After the massacre, Ishnofel walked among the shadows of the city. The night seemed to swallow every sound, and the echo of his steps reverberated through streets empty and wet from the recent rain. His mind clung to memories of Eliana, and the pain burned like icy fire, running through every vertebra of his spine. The world appeared to him as a hollow, hostile place; there was no room for him, nor for his remorse.
In the Carmine house, Carmilla stood in front of the television, the bluish light of the screen reflecting on her face. The news filled the room with a monotonous hum, and each word seemed to cut through the calm like invisible blades. Katie Killjoy and Tom Trench appeared on the screen, flawless and serious, narrating the tragedy.
—Breaking news: a massacre at Vox's studio. Ishnofel, the eighth deadly sin, carried out the act following threats against his human life —Katie reported, measuring every word with surgical precision, as if fearing that any excess could worsen the situation.
Carmilla didn't respond immediately. The screen showed the motionless bodies and the flashing emergency lights, reflecting a silent horror. With a slow gesture, she turned off the TV, letting the heavy, oppressive silence fill the room.
—Ishnofel… —she whispered, barely audible, a thread of pain woven between the words, as if the very air feared to listen.
—Mom… are you okay? —Odette asked cautiously, her small voice fragile against the weight of the moment, her eyes reflecting restrained fear.
—Yes… I'm just thinking —Carmilla replied, her soft voice contrasting with the hardness in her gaze, which seemed to peer into the abyss of the night.
—About Ishnofel? —Clara asked innocently, not fully understanding the magnitude of what had happened.
—Don't say that name —Carmilla fixed her gaze on her, firm and serious—. That person is dangerous.
In the distance, Ishnofel heard the words like a distant echo, suspended between the walls and rooftops of the deserted city. Guilt and the desire to explain himself caught in his throat, but he knew he wasn't welcome. Without a word, he walked away, merging with the darkness, seeking a place where he could confront his own torment.
Meanwhile, at the Hazbin Hotel, the news slowly spread among the inhabitants. The neon lights reflected off the glass, creating a kaleidoscope effect that contrasted with the gravity of the murmurs. Lucifer watched the situation calmly, though his eyes shone with genuine concern.
—Daughter, Ishnofel acted because Vox provoked him —he said, his voice calm, each word like a balm trying to soothe Charlie's internal fire.
—I know… but… that massacre won't leave my mind —Charlie felt tears sting her eyes, and the pressure in her chest was almost physical, as if the world itself was compressing her breath.
—Relax, niece. Everything will be resolved —commented Janet Morningstar, radiating serenity and confidence, while a gentle breeze from the window moved the curtains slightly.
Vaggie watched the entrance, ready for any eventuality. Husk drank with more urgency than usual, and Angel Dust tried to break the tension with clumsy jokes, which were lost among the echoes of footsteps in the lobby.
High on a nearby building, Ishnofel sat on the ledge, the biting wind hitting his face and tousling his dark hair. The city stretched beneath him like an ocean of lights and shadows, and every memory of his past and of Eliana pierced him like an invisible dagger.
A few meters away, the I.M.P. headquarters loomed, its façade illuminated by red and blue lights that flickered like restless flames. Loona scrolled through her phone with her usual disdain, while Moxxie and Millie shared a romantic moment, unaware of the tension approaching. Blitzø, always alert and chaotic, noticed something strange on the opposite rooftop, his eyes shining with curiosity and alarm.
—What the hell is that? —Blitzø asked, a mix of alarm and curiosity, his hands tightening on the railing.
—Sir… it looks like… someone, on the roof —Moxxie said, a thread of fear in his voice, noticing how the silhouette seemed to absorb the light around it.
—If it's a threat, we need to act —Millie said, ready to intervene, her stance firm and defensive.
—I'm sure it's just a giant mannequin —Loona commented skeptically, not taking her eyes off her phone, though a shadow of unease crossed her face.
Blitzø, ignoring the comments, stepped toward the figure. Moxxie followed, fearing the worst, while Millie kept her guard up. Loona stayed behind, disinterested, though her eyes couldn't stop following the silhouette that seemed to pulse with life of its own.
Ishnofel noticed the three presences and lifted his head. His cold voice rang out like a whip cutting through the night breeze:
—Who's there?
Blitzø stepped forward with his usual boldness, trying to fill the silence that hung heavy like lead.
—Uh… hey, buddy. I'm Blitzø —the "O" is silent—… and you are… —he said with bravado, attempting a smile, though his hands trembled slightly.
—Ishnofel —he replied, dry, imposing, with a presence that made even the breeze feel heavier around him.
—I'm Millie, and this is my husband, Moxxie —Millie introduced herself kindly, while Moxxie huddled behind her, still trembling at the energy Ishnofel emanated.
Ishnofel nodded gravely, evaluating whether to engage further or leave.
—What are you doing here, like some emo lost after a bad romance? —Blitzø joked, trying to break the tension with an exaggerated, comical gesture, but the shadow of the night made his humor seem weak before the presence of the eighth sin.
—I just… need to be alone —Ishnofel replied, an aura of authority silencing the chaotic demon momentarily.
—I'm not looking for trouble —he added, making it clear he wanted no conflict, though the city seemed to breathe along with him, dense and expectant.
Blitzø gestured dramatically, softening his tone.
—Hey, big guy… why don't you hang with us for a bit? It's not fun being alone —he insisted, this time with a more genuine touch, as a halo of neon lights faintly illuminated their faces.
Ishnofel hesitated for a moment, contemplating the offer. The decision wasn't verbal; a simple gesture was enough to accept and enter the building. Millie smiled, calming an anxious Moxxie, while everyone adapted to the unexpected arrival of the imposing, mysterious being.