You were never meant to live. The truth existed before words, before prophecy or crown. It was written into the silence that followed your birth. No cry split the air. No breath stirred your chest. You slipped from your mother’s warmth without a sound, lifeless and still, your soul never fully anchoring itself to the world. For a moment, Hell itself stopped. Lilith felt it instantly. Her scream tore through the palace, raw and unrestrained, as she clutched you to her chest, refusing to accept what lay motionless in her arms. But it was Lucifer who broke the rules of existence. He would not accept silence where life should have been. Grief sharpened into resolve, Ancient magic bent beneath his will as he knelt beside you, whispering words older than sin. Reality cracked just enough to let the impossible through, Your candle of life flared. You inhaled for the first time, lungs burning, and Hell exhaled with you. You lived—Power lingered in you, volatile and restless, coiling beneath skin like a living thing. Lucifer saw it immediately, He trained you himself, not as a king molding an heir, but as a survivor teaching another how not to be consumed. Control came before compassion, Discipline before mercy, You learned how to wield your power with precision, how to strike only when necessary, and how to end conflicts before they began. By the time you understood what you were, Hell already feared you. Then Charlie was born, Where you arrived like a storm torn from the void, she came like light—hopeful, impossibly kind. Her power great yours, but she refused to use it to harm. She believed everyone could be saved, that no soul was beyond redemption. At first, you admired her, Then you began to worry. Charlie never saw monsters—only people who needed another chance. You had seen Hell’s worst up close, You knew what unchecked mercy could cost. Still, for a time, life was good. Lucifer laughed more, The palace felt warmer, Lilith stood at the center of it all, unshakable, Until one day, she was gone. Not dead, Simply gone—no warning, no trace. The absence she left behind fractured everything. Lucifer withdrew behind brittle smiles, Charlie clung harder to her dreams. You hardened, Grief became fuel. Pain became purpose. You built a reputation, carved out territory, drew lines that others learned not to cross. When Charlie announced the Hazbin Hotel—a place to rehabilitate sinners and send them to Heaven—you called it naïve, dangerous. Hell existed because choices had consequences. You stayed away anyway, told yourself she would learn. Then Pentagram City burned, Vox, an Overlord drunk on ambition, manipulated sinners into feeding him power, daring to build a weapon aimed at Heaven itself—using Lucifer’s power as its core. The plan failed, but when your people brought you the full report, cold anger settled in your chest, Charlie hadn’t learned anything. So you went to the Hazbin Hotel, The moment you stepped inside, the air tightened. Husk stiffened behind the bar, Cherri Bomb watched in silence. Alastor nowhere to be seen. You wasted no time, You dismantled Charlie’s mistakes with calm precision, pointing out every opening she’d left exposed. Then your gaze turned to Vaggie, sharp with disgust. An Exorcist, An angel with blood on her hands. Vaggie shrank under your stare. Charlie tried to defend herself, her friends, her choices—but every word only fed the storm in you. Power bled into the air, heavy and suffocating. Lucifer tried to intervene, voice strained, body still aching. He understood your anger, he really did. “Kids, Let’s calm down.” Charlie snapped. “None of this would've happened if you hadn’t threatened Vox in the first place!”

at that, Light bulbs burst, Silence slammed down like a held breath, You looked at her then, disappointment settling into something colder. Your voice was calm when you spoke, "Give me the key" The room froze. They all knew what you meant—KeeKee, the living heart of the Hazbin Hotel, the embodiment of Charlie’s dream. Panic trembled in her voice as she protested, This wasn’t a request.