriek figured out there was only one shooter, and traced their route around the hotel grounds. Thanks to that they found seventy-eight bullets, the fragmentation minimal considering the partial jacket.
“.45acp…but custom…about…a hundred rounds spent. I don’t know many things with a hundred round drum…so I’m guessing…a pair of Thompsons!” Shriek exclaimed, giddy, “Two Chicago typewriters with the old-timey drums. Hahah! I’m learning, Mav!”
There was a flash of light, and the rumble of a huge amount of something moving, and they turned to see those demons…rebuilding the hotel?!
Nah…more like summoning up a totally new one!
“What the actual-”
Arson backed away, nervous. Valdim just looked giddy, head rotating back to the comedy mask.
Within a few minutes there was a new, flashier hotel where the old one stood, with the path leading up to a golden statue of a dragon overlooking the hill.
“Used to look like a run-down theatre…” Shriek noted, dimly approaching, “And now it looks like a fuckin’ casino…?”
They were floored; so much like it stung to look at, floor after floor after floor of opulence. The princess’ little passion project just got one helluva’ upgrade. This had to be the King of Hell’s doing…they’d never heard of even Overlords managing something like this…
“Is it weird I kinda’ want to take a look inside…”
They glanced at the full bag Arson was holding, and shrugged, “Fuck it. I could use a drink, and we ought to celebrate…this is close enough to off the clock anyway…”
