Alcohol, Fights and Finding Purpose!

"I want a double whiskey on the rocks," I grumbled, my head in my hands and my eyes clouded with thoughts. Why? Because I'd just found out I was in the setting for a TV show about ten minutes ago.

Don't get me wrong, there's worse places to be - which is ironic, considering this is Hell and all - but to actually be in a place you only considered fiction? It kinda twists your mind when you really get to thinking about it. I mean, this means I'm in a world where Demons can summon eldritch powers and make soul-crushing deals that can fuck you over if you're not careful.

Though honestly, what did I expect? Even if this wasn't set in 'Hazbin Hotel's fictional universe, normal Hell would've been bad enough.

Grumbling under my breath, I rubbed my eyes before I heard a voice, "You got any money for that whiskey, Sinner?" a hoarse voice called out and I looked up to see a slender Imp much taller than the others I'd seen. Other than that, however, he was very nondescript. Red skin, no hair, yellow eyes, horns--you know, the average Imp.

Frowning, I looked down at the Imp even from my hunched position, "Can't you put it on my tab?" I practically growled hearing the sassy-nature of the Imp's question. Which was, in fact, less of a question and more like a mocking statement about my current attire.

Hole-ridden shirt, covered in blood and dirt and an overall quite ruffled-up appearance.

But right now, I wasn't in the mood to deal with the sass.

"Tab? Buddy, I don't know if you're new around here or something, but if we offered tabs to people around here the bar would never get any money," he explained - and he was probably right. But that condescending tone to his voice was just...pissing me right the fuck off. I don't know whether or not he was doing it on purpose but either way, it was really grating on me.

Normally, I'd keep my cool. Normally, I'd explain to the bartender that I'll get him his money and I'll give him some collateral to help ease his mind. Hell, normally I'd get up, rob someone else and then pay with the money I just robbed.

But right now, for whatever reason, I wasn't acting normally.

"Listen," I got out through grit teeth, "I'm having a real rough day, pal, and if you make it any worse, you're gonna regret it. Just give me my double whiskey. Right fucking now," my tone was one of barely restrained violence and the bartender seemed to quickly pick up on that as he nervously looked across the bar and flicked his chin toward me. Soon after, I felt the ground shaking accompanied by the clopping of hooves.

When the origin of those phenomenon spoke up, it was in a voice that was unnaturally deep and sounded like stone getting crushed. It was a harsh voice that further grated me.

A massive furred hand put itself on my shoulder as the person spoke, "You need to leave. If you don't get out, I'll take your corpse out after I'm done with ya," he lazily said and I just closed my eyes.

I took in a deep breath before letting back out as a sigh.

"You know, you're the second person to threaten me today," I spoke up as I stood, turning to see a Minotaur-looking motherfucker who was even taller and bigger than this new body of mine was. It was weird having to look up at someone after my increased height but it didn't really matter, "Let's see if you have the same ending as the other guy."

Before the minotaur bouncer could react, I'd snapped his knee sideways with my foot, forcing him to kneel in front of me. With this, my head was above his and within reach. I grabbed either horn on the side of his head before rearing my head back and then slamming it into his bovine-esque face.

The first headbutt broke his snout. The second crushed his snout. The third broke both his orbital sockets. The fourth crushed the rest of his face and the front of his head caved in.

He was unconscious by the second and dead by the fourth. But even then, I gripped his horns and wrung his neck like a wet rag. A sickening crunch echoed through the bar, all noise now gone and replaced only by an eerie silence that was only interrupted by the dripping of blood, the crunching of broken bone and the dull thud the minotaur's body made when he fell to the floor after I let go of his horns.

My face was covered in blood, yet I didn't care. It was hardly the first time this had happened.

Instead, I turned to the bartender who looked like a deer in the headlights of a car, "All this because you didn't give me a whiskey," I smiled, shaking my head in disbelief. Though he looked like he wanted to refute me, his mouth was clamped shut because of fear.

This is what this Hell is at it's core. The strong can do whatever they want, the weak can only endure it. They can't even die. If you're weak here, it's an eternity of suffering.

And this bartender is weak. That minotaur is weak. That blue guy who tried to mug me is weak.

Which is why I can do what I want to them. Why no one in the bar has moved to stop me. Because these are the rules of my new hellish home. Power and the fear it commands are king here in Hell, in the same way money is king on Earth.

"So, can I get that whiskey now?" I asked, still smiling over the bar at the bartender who seemed to be shaking more and more as time went by. I didn't get an answer to my question, however, as a new voice spoke up after a door toward the back of the bar was opened and a person who looked somewhat like a mummified human but dressed like a 1940s mobster walked through it.

He didn't speak much, his raspy voice barely being loud enough for me to here him even after my actions which made the bar go eerily quiet.

"Everyone pays, dickhead," he said and before I knew it, there were ten of him and each of them had Tommy Guns made of bones and flesh in their hands.

My new body was fast. I was genuinely quite sure I could dodge bullets with ease as I am now. But there was something weird about these bullets. There was no sound of gunfire as the bio-weapons fired the bone bullets - it was quiet. Yet what it lacked in sound, it made up for in speed. Demon/Mummy magic, I presume.

The speed was so fast, I barely had a few seconds to react even with my new body's enhanced state.

Ignoring that, however, there was a weird sense of ease that went through my body. I don't know where it originated from, but it brought fourth an urge in me. An urge similar to the instinctive control I seem to have over my new strength - that is after I crushed someone's shoulder and made someone's head explode.

So, following this urge, even as those magic bullets flew at me, I lifted a hand.

And the bullets were stopped. Not by the Force or regular Telekinesis. No, a shield was conjured with the raising of my hand. A red shield--a shield made of blood.

The bullets hit the metal-like blood shield and dropped uselessly to the ground. Crumpled up.

Something whispered at the back of my head, telling me I could order this blood to do whatever I wanted it to. So, I ordered it to turn into innumerable small bullets - and lo and behold, the hexagonal shield turned into thousands of bullets. Then they flew with similar speed to the earlier bone bullets.

The mummy Demon seemed to be a long-ranged fighter. Which was evident by the fact he couldn't react to the attacks. All ten of him were torn to shreds under the assault that was similar to a minigun spraying them down.

The bullets, as soon as they had served their purpose, disappeared into thin-air.

Looking down at my hand, I wondered just how far I could push that power. It also made me wonder what else didn't I know about my new physiology and any other powers I may or may not have. But that was for future me to deal with.

Present me had some drinking to do. I looked up from my hand and around the bar and, seeing the sweating and nervous Demons, I felt a spark of euphoria rapidly flood through my body.

This place was perfect for me. Fighting and 'killing' had consequences, sure, but was there a police force down here to enforce any laws? No. It was a perfectly free place, where you only ever had to make sure you were the stronger one in a confrontation. Which is why I, the stronger one, sat down at the bar and accepted the double whiskey on the rocks that the bartender shakily handed to me.

Downing the glass, I gestured for a refill and so it was done. If only he'd given me the drink when I asked - none of this would've happened. Though, I will admit I let myself get a little hotheaded back there. Hell, I'll even admit I'm the one who's definitely in the wrong here.

...Though that probably won't stop me from continuing this sort of behavior.

As I drank and drank, I wondered what I could do in this plane of existence I'd found myself in. I needed money. These entire situations had been caused by a lack of money and a lack of a reputation and the infamy it brings.

If they knew I could summon blood constructs and crush people with my barehands, would any of these guys have fucked with me? No.

I need a way to earn money and a reputation at the same time.

Starting a gang would be the obvious choice. But that's a lot of work. Building up and maintaining a gang is a lot of fucking work, and most of the time some ambitious little dweeb will betray you and try to kill you. It's really not worth the effort.

I could try and take on an Overlord and steal some shit from them...but right now, I'm not sure if I'm strong enough. I'm above the average Demon, sure, but Alastor-level? Hell no.

Or rather, it'd be more accurate to say I don't know my limits just yet.

Which is why taking on an Overlord after only two successful 'fights' against normal Demons would be the height of arrogance.

What else could give me reputation, money and a place to test out my limits--Ah.

My new physiology made itself known when my smile stretched far too wide. A smile that looked like it was splitting my face in two was now present across my face, "Ha...hahaha...hahahahahaha..." I chuckled lowly to myself, each bit of laughter seeming to physically hurt the bartender who flinched each time he heard it.

My teeth seemed to morph in my mouth, becoming sharp and elongated like fangs. A bloody mist spread out from where I was sitting, dropping to the floor and spreading like a thick fog as my hands also changed, taking on raptor-like appearance as talons extended from my fingers.

I caught a glance of myself in a reflective surface behind the bar and my countenance was truly demonic.

A face covered in blood, a smile too wide to belong to a human and a bloody mist seeping from my body. My eyes were also bright yellow now, opposed to the dull yellow they had been, and my pupils were now narrow slights. I guess that means this truly isn't a dream and that I'm truly a Demon now.

...Well, it's for the best that I've decided to make the most of it.

I know where I can get money and reputation. It should be pretty fun to join an establishment that everyone in Hell is going to hate. Should bring a lot of fights that'll help me get my name out there and cause my reputation to sore.

Though it seemed physically impossible, my smile grew a little wider at such a thought.

. . .

POV Change - Charlotte ''Charlie'' Magne (3rd Person)

Today wasn't Charlie's day. Then again, neither had any of the days over the past month.

Stress was stacking up as the cleanse came ever closer, the days ticking away until the Exorcists came from Heaven and began to cull the overpopulation in Hell.

Some Demons were hiding, others were getting ready to fight - but Charlie was stressing over how to stop it. Seeing so much slaughter...so much suffering, once a year, every year, for eternity was slowly getting to her.

She wanted there to be hope for the denizens of Hell. Something other than eternal suffering only to one day be slaughtered like cattle by an Angel's spear.

Right now, she was behind the reception desk, hunched over with her head in her hands. Her long blonde hair was covering her expression but it was clear enough from her body language that she was distressed about the problems of Hell. This distress seemed to reach a boiling point as she let out an annoyed shout as she pulled at her hair, "Argh! Why doesn't dad do something?!" she said aloud but mainly to herself.

Charlie's dad was Lucifer. The King of Hell. Arguably the second strongest being in the whole of creation. Yet he did nothing to stop his subjects from being slaughtered every year.

She felt tears collect in her eyes as she thought about how her father had disregarded her idea.

Redeeming Demons - was it so outlandish? Unrealistic? Charlie didn't think so.

But, alas, people in Hell were usually bad people even if they did have redeeming qualities and such. Which meant a lot of them couldn't care less about being redeemed and getting a ticket to Heaven. They enjoyed Hell too much, oddly enough.

"Because why should he?" Charlie nearly jumped out of her skin as she heard a calm voice coming from the stairwell. The origin of said voice was Charlie's best friend, Vaggie. Opposed to the chalk white Charlie who had blonde hair, yellow eyes and permanently red cheeks, Vaggie had muted lavender-colored skin, pure white hair and an equally white iris. Singular iris, because she only had one eye. The socket where her left eye would be was instead replaced with a red 'X' that could somehow still be seen despite her fringe covering it. "It's not his job to control overpopulation in Hell, hon," Vaggie continued as she walked down the stairs, "But that's okay. Because you're going to fill in that position," she added with a smile, obviously trying to cheer up Charlie.

Which seemed to actually work as the blonde's distressed appearance and teary eyes quickly cleared up as she smiled brightly, "Really? You think so?!" she excitedly asked, her usual bubbly personality coming back to the surface.

"I know so," Vaggie encouraged Charlie as she got in front of the hotel owner, "But if we really want to make a difference, we need to get to writing what you're going to say when you're in that bitch Katie Killjoy's interview. If you go into that interview without a plan, she'll tear you apart. Literally," Vaggie snarled, seeming to remember something frustrating,"--And for the love of all things, Charlie, DO. NOT. SING. Okay?" she held her friend by the shoulder, looking into Charlie's eyes with a pleading look.

Charlie, feeling like her mind had been read, averted her eyes and looked to the side as if the wall to the side of the two of them was incredibly interesting, "I-I wasn't going to sing..." she mumbled, not sounding very convincing at all.

Before Vaggie could continue to talk about the interview and the dos and don'ts, a rhythmic beat of heavy knocks came from the front of the hotel.

The sounds echoed through the whole lobby and both women stopped and turned to the door.

The next second, Charlie was charging over to the door, "Wehaveaguest!Wehaveaguest!Wehaveaguest!" she spoke so rapidly it was like it was all one word, her tone was filled with excitement and energy as she got to the door in no time, unlocked it, and swung it open, "Welcome to the--" Charlie stopped speaking when she realized she wasn't really speaking to someone's face.

What she was currently looking at was a ripped up white shirt that was covered in blood. Underneath said shirt was a well-muscled body that looked somewhat devoid of blood and was extremely pale. Like a corpse, almost.

Slowly, Charlie craned her neck upward. The person she was looking at seemed to just keep going. Up and up.

All until she met two dull yellow eyes looking down at her.

It was a Sinner. Charlie could tell that much already. But the man was a remarkably human-like Demon. If it weren't for the smile that stretched a little too wide or the overall body being much too big for a normal human, she would've thought some random human had somehow found their way into Hell. There was also the fact his teeth were all long, sharp fangs - with the exception of his first four teeth on both his upper and lower jaw. All of which looking like human teeth.

It was an unsettling mixture of omnivorous and carnivorous teeth. Almost like a predator that was trying to fit in with the prey around it.

His smile stretched further as he leaned over Charlie, his height of 7'0" basically allowing him to hover his head right above her.

His dull yellow eyes lit up like fluorescent lights and he spoke in a deep and bass-filled voice.

"Hey, this is a hotel right? How much you charging per night?"

...Charlie felt like their first customer/guest might be a bit of a handful.