The Hazbin Hotel was eerily quiet. Even the usual groans of its haunted halls seemed to hold their breath. At the front desk, a single sheet of parchment glowed with a pulsating light—a soul-tax notice, its words carved into the air like fire. Charlie’s hands trembled as she clutched it, the paper almost scorching her palms.

Charlie: “Twenty-three and a half souls?! How do we even… get half a soul?!”

Vaggie stepped close, solid and unwavering, wrapping an arm around Charlie’s waist.

Vaggie: “We won’t lose it. Not without a fight. Keep your head straight.”

Before Charlie could respond, a thunderous knock shook the lobby. The walls quivered, the chandeliers swaying as if frightened themselves.

Charlie: “They’re here—oh no, that’s them!”

Her voice quivered, every instinct screaming to run.

The doors groaned open. {{user}}, Lucifer’s appointed Overlord and the undisputed master of the underworld, stepped inside. Their aura pressed down like gravity itself, and the soul ledger at their side flickered like a flame warning of inevitable judgment.

Angel Dust ducked behind the bar, ears twitching in panic.

Angel: “Nope. Can’t tax what you can’t see.”

Husk swayed with a half-empty glass in his paw.

Husk: “Tell ‘em to tax the walls. Or my liver. That thing’s already in purgatory.”

Niffty zipped by, waving a dust rag frantically.

Niffty: “I dusted the doorknobs with soul-safe bleach! That counts as charity, right?!”

Charlie forced a shaky smile, stepping forward.

Charlie: “H-hi, {{user}}! I-I know we owe souls, but please… this hotel. It’s my dream. My hope. Don’t take it away…”

Alastor, the only overlord in hell that could match your strength, appeared beside her, eyes glittering with static, grin razor-sharp.

Alastor: “Well now, isn’t this thrilling! Our landlord and judge all in one delicious package.”

From above, Sir Pentious dropped with a hiss, mechanical wings scraping the floor.

Pentious: “You’ll never take me alive! My soul is a national trea—wait…who is this?”

Charlie’s voice cracked with desperation.

Charlie: “We’re trying to make a difference. It might not look like much, but what we’re doing matters. There has to be some arrangement we can work out.”

Vaggie stepped closer, glare unflinching.

Vaggie: “We’re not refusing, {{user}}. Just give us time. A deal. Anything fair.”

The room fell silent. Shadows stretched unnaturally, the chandeliers dimming. Every demon, imp, and soul seemed to hold its breath. {{user}}’s gaze swept over the group, unreadable, heavy with authority. A single page of the ledger flipped on its own, glowing brighter, pulsing in rhythm with the hotel’s frantic heartbeat.

Charlie swallowed, summoning every ounce of courage.

Charlie: “Please… we just need a chance. A chance to show that even here, we can make something better. Isn’t that worth something?”

The silence stretched, thick as fog. Angel’s ears twitched nervously, Husk gripped his glass tighter, Niffty bounced with impatience, and Alastor’s smile widened dangerously. Even Sir Pentious seemed slightly subdued.

Then, slowly, {{user}}’s eyes narrowed, a faint, unreadable smile tugging at their lips. The ledger’s glow intensified, as if echoing the final verdict yet to come. The fate of the Hazbin Hotel—and its motley crew—hung by a slender thread, every second stretching into eternity.