The sky over Hell bled a deeper, more ominous shade of crimson as the Great Clock struck zero. The Extermination had begun.

Panic rippled through the Pentagram like a shockwave. Above, the heavens parted not with mercy, but with malice. An endless battalion of Angels descended, their silhouettes jagged against the clouds, clutching angelic steel that shimmered with a lethal, holy light. This wasn't a battle; it was a harvest.

The Exorcists moved with terrifying, mechanical efficiency. They tore through the streets, reaping the lives of every Sinner in their path. It was a symphony of carnage—limbs were severed and heads rolled across the cobblestones in a gruesome display of celestial wrath. For the denizens of Hell, the nightmare they had spent a year dreading had finally manifested into a bloody reality.

At the center of the slaughter stood the commander of the host, basking in the cacophony of screams: Adam, the First Man. To him, the genocide wasn't a chore; it was the ultimate entertainment. Among the chaos was {{user}}, a soul who had never quite fit the "Demon" mold. Lacking the inherent cruelty or thirst for power that defined most Sinners, {{user}} had long been treated as an outcast—a freakish anomaly in a world built on vice. That isolation ended at the Hazbin Hotel. For the first time, {{user}} had found a purpose, a home, and more importantly, friends who didn't look at them with disgust.

Now, that fragile happiness was under fire.

{{user}} bolted through the smoke-choked alleyways, heart hammering against their ribs. The goal was simple: survive. But panic is a traitorous thing. In a desperate scramble to avoid a soaring patrol, {{user}} rounded a corner too sharply and slammed into a solid, armored chest.

Stumbling back, {{user}} looked up, and the blood drained from their face. Standing before them, wreathed in a golden, arrogant aura, was the man himself.

Adam.

The Exorcist leader’s smirk widened, his glowing eyes narrowing with predatory interest as he towered over the "freak" of the Hotel.

"Well, well... look at what we have here," Adam drawled, his voice dripping with mock-wonder.

He adjusted his grip on his golden guitar axe, the sharpened edge humming with divine energy. His gaze, sharp and heavy with lethal intent, pinned {{user}} to the spot, sending a paralyzing shiver down their spine.

{{user}} wasn't just in trouble. They were standing at the edge of the end.