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Joyride to hell

The Survival of the Cockroach: The Overlord Games

The morning air in Pentagram City was thick with the usual scent of sulfur and ozone, but today, there was an added layer of electric tension. A fleet of VoxTek drones swarmed the skies, their screens displaying a countdown clock framed by jagged, neon-blue lightning. Below, in the lobby of the Hazbin Hotel, the atmosphere was slightly more panicked than usual.

"They can’t be serious," Vaggie hissed, pacing in front of the ornate fireplace. She gripped her angelic spear so hard her knuckles turned white. "The Overlord Games? That’s a death trap designed to weed out the weak and entertain the masses. It’s a bloodbath!"

Charlie bit her lip, looking at the invitation—a glowing, holographic card that smelled faintly of expensive cologne and ozone. "Vox sent it personally. He said if our 'guests' don't participate, he’ll consider the hotel’s tax-exempt status with Cannibal Town void. He’s putting pressure on Rosie."

"He’s bored," Alastor chimed in, leaning against the check-in desk. His grin was sharp, his eyes flickering with radio-static mirth. "And he’s irritated that a group of mortals is getting more hits on the dark web than his latest product launch. He wants to see them broken. It’s quite charming, really."

Ataru Moroboshi, currently upside down on a velvet sofa while trying to see if he could spot any "demon babes" through the window, flipped himself upright. "Games? Did someone say games? Is there a prize? Like, a date with a high-ranking official? Or maybe a swimsuit competition?"

"It’s a fight to the death, you moron!" Mendō shouted, adjusting his pristine white suit jacket. He was sweating, his eyes darting toward the corners of the room. "They’re going to put us in an arena and let the most depraved monsters in existence tear us apart! I am a Mendō! I should be in a VIP box, not the pit!"

"Oh, don't worry, Shūtarō!" Lum chirped, floating above him and absentmindedly chewing on a lightning-flavored snack. "If anyone tries to hurt you or Darling, I’ll just fry them! It’ll be like the school sports day, only with more fire!"

"That’s the problem, Lum-san," Sakura said, stepping into the room while wiping her hands on a towel. She had just finished a 'light' breakfast of four dozen waffles. "The rules state that 'external interference' results in the immediate execution of the guest. If you shock the competition, Moroboshi gets disqualified. Permanently."

Ataru stood up, dusting off his school uniform. "So, I just have to survive, right? I’ve been doing that since the day I met Lum. How hard can a few demons be compared to a girl who turns into a human Tesla coil every time I ask for a phone number?"

***

The arena was a massive, hollowed-out crater in the center of the Pride Ring, surrounded by towering screens and stands packed with cheering, bloodthirsty sinners. In the center stood Vox, his screen-head displaying a dazzling array of graphics.

"Welcome, one and all, to the Overlord Games: Mortal Edition!" Vox’s voice boomed through every speaker in the city. "Today, we test the resilience of the living! Our first contestant is a young man who has survived lightning, alien invasions, and the school nurse’s cooking! Give it up for Ataru Moroboshi!"

Ataru stepped into the arena, blinking against the harsh spotlights. He looked remarkably small against the backdrop of the jagged obsidian walls. Across from him, the ground shook as a massive, six-armed demon plated in spiked armor stomped forward. The demon carried a mace that looked like it was made from the skulls of lesser giants.

"Kill the flesh-thing!" the demon roared, the sound vibrating in Ataru’s teeth.

In the VIP box, Charlie gripped the railing. "He’s going to die. Vaggie, he’s going to die in the first ten seconds."

"Watch," Alastor whispered, his grin widening. "You underestimate the power of pure, unadulterated cowardice combined with the biology of a cockroach."

The demon swung the mace. It was a blow that should have turned Ataru into a red smear on the pavement. But Ataru wasn't there. With a blur of motion that defied the laws of physics, he had flattened his body against the ground, sliding between the demon’s legs like a greased eel.

"Hey! Watch the hair, big guy!" Ataru shouted, popping up behind the demon.

The demon spun around, growling, and unleashed a flurry of strikes. Each one was faster than the last, a whirlwind of iron and bone. Ataru moved like a leaf in a hurricane—twisting, ducking, and occasionally bending his spine at angles that made the medical demons in the audience wince.

"Is he... is he dancing?" Velvette asked, leaning forward in her seat, her phone recording every second. "His footwork is atrocious, but he hasn't been hit once."

"It’s not dancing," Mendō muttered from the sidelines, clutching his katana. "It’s the 'Moroboshi Reflex.' His body has been conditioned by years of dodging Lum’s lightning and my sword. He doesn't think. He just reacts to the threat of pain."

Frustrated, the demon dropped his mace and lunged with all six arms, attempting to grapple the boy. Ataru’s eyes widened, but not in fear. He saw a female demon in the front row—a succubus with long purple horns and a very revealing dress.

"HEEEEEY! BEAUTIFUL!" Ataru shrieked.

His speed tripled. He didn't just dodge the demon; he used the creature’s own arms as a ladder, sprinting up its chest and leaping off its head. He soared through the air, his arms outstretched toward the spectator stands.

"GIVE ME YOUR NUMBER! I’LL CROSS THE RIVER STYX FOR A Glimpse OF YOUR LASHES!"

The demon, confused by the sudden lack of a target, stumbled forward, his own momentum carrying him headfirst into a spiked pillar. The impact echoed through the arena, and the giant collapsed in a heap of unconscious armor.

The crowd went silent for a heartbeat, then erupted into a confused mixture of boos and cheers.

"Winner: Ataru Moroboshi!" Vox announced, his screen flickering with irritation. "By... unintentional self-sabotage of the opponent? Whatever! Next round!"

The next few hours were a blur of absurdity. Ataru faced a swarm of carnivorous shadow-bats; he survived by hiding under a discarded taco bell wrapper and holding his breath until they got bored. He faced a mechanical spider-tank; he defeated it by accidentally tripping over a loose cable, which caused the tank to short-circuit as he fell face-first into a pile of sand.

"He’s not even fighting!" Vaggie shouted, frustrated. "He’s just... existing, and the world is breaking around him!"

"That is his greatest strength," Sakura noted, calmly eating a bag of 'Hell-Fire Pretzels.' "Moroboshi is a void of competence. He creates a field of probability where logic fails, and only the absurd survives. It’s why he’s still alive back home."

Finally, the main event arrived. The gates at the far end of the arena opened, and Sir Pentious slithered out, backed by a dozen Egg Boiz and his massive, steam-powered war machine.

"Prepare to be annihilated, you insignificant mortal!" Pentious hissed, his hood flared. "I shall reclaim the honor of the Overlords! Egg Boiz, fire the 'Cramp-o-Matic' ray!"

"Yay! Shooting the loud boy!" the Egg Boiz cheered, pulling a lever.

A beam of dark energy shot across the arena. Ataru, seeing the beam, didn't run. He saw Niffty standing near the sidelines, holding a tray of snacks for the staff.

"Niffty-chan! Save me!" Ataru wailed, diving toward her.

He didn't make it. The beam hit him square in the back. The audience gasped, expecting him to be turned into a puddle of goo. Instead, Ataru’s body began to vibrate. He turned bright red, his eyes bulging, and he let out a scream that shattered the nearby camera lenses.

"IT’S HOT! IT’S TINGLY! IT FEELS LIKE TUESDAY!"

Ataru began to run. He didn't just run; he became a blur of kinetic energy, fueled by the dark ray’s power. He zoomed around the arena, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. He slammed into Sir Pentious’s war machine like a cannonball, the impact sending the snake demon flying backward into his own Egg Boiz.

"Everything is spinning!" Pentious cried, his goggles flying off.

Ataru didn't stop. He vaulted over the arena wall, landed in the VIP section, and slid across the table directly in front of Velvette. He stopped an inch from her face, his hair smoking, his eyes glowing with a manic, desperate light.

"So," Ataru wheezed, his voice trembling with the sheer effort of not exploding. "About that... collaboration... do you have a... phone number... for a guy who... just beat a tank?"

Velvette stared at him, her jaw dropped. She looked at her phone, which was currently showing a record-breaking ten million concurrent viewers. She looked back at the charred, grinning, pathetic teenager.

"You’re a freak," she said, a small, impressed smirk playing on her lips. "But you’re a freak with a following. Vox, we’re keeping him."

"WHAT?!" Vox and Mendō screamed in unison.

Suddenly, a shadow fell over the VIP box. Lum was hovering there, her hair crackling with enough electricity to power the entire Pride Ring for a year. Her face was a mask of pure, jealous rage.

"Ataru... I leave you alone for ten minutes, and you’re hitting on the TV lady?!"

"Lum! Wait! It was for the fans!" Ataru shrieked, his survival instincts finally overriding his libido.

"DARLING, YOU ARE GOING TO DIE!"

The resulting electrical discharge was so massive that it short-circuited every screen in Cannibal Town. The arena was plunged into darkness, save for the bright blue silhouette of Ataru Moroboshi being shocked into a new state of matter.

As the smoke cleared, Charlie looked down at the arena. Sir Pentious was tangled in his own machine, the Egg Boiz were playing tag with the rubble, and Ataru was a smoking heap on the floor, still clutching a piece of paper he’d snatched from Velvette’s desk.

"Well," Lucifer said, adjusting his hat and looking at the carnage. "He survived. I don't know how, and I don't know why, but the boy is still breathing."

"It’s the cockroach blood," Husk grunted, opening a fresh bottle of rye. "You can’t kill something that has no dignity to lose."

Alastor laughed, the sound echoing through the ruined arena. "Oh, Charlie! This was far more productive than a trust-fall exercise! We should invite them to the next extermination. I suspect the angels won't know what hit them."

Back on the floor, Ataru opened one eye. He looked at the piece of paper in his hand. It wasn't a phone number; it was a dry-cleaning bill for Velvette’s coat.

"Worth it," he whispered, before passing out.

Lum landed next to him, her anger quickly turning back into her usual devotion. She scooped him up, cradling his charred head in her lap. "Oh, Darling! You’re so brave! And so stupid! Let’s go back to the hotel so I can shock you some more until you remember who your wife is!"

Mendō stood at the edge of the pit, looking down at his rival. "He won. The idiot actually won. I hate this dimension. I hate it so much."

"Come on, Mendō-san," Sakura said, walking past him toward the exit. "The hotel is serving a late-night buffet to celebrate. And since the kitchen was recently restocked, I intend to make up for the calories I burned watching that farce."

"Wait for me, Sakura-san!" Mendō cried, sprinting after her. "Don't leave me in the dark! It’s cramped! It’s scary!"

As the residents of Tomobiki and the Hazbin Hotel filtered out of the arena, the demon world was left with one undeniable truth: Hell had many terrors, but none were quite as persistent, or as annoying, as Ataru Moroboshi.