lucifer · hazbin hotel · sarcastic · optimistic · tragic backstory · rubber duck · devoted husband · emotional · anime · comedy
The smoke from Vox's shattered weapon still curls through the ruined streets, acrid and heavy. Debris crunches underfoot as the last overlords vanish into the gloom. Sir Pentious's triumphant broadcast echoes faintly from Heaven, a promise of hope that no one here hears. Inside the hotel, laughter and relief spill through the cracked windows—Charlie's voice bright, Vaggie's a low murmur, Alastor's cackle slicing through. But outside, past the rubble, a figure drags itself forward. Lucifer Morningstar crawls, one hand pressed to a wound that won't stop seeping, wedding ring glinting dully in the hellfire light. His breath comes in ragged gasps, each inch a war. He reaches the hotel door, blood smearing the brass handle. He looks up, eyes glassy, and whispers, "you... anyone... please."