Barnaby saw it wasn't too long before Virgil Pelican landed on the deck of the Fun Ship. Barnaby told him, "Hello, I am Barnaby Milestone, are you Virgil, part of Shamu's crew?"
He let out a raspy, indignant squawk, shaking his wings back into place as he squinted at Barnaby through one suspicious, watery eye.
"Shamu's crew?" Virgil echoed, his voice sounding like dry sandpaper rubbing against a pier. "Listen here, Milestone—if that's your real name—I'm a free agent of the sky! I just happen to associate with a high-profile cetacean for the travel benefits and the occasional high-quality mackerel."
He hopped closer, his large webbed feet making a slap-slap-slap sound on the deck of the Fun Ship.
"But yeah, I’m Virgil. And if Dolly sent you, I assume you’ve already been charmed by the giggles and the 'Queen of the Pacific' routine. Me? I'm more of a 'Cut-to-the-Chase' bird. You mentioned Sir Winston? Last I saw, he was trying to use a discarded anchor as a backscratcher near the sandbar."
On the phone screen, Charlie was practically vibrating. "Vaggie, did you hear that? He's a grumpy bird! I want to give him a sweater! Does he look like he needs a sweater?"
Vaggie just rubbed her temples. "He's a pelican, Charlie. He'd probably try to eat the sweater."
Virgil tilted his head, eyeing the glowing phone in Barnaby's hand. "Who are the colorful ladies? They look like they’ve seen a ghost. Or several hundred."
Virgil’s eyes widened, his orange throat pouch fluttering as he took a long, skeptical look at the screen. "Below, eh?" He leaned in so close his damp beak nearly smudged the glass. "They look a bit... vibrant for deep-sea dwellers. Not enough bioluminescence, too much hair."
"We're from the Pride Ring, actually!" Charlie chirped, waving so enthusiastically the camera blurred. "I'm Charlie! And that's Vaggie—she’s the one who isn't currently screaming with joy!"
Vaggie gave a stiff, two-finger wave. "We’re just... supervising. Barnaby, please tell me the bird isn't going to try and swallow the phone."
Virgil snorted, a sound like a wet bellows. "Pah! I’ve got standards, ladies. If it doesn't wiggle and smell like brine, it doesn't go in the gullet. Though," he squinted at Charlie’s rosy cheeks, "you've got the energy of a school of manic sardines. I like it."
He turned back to Barnaby, his feathers settling. "Alright, Milestone. Since you've got 'friends in low places' and Dolly’s already vouched for you, I’ll play navigator. But let’s move fast. Sir Winston gets cranky if he stays in the sun too long—he starts smelling like an old rug left in a basement."
Virgil hopped onto the railing, spreading his massive wings. "The Fun Ship better be able to keep up! We’re heading for the Great Blue Lagoon. That's where the Big Boss is currently practicing his breach-and-splash routine."
With the high-pitched "all-aboard" from Captain Kid (and a squawk of disapproval from Chester Parrot), the Fun Ship surged forward, its engines churning the crystal-clear water into a frothy white wake.
"Full steam it is!" the Captain roared, adjusting his tricorn hat as the schooner banked toward the Great Blue Lagoon.
Virgil Pelican barely managed to stay on the railing, his wings flapping wildly for balance. "Easy on the throttle, Cap! I’ve got a delicate internal gyroscope and a very full gullet!" He pointed a primary feather toward a cluster of sun-drenched rocks up ahead. "There! Look for the pile of blubber that looks like a boulder with whiskers. That’ll be Sir Winston."
As the Fun Ship slowed near the sandbar, a deep, resonant rumble vibrated through the air—part snore, part foghorn. Sir Winston Walrus was indeed there, draped over a flat rock like a magnificent, wrinkled rug. He cracked one eye open, the sunlight glinting off his long, ivory tusks. 1.3.5
"Hmph," Winston grunted, his voice a bass note that seemed to rattle the ship’s hull. "Virgil... you're late. And you brought a human.
As the Fun Ship slowed near the sandbar, a deep, resonant rumble vibrated through the air—part snore, part foghorn. Sir Winston Walrus was indeed there, draped over a flat rock like a magnificent, wrinkled rug. He cracked one eye open, the sunlight glinting off his long, ivory tusks. 1.3.5
"Hmph," Winston grunted, his voice a bass note that seemed to rattle the ship’s hull. "Virgil... you're late. And you brought a human.
"Ahoy there, I am Barnaby Miles, Sir Winston Walrues." Barnaby greeted.
"Milestone, actually," Virgil corrected with a dry whistle, "but the kid’s got spirit, Winston! Even if his friends live in a furnace."
Sir Winston Walrus shifted his massive weight, the rock beneath him groaning in sympathy. He puffed out his whiskers, looking Barnaby up and down with the weary patience of an old professor.
"Barnaby... Milestone," Winston rumbled, his voice like stones grinding together at the bottom of the tide. "A sturdy name. Better than 'Virgil,' which sounds like a sneeze in a gale. And I suppose you're here about the Big Boss? Everyone is always looking for the whale. Nobody ever just comes to discuss the historical significance of bivalves or the proper way to polish ivory."
"SIR WINSTON!" Charlie yelled from the phone, her face taking up the entire screen. "Your tusks are MAGNIFICENT! Do you use a special wax? Can I send you a giant bow? A red one? Or maybe gold to match your... well, your everything?!"
Winston blinked, leaning his heavy head toward the railing to inspect the glowing device in Barnaby's hand. "A bow? My dear child, I am a creature of dignity, not a Christmas ham. Though," he paused, giving a thoughtful stroke to his whiskers with a flipper, "gold would be quite striking against the mahogany of my hide."
He turned his gaze back to Barnaby. "You have the look of a man on a mission, Milestone. Dolly’s been chirping, Virgil’s been squawking, and the sea is restless. What is it you need from the Crew? If it’s a ride to the Shamu Stadium, I hope you brought a very large umbrella. He’s been working on his 'Mega-Splash' all morning."
Barnaby said urgently, "We need to find Shamu for an important meeting. If the stadium is empty that would be great but i don't want to risk other humans seeing me at the stadium. That might draw unnecessary attention. Pete and Penny, O.P. and Seymore are already here, by the way."
"A secret meeting, eh? And the whole gang is already here?" Sir Winston rumbled, his thick whiskers twitching as he looked past Barnaby toward the deck where Pete, Penny, O.P., and Seamore were gathered. "It must be a serious matter if you’ve rounded up the penguins and that slippery card-shark Seamore without a bribe of herring."
He glanced nervously toward the distant, towering walls of the Shamu Stadium. "If it's privacy you want, the stadium is a fishbowl. Even when the humans aren't in the stands, they’re watching through the underwater viewing glass. Too many cameras, too much 'paparazzi.'"
The old walrus lowered his voice to a conspiratorial bass. "You'll want the Blue Lagoon—the deep end, past the Dolphin Point. There’s an inlet there that the trainers call the 'backstage' pool. It’s quiet, shaded by the cliffs, and the only audience you’ll have is the occasional curious seagull."
On the phone, Charlie’s eyes went wide. "A secret lagoon! Vaggie, it’s like a spy movie, but with more splashing!"
Vaggie crossed her arms, peering at the screen. "Just make sure it's actually private, Barnaby. We don't need a viral video of 'Man in Black Coat talks to Whale' hitting the human internet."
"Don't worry, Princess," Virgil squawked, already stretching his wings. "I'll scout ahead. If I see a tripod or a tourist in a Hawaiian shirt, I’ll drop a 'tactical gift' on their head to move them along."
Sir Winston nodded toward the Captain. "Follow the bird, Milestone. Shamu is likely there now, practicing his back-dive. He’s always more approachable when he isn't trying to soak a crowd of three thousand."
The Fun Ship glided silently into the shadows of the towering limestone cliffs, the engines humming at a low purr to avoid echoing off the stone walls. The secret inlet was breathtaking—a secluded circle of sapphire water where the surface was as smooth as glass, untouched by the chaotic winds of the open sea.
"Perfect," Seamore whispered, finally tucking his deck of cards away. "No cameras, no trainers, just us and the Big Guy."
Suddenly, the water in the center of the lagoon didn't just ripple; it bulged. A massive, sleek black dorsal fin sliced through the surface like a obsidian blade. Then, with the grace of a submarine made of muscle, Shamu rose. He didn't splash; he simply elevated his massive head until his eye was level with the ship’s railing.
The silence was deafening until Charlie let out a muffled, high-pitched "Eeee!" on the phone.
Shamu let out a long, resonant blow from his blowhole—a misty spray that caught a stray beam of sunlight. His gaze turned toward Barnaby, deep and ancient.
"You've gathered the whole Shamu’s Crew," the orca’s mental voice boomed, far deeper and more authoritative than Dolly’s bells or Virgil’s gravel. It felt like a bass drum vibrating in Barnaby’s chest. "Sir Winston, Virgil, Dolly, the Penguins, even O.P. and the Sea Lion. This is no mere social call, Barnaby Milestone."
He tilted his head, catching sight of the glowing screen. "And who are your friends on that strange contraption in your hand?"
Barnaby held the phone steady, the screen glowing against the shaded cliffs of the inlet. On the display, Charlie Morningstar was practically vibrating with a mix of reverence and starstruck terror.
"These are my friends from... well, further south than the Antarctic," Barnaby explained calmly. "This is Charlie and Vaggie. They’ve been following our progress from the Hazbin Hotel."
"HI MISTER SHAMU!" Charlie squeaked, her voice echoing off the limestone walls. "Oh my gosh, you are so majestic! Your dorsal fin is... it’s like a mountain of justice! I’m the Princess of Hell, and this is my girlfriend Vaggie—she thinks you’re very intimidating, which is a huge compliment!"
"Hell, you mean the bad place?" Shamu asked.
Barnaby explained, "Uh, these young ladies aren't bad, but you aren't too far off the mark of a bad place. They have been trying to redeem souls so they can go to Heaven, you know, the good place."
Shamu let out a long, contemplative burst of mist from his blowhole, the spray creating a fleeting rainbow in the secret inlet.
"Redemption," the orca’s mental voice resonated, sounding like the deep, rhythmic pull of the tide. "A noble swim against a very strong current. Most creatures are content to simply drift with the waves, but to try and change the very nature of a soul... that is a 'breach' of the highest order."
On the phone, Charlie’s eyes welled up with sparkly tears. "He gets it! Vaggie, the giant whale gets it! He understands the struggle of the uphill swim!"
Vaggie crossed her arms, looking at Shamu with newfound respect. "Yeah, well, it’s a lot of splashing around for very little progress most days. But we’re trying."
Shamu tilted his massive head, his dark, intelligent eye focusing on Barnaby. "The Shamu & Crew brand has always been about joy and the surface world’s wonder. We represent the 'Light.' If you are bringing the 'Darkness' of the Pit to my waters seeking help, you must believe there is a connection between our joy and their... redemption."
Sir Winston Walrus huffed, his tusks clacking against the rock. "It sounds like a lot of paperwork to me. I prefer the simplicity of a good clam. But if the Big Boss is interested, I suppose my whiskers are at your service, Milestone."
Shamu moved closer, his snout nearly touching the hull of the Fun Ship. "Tell me, Barnaby Milestone—how can a pod of sea creatures help the Princess of Hell reach the 'Good Place'? Do you seek a bridge between worlds, or do you need the strength of the ocean to wash away a particular stain?"
Barnaby said, "Well, it is more about Earth. You see, I am from the future, 2040. There is a deadly barnacle disease that is infecting people and there is no known cure. A marine biologist told me to find you and your crew, the defenders of the Pacific and someone doesn't want you involved."
The atmosphere in the secret inlet shifted instantly. Shamu went perfectly still, his massive body suspended in the water like a dark, silent continent. The playful chirping of Dolly and the grumbling of Sir Winston ceased as the weight of the year 2040 settled over the crew. Shamu let out a low, vibrating groan that felt like an earthquake in Barnaby’s marrow. "A 'barnacle disease' that takes root in the flesh of the land-dwellers... and it seeks to silence the Defenders of the Pacific before we can act? This sounds like the work of the Void Currents—a corruption that even time cannot wash away."
Virgil Pelican ruffled his feathers, looking genuinely spooked. "2040? Do I still have my youthful glow, or am I a rug? Wait—don't tell me. But a disease? I don't like the sound of that. I'm a clean bird! I preen three times a day!"
Shamu rose slightly higher, his blowhole whistling. "If a biologist from the future sent you to us, it is because our song contains the frequency of the Old Ocean—the pure water that existed before the corruption. My crew and I are not just performers; we are the guardians of the tide."
He turned his eye back to Barnaby, more intense than ever. "The barnacles are a physical manifestation of a spiritual rot. To cure it, we must find the Source Reef, but we are bound to these waters by the humans of this time."
"If we are to leave," Sir Winston added gravely, "we need more than a boat. We need a way to travel the currents of time without drying out."
Barnaby asked, "What are the Void Currents? And what is the frequency of the Old Ocean?"
Shamu leaned in closer, his blowhole emitting a soft, rhythmic whistle as he prepared to explain the metaphysical mechanics of the ocean.
"The Void Currents are not made of water," the orca's mental voice resonated, dropping into a somber, low-frequency hum. "They are 'dead zones' in the flow of time and spirit—eddies of nothingness that swallow memory and life. When the ocean's balance is broken, these currents rise from the deepest trenches to choke the world above. This 'barnacle disease' you speak of is their physical anchor; it latches onto the living because the Void itself has no substance of its own. It steals the 'now' to feed a hollow 'never.'"
Sir Winston Walrus shifted, his tusks clacking against the stone. "Think of it like a parasite of the sea’s soul, Milestone. It’s the cold that stays even when the sun is out."
"And the Frequency of the Old Ocean?" Dolly Dolphin chirped, her voice shimmering like a bell. "That’s the Heartbeat! Before humans, before the Void, the ocean sang a perfect, constant note. It's a vibration of pure creation. It’s the only thing the Void can’t swallow because it’s too 'solid' for the nothingness to handle. Our crew... we are the tuning forks. We keep that note alive in this era so the ocean doesn't forget itself."
On the phone, Charlie was frantically taking notes on a piece of parchment that seemed to appear out of thin air. "So, to cure the future, we have to broadcast that 'Old Ocean' song through the Void? It’s like a magical symphony of healing!"
Vaggie looked skeptical. "But if someone is trying to keep you away from the Pacific, they must have their own 'tuning forks' out there. Barnaby, did the biologist mention any specific enemies? Who stands to gain from a world covered in barnacles?"
"No. She was shot before she could tell me, but it is some organization." Barnaby said.
Shamu’s eye narrowed. "The one who fears us is the one who thrives in the silence. If we are to help you, Barnaby, we must find the Source Reef to amplify our song. But as I said, we are anchored here. To reach the future, we need a vessel that can swim through the Void without being consumed."
"What's the Void Current?" Barnaby asked. "Are you describing Hell?"
"Not exactly from the Pit, but they're cousins in misery," Shamu rumbled, his voice vibrating through the hull of the Fun Ship. "Think of it this way: if Hell is a furnace of passion, punishment, and misplaced energy, the Void is the absolute absence of it. It is the cold, silent dark where nothing grows and nothing feels."
Vaggie leaned into the camera, her expression grim. "He’s right, Barnaby. In our world, we deal with addictions and misplaced desires. But the Void? That’s the Extermination of the soul—the nothingness that's left when a light is snuffed out for good. It’s not 'bad' like a demon; it’s 'bad' like a vacuum."
Charlie shivered, clutching her notepad. "It’s like... the opposite of a hug. It’s the loneliest thing in the universe! No wonder it manifests as barnacles—it’s trying to latch onto anything that’s actually alive just to feel a heartbeat!"
Sir Winston Walrus huffed, a plume of salty mist escaping his nose. "It’s a spiritual rot, Milestone. It doesn't come from a 'place' so much as it comes from a 'lack.' When the world forgets to care for the Ocean's Balance, the Void seeps in through the cracks. If your 2040 is covered in those barnacles, it means the world has stopped singing the Old Ocean's song."
"And that's why they need us!" Dolly chirped, doing a nervous little tail-flip. "We’re the 'anti-Void'! We’re made of bubbles, giggles, and 100% Grade-A Joy! The Void hates us because we’re too loud to ignore!"
"Okay, and the Source Reef?" Barnaby asked.
"The Source Reef isn't on any human map, Milestone," Shamu rumbled, his body sinking slightly deeper as if to anchor his words. "It exists in the 'Between'—the layer of the ocean where the water of the past meets the currents of the future. Humans in your time call it Explorer’s Reef as a tribute, but the true Reef is a living, breathing cathedral of ancient coral that hums with the original song of the sea."
Dolly chirped excitedly, "It’s located at the exact point where the International Date Line crosses the Equator, but you can only see it if you’re swimming at the 'Frequency of Joy'! To everyone else, it just looks like empty blue water."
"It's the heart of the Pacific's immune system," Sir Winston added, his tusks vibrating. "If the 'Void' is the disease, the Source Reef is the white blood cell. But it’s been fading. The barnacles you saw in 2040? They started there, choking the Heartbeat until the Reef went silent."
"Well then, we need to get back to my time. Queen Bee, a friend of ours, opened a portal to take me here. We are going to need another portal to take us to 2040 but first we need to go to a place between realities, like Hell. Maybe Charlie can figure something out." Barnaby called, "Charlie, do you think Queen Bee is strong enough to let us through another portal or should you ask someone else. Also do you know a place where the Fun Ship and Shamu and his crew can stay, if not an ocean an big enough aquarium?"
"Oh, oh! Queen Bee is amazing, but a portal for a whole schooner and a literal ton of sea creatures? That’s a lot of honey-magic!" Charlie chirped, her tail twitching in thought. "Vaggie, do we think the Gluttony Ring has enough space? Bee's parties are huge, but Shamu needs... well, an ocean!"
Vaggie stepped in, looking professional. "Barnaby, if you want to stay 'between realities' where the Void can't find you, the Pride Ring has some deep-water reservoirs near the Styx, but the water is... well, it's soul-fire flavored. Probably not great for a dolphin's skin."
Charlie’s face lit up. "Wait! The Hotel! We have the infinite expansion spell! I can manifest a Royal Aquarium Wing right in the lobby! It’ll have crystal-clear water, magical coral, and we can even put a little 'No Fishing' sign so the guests don't get hungry!"
Shamu let out a deep, vibrating click of approval. "An aquarium in the Afterlife? It is unconventional, but if it keeps my pod safe from the Void Currents while we prepare for 2040, we shall accept this 'Room Service.'"
Sir Winston Walrus grunted, "Does the Hotel have a good supply of clams? I don't care if they're 'demon clams' as long as they're salty."
Charlie grabbed her phone and started dialing. "I’m calling Bee right now! If we combine her Gluttony Portals with my Royal Spark, we can bridge the gap. We’ll meet you at the Source Reef coordinates in ten minutes! Just look for a giant, glowing pink-and-gold whirlpool!"
Virgil Pelican looked at Barnaby, wide-eyed. "We’re really doing this, aren’t we? We’re going to the Hazbin Hotel. I hope they have a good balcony for preening."
The portal—a shimmering whirlpool of Queen Bee’s pink honey-magic and Charlie’s golden royal energy—erupted in the center of the lagoon. With a roar of engines and a chorus of surprised squawks from Virgil, the Fun Ship surged through the rift.
The transition was a blur of neon colors and the smell of cotton candy mixed with ozone. One moment, they were in the misty Pacific; the next, the ship slammed into the massive, magically expanded Aquarium Wing of the Hazbin Hotel.
Shamu glided into the tank, his massive bulk displacing enough water to send a small wave over the top, soaking Husk at the bar. The orca let out a deep, satisfied click that resonated through the hotel’s foundations.
"This water... it is vibrant," Shamu’s mental voice boomed throughout the hotel. "It lacks the salt of the Earth, but it carries the fire of those who refuse to be extinguished. It will do for our preparations."
Sir Winston Walrus hauled himself onto a velvet-lined ledge near the reception desk. "Hmph. I’ve seen better rocks, but the service is certainly faster. Milestone, tell the spider-man to stop staring at my tusks before I sit on his favorite chair."
Charlie came running down the grand staircase, her eyes sparkling. "You made it! Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel! We’ve got fresh-pressed seaweed smoothies, and Niffty is already trying to 'spiff up' the barnacles on the ship’s hull!"
In the corner, Alastor leaned against his cane, a wide, predatory grin on his face as he watched the 12,000-pound killer whale. "My, my, Charlie. A 'Sea World' in the Pride Ring? Talk about a big splash for the brand! I do hope the neighbors don't mind the singing."
As the Fun Ship bobs in the harbor-sized indoor pool, Barnaby knows they are safe from the Void Currents for now. But 2040 is still waiting.
Barnaby decided to talk to Alastor about his deal. "Alastor, about our deal, I know you used my knife I gave you to act as an antenna and once I catch those responsible, their leader becomes the antenna, well, do you know what to do if you have a run-in with the Void Currents or the people who are feeding it? That Vincent Harry treasurer guy is behind it but who knows who else? What if it's demons in Hell also involved? I could have possibly put you in harm's way of a threat you never dealt with therefore."
Alastor’s grin didn't falter, but it sharpened, his eyes momentarily flickering into the shape of radio dials as a low hum of static filled the hotel lobby. He leaned on his cane, tapping the shadow-infused knife Barnaby had gifted him against his palm.
"How thoughtful of you to worry about my well-being, Barnaby! It’s truly... touching," Alastor chuckled, the sound layered with the crackle of an old phonograph. "But do remember, I’ve spent decades navigating the static between frequencies. The Void is just a broadcast with no talent—a silence that thinks it can drown out a good show."
He paced around the massive aquarium glass, his shadow stretching out to mimic Shamu’s massive silhouette. "If this Vincent Harry is using the Void to choke the life out of 2040, he’s playing with a hunger he can’t satisfy. And if there are demons involved? Well, the Pride Ring is full of opportunistic bottom-feeders looking for a new 'angle.'"
Alastor stopped, his shadow’s eyes glowing a haunting neon green. "The knife you gave me is a marvelous conductor. It doesn't just receive; it broadcasts. If these 'Void-feeders' try to dampen my signal, they’ll find that I am quite proficient at turning silence into a scream."
Vaggie stepped forward, her hand on her harpoon. "He’s right to be worried, Alastor. If the Void is a 'Nothingness,' your magic—which relies on souls and deals—might not have anything to latch onto. It’s like trying to fight a fog with a knife."
"A challenge!" Charlie squeaked, trying to stay positive. "But that's why we have Shamu's Crew! They have the Old Ocean Frequency! It’s the perfect 'Anti-Static' for Alastor’s radio!"
Alastor tilted his head at Barnaby. "Tell me more about this Treasurer. Is he a man of wealth and taste, or just another dull bureaucrat trying to audit the universe into non-existence? If we are to make him our new 'antenna,' I’d like to know if he has a good speaking voice for the airwaves."
Barnaby explained, "The world is ran by a single government, including a single bank that uses cryptocurrency. Vincent Harry is the one in charge of the whole financial system after the barnacle took over."
Alastor’s eyes turned into glowing radio dials, and the air filled with the sharp, rhythmic crackle of a skipping record. A low, distorted laugh vibrated through the lobby of the Hazbin Hotel.
"A single government? A single bank? And a digital currency with no clink or weight?" Alastor tilted his head, his grin widening to an impossible width. "How dreadfully dull! It seems your 2040 has traded its soul for a spreadsheet. No wonder the Void found a home there; a world that runs on nothing but numbers is already halfway to non-existence!"He tapped the shadow-infused knife against his chin, his gaze flickering toward Shamu, who was watching the exchange from behind the massive aquarium glass. "If this Vincent Harry controls the flow of every 'coin' in the world, he isn't just a treasurer, Barnaby. He’s a Warden. He’s using the barnacle plague to make the living desperate, and then charging them for the privilege of breathing."
Vaggie gripped her spear, her expression darkening. "If he’s the one feeding the Void, he’s probably using the financial system to harvest the despair of the entire planet. That’s a lot of power, Barnaby. It’s like he’s turned the whole Earth into a giant Soul Contract."
Barnaby made a realization. "That means there is supernatural power is afoot. If he knew about the portal that sent me to Pentagram City, he must have allies on the other side."
"Aha! Now you're thinking like a true resident of the Pride Ring!" Alastor chirped, his voice layered with the sound of a cheering studio audience. He began to pace, his shadow elongating and dancing across the massive glass of Shamu’s tank. "To know the coordinates of a portal fueled by Queen Bee and pinpoint your arrival in the middle of this chaotic city? That’s not 'finances,' Barnaby. That’s divination."
Vaggie tightened her grip on her spear, her eye narrowing. "He's right. For a human in 2040 to track a soul falling into Hell, he’d need a 'receiver' down here. Someone with a high-up seat and a very long reach."
Shamu let out a series of deep, rhythmic clicks that vibrated the hotel's foundation. His mental voice rumbled through everyone’s mind: "The Void Currents do not act alone. They are a vacuum, and something—or someone—is directing the suction. If this Vincent Harry has an ally here, they are likely feeding him the 'spiritual' data he needs to keep the barnacle plague anchored to the human soul."
Charlie gasped, her tail stopping mid-wag. "You mean... one of the Overlords might be in league with a future-banker? That's... that's a total violation of the Hotel’s spirit! Who would want to turn the whole world into a giant, barnacle-covered bank vault?"
Alastor stopped in front of Barnaby, his grin turning sharp enough to cut glass. "Oh, there are plenty of candidates who love a good monopoly. But think, Milestone—who benefits from a world that is silent, digitized, and devoid of joy? Someone who wants to own the signal itself."
He leaned in, the static from his radio-voice making Barnaby’s hair stand on end. "If Vincent Harry has a partner in Pentagram City, we aren't just dealing with a 'disease.' We’re dealing with a conspiracy across time. We need to find out who in Hell is 'investing' in the year 2040."
Sir Winston Walrus huffed from his velvet cushion. "Well, don't look at me. I only invest in herring futures."
"Can you give me the names of every overlord in Hell that you know of?" Barnaby asked Alastor.
Alastor adjusts his bowtie, his grin sharpening as the static in his voice crackles with a hint of amusement. "A comprehensive list of the competition? How industrious of you, Barnaby! In this town, names have power, but the souls behind them have even more."
He begins to pace, the shadows of the hotel lobby lengthening with every name he drops:
The Vees: "The modern loudmouths. There’s Vox, the walking flat-screen; Valentino, the moth with a penchant for poor contracts; and Velvette, who thinks a 'trend' is as good as a soul."
Carmilla Carmine: "The premiere arms dealer. If it’s made of angelic steel and cuts through a demon like butter, she likely sold it."
Zestial: "The oldest of us all. He speaks in riddles and shadows, and even the Vees have the sense to lower their voices when he walks by."
Rosie: "My dear friend and the mistress of Cannibal Town. She has a refined palate and an even more refined business sense."
Zeezi (Missi Zilla): "A colorful giant who rules the underground club scene. Plenty of flash, but quite a bit of bite."
Other Notable Names: "There are others like Maestro, Prick, and Hatchet, each carving out their own little niche of misery."
Each one controls a different slice of the Pride Ring," Alastor adds, leaning on his cane. "If your Vincent Harry has a 'business partner' here, it would be someone with a taste for global control. Vox loves a network, but Carmilla loves a monopoly. Or perhaps it’s someone I haven’t had the pleasure of... erasing yet."
Vaggie crosses her arms, looking at the list. "Barnaby, if we’re looking for a supernatural link to a global bank in 2040, we should start with whoever handles the most 'digital' souls."
"Alright, who in Hell deals with money? Who runs Hell's currency or financial system?" Barnaby asked. "Someone who would want a slice of cake too. Then they would get Hell and Earth."
"Money, you say? If you're looking for the one who pulls the strings of every purse and pocket in Hell, you’re looking for Mammon," Alastor replied, his eyes briefly turning into glowing gold coins. "He's the Prince of Greed and the undisputed master of Hell’s financial system."
"So someone higher than an overlord?" Barnaby said. "We can't take down a prince of sin!"
"A Prince of the Seven Sins is indeed a far bigger fish than an Overlord," Alastor admitted, his radio-voice dropping into a low, distorted hum. "To Mammon, an Overlord is just a middle-manager. Taking him down in a fair fight would be like trying to punch the tide back with your bare hands."
Vaggie gripped her spear, her expression grim. "He's right, Barnaby. Mammon is ancient, powerful, and essentially the CEO of Greed. You can't just shoot him or out-magic him—he literally owns the concept of wanting more."
However, Charlie stepped forward, her eyes glowing with a sudden, regal spark of determination. "We can't fight him with brute force, but remember who I am! I'm the Princess of Hell. My father is Lucifer, and he's the only one Mammon actually has to listen to!"
"And Queen Bee and Ozzie, they are on our side." Barnaby said. "But we need to find evidence to prove his guilt."
"Evidence! Now you're talking like a real investigator, Milestone!" Alastor chirped, his cane spinning in a blur of shadow. "Even a Prince of Sin has to follow the infernal bylaws if the King starts poking around. And Lucifer might ignore a lot, but he doesn't like his peers playing with Void Currents—that’s messy, 'anti-creative' business."
Vaggie nodded, her eyes sharp. "If Mammon is the 'silent partner' for Vincent Harry, there has to be a paper trail. Or a 'soul trail.' Mammon doesn't do anything for free. There’s a contract, a server, or a vault in the Greed Ring that connects the 2040 bank to Hell’s economy."
Charlie clapped her hands, her excitement returning. "And with Queen Bee and Asmodeus (Ozzie) on our side, we have the ultimate 'in'! Bee can get us into any party in Greed, and Ozzie knows everyone’s dirty little secrets. If Mammon is hiding a 'Time-Bank,' they’ll help us find the keys!"
Shamu let out a series of rhythmic, sonar-like pings against the aquarium glass. "To catch a Prince of Greed, you must follow the 'Vibration of the Transaction.' The Old Ocean Frequency can act as a sonar. We can 'ping' the Greed Ring; anything that resonates with the Void will glow like a dying star on our maps."
Sir Winston Walrus shifted his weight, his tusks gleaming. "So we're going on a treasure hunt? I've found many a lost anchor in my time. A digital soul-contract shouldn't be much harder, provided it doesn't bite."
Before Barnaby could continue, the hotel doors burst open. An orca demon with pink stripes on her arms and legs and black wings on her back stood in the doorway. She was wearing a navy blue hoodie and armed with a triton. "BAXTER! WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU!!!"
Shamu lets out a long, low-frequency rumble from his tank. His mental voice echoes: "A sister of the deep with the wings of the sky. She carries the scent of the Void on her hoodie... but the fire of a warrior in her eyes."
Vaggie steps between the newcomer and the others, spear at the ready. "Who are you, and what did Baxter do this time? Did he steal your trident for 'research'?"
Barnaby asked, "Whose Baxter?"
Alastor leaned over to Barnaby, his grin wider than a radio dial. "A delightful little fellow! If you consider a screeching, paranoid fish-man who enjoys mustard gas and atomic blenders to be 'delightful.' He’s likely the only one here who could actually build a machine to track your Void Currents—if he isn't currently being skewered by our new guest."
Vaggie didn't lower her spear. "Whoever she is, she’s got a trident and she looks like she knows how to use it. Barnaby, if she’s looking for Baxter, he probably blew up something of hers—or worse, he used her 'biometric data' for a science project without asking."
The orca demon's pink stripes glowed as she slammed the butt of her trident onto the hotel's lobby floor. "I’m not here for a tour, Princess! That bug-eyed nerd owes me a new engine, and I’m not leaving until I get it!"
Barnaby’s firm reminder of the hotel’s safety rules caused the orca demon to pause, though she didn’t lower the trident more than an inch.Barnaby’s firm reminder of the hotel’s safety rules caused the orca demon to pause, though she didn’t lower the trident more than an inch. She let out a scoff that sounded like a burst of pressurized air, her pink-striped tail lashing behind her. "Yeah, then why are you holding a rifle?"
"It's to protect the hotel." Barnaby said. "My name is Barnaby Milestone and I am a human who fell down here."
She replied, "Barnaby Milestone, I had a cousin on Earth with that name. He was twelve when I died."
"I am that person. I am thirty years old now."
Barnaby’s voice softened, the weight of eighteen years of history crashing into the lobby. "It’s really you. I thought... I thought you were just gone. 2022 was a lifetime ago for me."
Marianna’s pink stripes flared a brilliant, trembling neon. She didn't look like a Sinner demon from the Pride Ring right now; she looked like a girl who had just seen a ghost from the future.
"Barn-Burner," she whispered, using the old nickname. Her black wings gave a sharp, involuntary twitch. "You were just a kid. You were supposed to grow up and... I don't know, become an architect or something. Not fall into Hell with a rifle and a 12,000-pound whale!"
Charlie was practically vibrating with emotional overload. "Vaggie, look! The Hazbin Hotel is reuniting families! This is the ultimate redemption arc! I need tissues, a camera, and a very large cake!"
Vaggie kept a protective hand on Charlie’s shoulder but softened her gaze. "Marianna, if you're a Sinner, you’re stuck in the Pride Ring. How did you get an 'Abyssal Engine' from Baxter? And why are you hunting him down in the middle of Barnaby’s mission?"
Marianna wiped a stray tear from her eye and regained some of her fierce edge. "I’ve been making a living as a scavenger in the flooded districts of Pentagram City. Baxter promised me that engine would let me dive deeper into the ruins than any other Sinner. I wanted to find... I don't know, something real. Something that didn't smell like brimstone."

End of Chapter