Joyride to hell

The corridors of Tomobiki High School were usually a theater of the absurd, but today the performance had reached a fever pitch. Ataru Moroboshi, a young man whose libido possessed the structural integrity of a cockroach and the velocity of a heat-seeking missile, was currently skidding around a corner on his heels. His tongue was practically dragging on the floor, and his eyes had transformed into glowing pink hearts.

"Wait! Just one phone number! A name! A blood type! Anything!" Ataru shrieked, his arms outstretched as he barreled toward the girls' locker room.

"Moroboshi, you absolute stain on the fabric of humanity!" Shūtarō Mendō’s voice boomed from behind. The heir to the Mendō Zaibatsu was in hot pursuit, his family katana drawn and gleaming under the fluorescent school lights. "I shall not allow your filthy eyes to desecrate the purity of the maidenly form! Prepare to meet your ancestors!"

Ataru didn't look back. "Shut up, Mendō! You’re just mad I got a head start! Besides, you’re just as much of a lecher as I am, you just do it with better hair!"

"I am a gentleman!" Mendō roared, leaping into the air to deliver a vertical strike.

Ataru dove to the left, his reflexes honed by years of dodging Lum’s high-voltage temper tantrums. He crashed into a janitor’s closet door, which shouldn't have been there. In fact, the door was glowing with a sickly, pulsating ultraviolet light. As Ataru’s weight hit the wood, the space didn't resist; it folded.

A vacuum of sudden, crushing pressure swallowed Ataru’s scream. Mendō, unable to arrest his momentum, plummeted right in after him. With a sound like a wet towel hitting a tile floor, the portal snapped shut, leaving behind only the faint smell of ozone and the distant sound of a school bell.

The landing was less than graceful. Ataru hit a pile of garbage bags that felt suspiciously like they were filled with broken glass and old teeth. Mendō landed on top of him, his katana clattering onto the cobblestones.

"Get off me, you over-privileged peacock!" Ataru wheezed, shoving Mendō’s expensive boots out of his face.

Mendō scrambled to his feet, instantly checking the crease in his trousers. "Where are we? This isn't the locker room. This isn't even Tomobiki!"

They were standing in an alleyway that bled crimson. Above them, the sky was a bruised, angry red, dominated by a massive, glowing pentagram instead of a sun. The air tasted of sulfur, cheap gin, and desperation. Strange creatures—some with multiple eyes, others with TV screens for heads or flickering wings—stalked the streets in the distance.

Mendō’s face went pale. He clutched his sword hilt, his knuckles white. "Moroboshi... look at the sky. Look at the people. This is... this is..."

"Hell?" Ataru finished, picking a piece of discarded bone out of his hair. He stood up and dusted himself off, remarkably unfazed. "Eh, honestly? It’s a step up from my house when Lum is cooking. At least there aren't any flying babies trying to bite my ears off yet."

"How can you be so calm!?" Mendō shrieked, his eyes darting around. "It’s dark! It’s cramped! It’s—well, it’s not cramped yet, but I can feel a narrow space coming on! It’s scary!"

Ataru ignored him, his nostrils suddenly flaring. He turned his head like a hound catching a scent. "Do you smell that, Mendō? That’s the scent of... perfume? High-end cosmetics? And is that... a leggy blonde I see in the distance?"

Mendō’s fear was momentarily overridden by his own competitive nature. He squinted past the neon signs for "Cannibal Cooking" and "Porn Studios" toward a massive, whimsical structure that looked like a cross between a Victorian mansion and a fever dream. Perched atop a hill, a glowing sign flickered: *Hazbin Hotel*.

"A hotel?" Mendō straightened his tie, his ego returning. "Clearly, a haven for the elite. Perhaps the ruler of this realm resides there. We shall demand sanctuary and a private jet back to Tokyo."

"I don't care about the jet, I care about the concierge!" Ataru shouted, already sprinting toward the gates. "If there’s a hotel, there are maids! High-slit uniforms! Frilly headbands! Hell, here I come!"

They burst through the front doors of the hotel with the subtlety of a car crash. The lobby was surprisingly clean, decorated in deep reds and gold, smelling of cinnamon and old books.

Behind the front desk stood a tall, slender woman with skin as white as porcelain and a smile that seemed to radiate genuine, terrifyingly bright sunshine. Her blonde hair was tied back, and she wore a sharp red tuxedo.

"Oh! Guests!" Charlie Morningstar exclaimed, her eyes widening with delight. She clapped her hands together, nearly vibrating with excitement. "Vaggie! Alastor! We have walk-ins! Real, live—wait, are you guys dead?"

Ataru didn't wait for an explanation. He slid across the lobby floor on his knees, stopping exactly at Charlie’s feet. He grabbed her hand before she could react, his face twisting into a mask of dramatic, soulful longing.

"My darling! My queen of the underworld!" Ataru wailed, his eyes practically turning into telescopes. "I have traveled through the very bowels of the abyss just to find a beauty such as you! Forget redemption, let’s talk about your measurements and your availability for dinner!"

Charlie blinked, her smile faltering into a look of pure confusion. "Um, hi? I'm Charlie! And, uh, I'm actually taken, and also... are you a Sinner? You smell like... school lunch and desperation?"

"Out of the way, peasant!" Mendō shoved Ataru aside with a foot to the ribs. He bowed gracefully, his hand on his sword hilt. "Pay no mind to this cretin, my lady. I am Shūtarō Mendō, heir to the world’s greatest fortune. I find myself temporarily displaced. I require your finest suite and perhaps a map to the nearest exit from this... colorful neighborhood."

Before Charlie could respond, a spear tip made of greyish-white metal whistled through the air, stopping an inch from Mendō’s throat.

"Back off, both of you," a silver-haired woman growled. Vaggie stepped out from behind the desk, her one good eye narrowed in a lethal glare. "Charlie, they’re humans. How the hell did two living humans get into the Pride Ring?"

"I don't know, Vaggie, but look at their outfits!" Charlie whispered loudly. "They’re so retro! It’s like a themed costume party!"

From the shadows of the lounge, a tall, pinstriped figure materialized with a static-filled hum. Alastor, the Radio Demon, leaned on his microphone cane, his grin wide and fixed.

"Greetings! Salutations!" Alastor’s voice crackled as if coming through an old vacuum-tube speaker. "What a delicious surprise! Two little morsels from the world of the living. Tell me, did you take a wrong turn at the mortal coil, or is the Japanese school system simply that cursed?"

Ataru looked at Alastor, then at Vaggie’s spear, then back at Charlie’s chest. "I like the tall one. She’s got a real 'I'll step on you' vibe. But the blonde is definitely the lead singer."

"You idiot!" Mendō hissed at Ataru. "That man is clearly a high-ranking demon! Show some respect before we’re turned into hors d'oeuvres!"

"Oh, don't be so gloomy!" Alastor chuckled, the sound of canned laughter echoing from nowhere. "I find them charming! Especially the skinny one. He has the soul of a cockroach. I’ve never seen a spirit so resilient yet so utterly worthless."

"Hey!" Ataru snapped. "I'll have you know I'm the protagonist of my own life! Now, where are the other girls? I saw a pink spider-looking thing on a billboard outside, is she around?"

"He," a deep, gravelly voice corrected.

Husk, the winged cat demon, slumped over the bar, clutching a bottle of cheap rye. He stared at Ataru with soul-weary eyes. "Trust me, kid. You don't want to go down that road. Also, he’s a guy. A very expensive guy."

Ataru froze. His face turned pale. "A... guy? But the heels... the fluff..."

"Welcome to Hell, kid," Husk grunted, taking a long swig. "Everything’s a scam."

Just then, the hotel doors creaked open again. A small, one-eyed blur of red and white zipped across the floor. Niffty stopped in front of Mendō, staring up at him with her massive, unblinking eye.

"A new man!" she shrieked, her voice a high-pitched needle. "A clean man! A shiny man! Do you have any secrets? Do you have any bugs? I like the shiny stick you're carrying!"

Mendō looked down at the tiny cyclops. "Get away from me, you miniature monstrosity! My suit is dry-clean only!"

"He’s a bad boy!" Niffty giggled, suddenly pulling a needle-sharp dagger from her apron. "I love bad boys! Can I keep a lock of your hair? Or a toe?"

"Help! Someone call the police!" Mendō screamed, retreating behind a sofa. "It’s dark in this corner! It’s cramped! The tiny demon is trying to harvest me!"

Charlie stepped in, her hands raised in a peace-making gesture. "Now, now! Everyone, let’s be professional! We are a place of healing! Mr. Moroboshi, Mr. Mendō, if you’re stuck here, the Hazbin Hotel is the only place that will keep you from being... well, eaten. Or worse, sold to the Vees."

"The Vees?" Ataru asked, picking his ear.

As if on cue, the television in the lobby flickered to life. The screen didn't show news; it showed a grinning face with a flat-screen for a head. Vox’s eyes pulsed with blue electricity.

"Well, well, well," the TV Demon’s voice boomed through the speakers. "What do we have here? Live humans in the Pentagram? That’s a ratings goldmine. Valentino is already salivating, and Velvette is losing her mind over those school uniforms. They’re 'vintage chic,' apparently."

"Stay away from them, Vox!" Charlie yelled at the screen. "They’re my guests!"

"For now, Princess," Vox sneered. "But let’s see how long they last before they realize they’re in the shark tank."

The screen went black. The lobby fell silent for a moment, save for the sound of Ataru trying to peek under Vaggie’s skirt while she was distracted.

*THWACK!*

Vaggie’s boot connected with Ataru’s face, sending him spinning across the rug. He landed in a heap, his nose bleeding, but he had a look of pure ecstasy on his face. "What a woman... such power... such a firm calf muscle..."

"He’s a lost cause," Vaggie sighed, rubbing her temples. "Can we just throw him to the sharks? Please?"

"No! We have to help them!" Charlie insisted. "They’re living souls! If they die here, they might become Sinners forever. We have to find a way to get them back to... where did you say you were from? Tomobiki?"

"It’s a suburb of Tokyo," Mendō explained, finally emerging from behind the sofa after Niffty got distracted by a dust bunny. "Though at this point, I’d settle for a Hilton in Osaka."

Suddenly, the air in the room grew cold. A shadow stretched across the floor, and a short, dapper man in a white suit and a top hat adorned with a golden snake stepped out of a portal of glitter and fire.

"Did someone say guests?" Lucifer Morningstar asked, his voice dripping with a mix of theatrical whimsy and deep-seated depression. He looked at Ataru, then at Mendō. "Charlie, sweetie, why are there two mortals in the lobby? And why does one of them look like he’s trying to flirt with my daughter’s girlfriend?"

Ataru sat up, his eyes widening at the sight of the King of Hell. "Wait, you’re the boss? The Big Cheese? The Sultan of Sin?"

Lucifer puffed out his chest. "I am the King of Hell, the Lightbringer, the—"

"Great!" Ataru interrupted, standing up and dusting himself off. "Listen, King-guy. You seem like a man of the world. Surely you have a harem? A secret stash of succubi? A catalog of underworld pin-ups? Because if I'm going to be stuck here, I have some requirements for my living arrangements."

Lucifer stared at Ataru. He looked at Charlie. He looked back at Ataru.

"Can I kill him?" Lucifer asked plainly. "Just a little bit? I promise I'll make it look like an accident."

"Dad, no!" Charlie cried.

"I agree with the short one!" Mendō shouted. "Kill him! It’s the only way to cleanse the world of his filth!"

"Mendō, you traitor!" Ataru cried, lunging for Mendō’s throat.

The two boys began to tumble across the floor, a whirlwind of flying kicks and desperate hair-pulling. Mendō tried to draw his sword, but Ataru caught the blade between his palms with practiced ease, sticking his tongue out in defiance.

"Standard Japanese teenagers," Alastor remarked, leaning against the bar next to Husk. "Vibrant, violent, and utterly nonsensical. I think I shall enjoy having them around. It’s much more entertaining than the usual screaming."

"I'm going to need more booze," Husk muttered, sliding a glass of whiskey toward himself.

As the chaos escalated, a sudden crackle of electricity filled the room. The air grew heavy, and a familiar, high-pitched voice echoed from the ceiling.

"DARLING!"

A bolt of blue lightning crashed through the skylight, striking Ataru directly in the center of his chest. He stiffened, his skeleton flashing through his skin like a neon sign, before he collapsed into a smoking pile on the carpet.

Floating in the center of the lobby was a beautiful girl with long, iridescent green hair, wearing a tiger-striped bikini. Her eyes were flashing with sparks, and her horns were glowing.

"Ataru! You dummy!" Lum cried, her lip trembling with rage. "I turn my back for five minutes to buy some spicy snacks, and you run off to another dimension to flirt with demon girls! I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!"

She dove down, wrapping her arms around the charred Ataru and delivering another massive electrical discharge for good measure.

Charlie stared at the scene, her jaw dropping. "Is... is that an alien? In Hell?"

"Welcome to my world," Mendō sighed, sitting down on his suitcase and burying his face in his hands. "It doesn't matter where we go. There is no escape. Not even in the afterlife."

Alastor let out a genuine, booming laugh, his radio-static voice filling the hotel. "Oh, Charlie! This is going to be the best season yet! Forget redemption—this is pure, unadulterated comedy!"

Ataru, twitching on the floor as Lum sobbed and shocked him simultaneously, looked up at Charlie and gave a weak thumbs-up.

"So..." he wheezed. "About that... room service...?"