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Joyride to hell

The Exorcist’s Appetite and the Overlord’s Audit

The morning in Hell didn't bring a sunrise so much as a shift in the ambient glow from a deep, bruised purple to a violent, bloody crimson. Inside the Hazbin Hotel, the usual breakfast routine had been replaced by a scene of clinical devastation. Sakura sat at the long dining table, her posture perfect, her expression serene, and her chopsticks moving with the rhythmic efficiency of a high-speed piston.

Around her lay the remnants of what Charlie had called the "Grand Continental Damnation Buffet." Platters that had once held mountains of hell-hog bacon were now polished to a mirror shine. Three gallon-sized carafes of shadow-bean coffee stood empty. A stack of pancakes that had reached the height of Niffty’s head had been reduced to a single, lonely crumb.

"I must say," Sakura remarked, dabbing her lips with a silk handkerchief, "the texture of these 'soul-cakes' is surprisingly light. Though I suspect the spiritual density is a bit lacking. I feel as though I’ve only had a light snack."

Charlie Morningstar stood by the kitchen door, clutching a clipboard to her chest. Her eyes were wide, darting between the empty table and the tall, raven-haired nurse.

"Sakura-san," Charlie stammered, her voice a mix of awe and genuine fiscal terror. "That was... that was food for twelve people. For three days. We just restocked after the Cannibal Town incident."

"I am on a diet, Charlie-san," Sakura replied simply, tucking a loose strand of black hair behind her ear. "The stress of interdimensional travel has wreaked havoc on my metabolism. I need to maintain my strength if I am to keep Moroboshi from selling his soul for a phone number."

At the other end of the room, Vaggie was leaning against the wall, her arms crossed and her eye narrowed. "She’s not a guest, Charlie. She’s a natural disaster in a nurse’s uniform. At this rate, we won't need an Extermination to clear out the hotel; we’ll just starve to death."

"Now, now, Vaggie!" Alastor’s voice crackled through the room, accompanied by a burst of static and the faint sound of a canned laugh track. The Radio Demon materialized beside Sakura, leaning on his cane. "I find our guest’s appetite to be quite refreshing! It’s rare to find a mortal who can out-eat a gluttony demon without even breaking a sweat. It’s a marvel of spiritual engineering!"

Sakura looked up at Alastor, her gaze cool and unimpressed. "You have a very noisy aura, Radio-man. It’s cluttered with the echoes of several thousand trapped souls. It’s quite distracting while I’m trying to digest."

Alastor’s grin twitched, his eyes flickering into radio dials for a split second. "A keen observation! You Tomobiki residents certainly have a way of cutting through the theatrics."

The front doors of the hotel burst open, saving Alastor from further critique. Shūtarō Mendō stumbled in, his white suit slightly rumpled, followed by a very frustrated-looking Lum.

"It’s gone!" Mendō wailed, collapsing into a chair. "The Mendō Zaibatsu emergency credit line! I tried to buy a simple gold-plated espresso machine at the Emporium, and the machine told me my account was 'dimensionally locked'! I am a Mendō! I have never had a transaction declined in my life!"

"Oh, stop crying, Shūtarō!" Lum shouted, floating above him and sparking with irritation. "It’s just money! Besides, I told you I could make you coffee with my high-voltage steamer, but you said it tasted like 'burnt copper'!"

"It tasted like a lightning strike, Lum-san!" Mendō countered. "My palate is calibrated for the finest beans, not electrical discharge!"

Ataru Moroboshi wandered in behind them, looking uncharacteristically thoughtful. He was holding a crumpled flyer he’d found on the street.

"Hey, guys," Ataru said, ignoring the empty buffet table. "I found a way to solve our money problems. There’s a talent search happening at the Vee-Tower. They’re looking for 'unique specimens' for a new reality show called 'Hell’s Most Pathetic Mortals.' The prize is a million Soul-Credits and a lifetime supply of succubus-scented cologne."

"Moroboshi," Sakura said, her voice dropping an octave into a warning tone. "If you set foot in that tower again, I will not only exorcise your spirit, I will perform a physical extraction of your spine."

"But Sakura-san!" Ataru pleaded, sliding to his knees beside her chair. "Think of the cologne! Think of the babes! I could be the king of the media! I’d have phone numbers falling out of my pockets!"

*WHAM!*

Sakura didn't even look down as her fist connected with the top of Ataru’s head, driving him face-first into the floorboards. "You will stay here and reflect on your many sins. Or you will be my training dummy for the afternoon. Choose wisely."

"I choose... the floor," Ataru muffled into the wood.

The peaceful violence was interrupted by a sharp, rhythmic knocking at the door. It wasn't the polite tap of a guest; it was the heavy, authoritative thud of someone who owned the building and the air around it.

Vaggie gripped her spear. "I’ll get it. If it’s another one of those Egg Boiz, I’m making an omelet."

She pulled the door open to reveal a very tall, very stylish, and very annoyed-looking demon. Velvette stood there, her phone in one hand and a digital tablet in the other. Behind her stood several VoxTek drones, hovering like metallic vultures.

"Alright, listen up, losers," Velvette said, stepping into the lobby without waiting for an invitation. "We have a problem. My social media metrics are in the toilet because some 'mysterious raven-haired beauty' and a 'shouting rich kid' are trending higher than my latest fashion line. The Vees don't like being out-trended."

She stopped in front of Sakura, looking her up and down with a critical eye. "You. The nurse. Your aesthetic is 'repressed Victorian,' but the engagement numbers on your eating contest with Rosie are insane. People want to know how you stay that thin while eating three hundred pounds of meat. They think it’s a hack. A glitch in the system."

Sakura took a sip of her tea, her expression unchanging. "It is not a 'hack,' little girl. It is a matter of spiritual discipline. And perhaps a very efficient digestive tract."

Velvette scoffed, tapping rapidly on her screen. "Whatever. Vox wants to run an audit on you. He thinks you’re using unauthorized celestial energy to bypass the Pride Ring’s physics. And you," she pointed at Mendō, "the fancy-pants. Your 'nyctophobia' freak-out in the VoxTek elevator went viral. We’ve got a sponsorship deal with a night-light company, but they want you to sign a waiver."

Mendō stood up, his face reddening. "I will sign no such thing! My terror is a private matter of the Mendō soul! And I am not a 'trend'! I am a legacy!"

"Yeah, yeah, tell it to the comments section," Velvette rolled her eyes. She turned back to Charlie. "Look, Princess. Vox is pissed. He thinks these humans are 'unauthorized variables.' He’s sending an audit team to evaluate their 'threat level' to the media monopoly. If they don't pass, he’s going to petition your dad to have them relocated to the deeper rings. And trust me, the gluttony ring would love to have a crack at the nurse."

Charlie stepped forward, her hands raised in a peace-making gesture. "Velvette, please! They’re guests of the hotel! They’re here for redemption! They aren't trying to interfere with your... metrics!"

"Doesn't matter," Velvette said, checking her watch. "The audit team is already here. And by team, I mean the big man himself is bored enough to handle it personally."

The air in the lobby suddenly hummed with static. The television screens in the hotel—even the old, dusty ones in the corner—flickered to life, showing Vox’s grinning, electric face. A moment later, the Media Overlord himself materialized in a shower of blue sparks.

"Audit time!" Vox announced, his voice booming with a synthesized echo. He looked around the lobby, his screen-face settling on Sakura. "So, you’re the one breaking my bandwidth. I’ve analyzed the footage of your meal with Rosie. The physics don't add up. You’re consuming mass at a rate that should have caused a localized gravitational collapse."

Sakura stood up, towering over the shorter Overlord. "Mass is merely a state of spirit, Mr. Television. If you spent less time projecting your face onto glass and more time meditating, you might understand that."

Vox’s screen flickered with a jagged red line. "Meditating? Honey, I’m the future. I don't meditate; I process. And right now, my processors are telling me you’re a celestial anomaly. A 'Saint-class' entity masquerading as a school nurse. That’s a violation of the 1924 Infernal Media Act."

"I am a priestess," Sakura corrected calmly. "And I am currently very hungry again because your presence is irritating my nerves."

Vox laughed, a sound like a grinding gear. "Hungry? Great! Let’s put that to the test. If you can pass the 'VoxTek Efficiency Challenge,' I’ll leave the hotel alone. If not, you and the rest of the Tomobiki circus get a one-way ticket to the bottom of the ocean in the Envy Ring."

"What’s the challenge?" Ataru asked, popping his head up from the floor. "Does it involve girls? Or maybe a swimsuit round?"

Vox ignored him. "The challenge is simple. Data consumption. I’m going to feed you a stream of pure, raw information—every trend, every post, every digital thought in Hell. If your 'spiritual stomach' can handle the load without you losing your mind or your figure, you win."

"Information?" Mendō asked, looking confused. "You’re going to make her read?"

"No," Alastor whispered, his voice sounding curiously serious. "He’s going to attempt to overload her consciousness with the collective madness of the Pride Ring. It’s a digital exorcism in reverse."

Sakura adjusted her cuffs. "I have spent my life listening to the incoherent ramblings of my Uncle Cherry and the screams of a thousand vengeful ghosts. Your 'data' is likely a step down in quality. Proceed."

Vox’s screen glowed a brilliant, blinding cyan. Cables erupted from his back, snaking through the air like hungry cobras. They didn't plug into Sakura; they hovered around her, forming a cage of flickering light.

"Begin download!" Vox shouted.

A torrent of images, sounds, and text flooded the space around Sakura. It was a sensory assault—billions of voices screaming for attention, the flashing of a trillion advertisements, the crushing weight of Hell’s collective ego. The hotel lobby shook with the sheer force of the transmission. Charlie and Vaggie shielded their eyes, while Ataru and Mendō were blown back by the digital wind.

Sakura stood in the center of the storm. Her eyes were closed, her face calm. To the observers, it looked like she was being erased by the light. But those with spiritual sight—like Alastor and Cherry—could see something else.

Sakura wasn't resisting the data. She was *consuming* it.

Her aura expanded, a deep, violet void that sucked in the cyan light of Vox’s transmission. She wasn't processing the information; she was treating it like a very large, very noisy bowl of noodles.

"She’s... she’s eating the internet," Angel Dust whispered, popping his head in from the hallway. "That’s... that’s actually kinda hot."

Vox’s screen began to glitch. "Wait, wait! The feed is accelerating! She’s pulling it out of me! Stop! You’re draining the main server!"

"Is that all?" Sakura’s voice rang out, clear and steady amidst the chaos. "I’ve had more complex thoughts while deciding between miso or shoyu ramen. This 'data' is quite bland. It lacks substance."

"Stop it! You’re going to crash the network!" Vox shrieked.

With a final, thunderous *pop*, the cables retracted, sparking and smoking. The lights in the hotel flickered and died, leaving the room in shadows. Sakura stood exactly where she had been, looking slightly more refreshed than before.

"I feel a bit full," she noted, patting her stomach. "Though I think I’ll need a nap. All that 'social media' is very high in empty calories."

Vox fell to his knees, his screen cracked and displaying a '404 Error.' Velvette ran to his side, her own phone dead in her hand.

"You... you monster!" Velvette cried. "You just deleted the entire 'Trending' tab for the next six hours! Do you know what that does to our ad revenue?!"

"I suggest you find a more productive hobby," Sakura said, turning her back on them. "Perhaps gardening. Or silence."

Alastor began to clap, a slow, rhythmic sound that echoed in the dark. "Marvelous! Simply divine! You’ve managed to do in five minutes what I’ve been trying to do for decades—you’ve shut him up!"

Charlie ran over, her eyes shining with relief. "Sakura-san! You did it! You passed the audit!"

"It was a trifle," Sakura said, though she looked a bit pale. "But I believe I’ve developed a headache from something called a 'meme.' It was a picture of a cat with a hat, and it was spiritually offensive."

"That’s 'Loafi the Cat,' you uncultured peasant!" Velvette shouted, but Vaggie pointed her spear at the door.

"The audit is over," Vaggie said firmly. "Get out of our hotel. Before she decides she’s still hungry and starts on your hardware."

Vox, his screen slowly rebooting into a 'Safe Mode,' scrambled to his feet. "This isn't over! You’re a glitch! A bug in the system! I’ll find a way to patch you out!"

"Try a diet," Sakura suggested, not looking back. "It works wonders for the temperament."

As the Vees retreated in a huff of static and broken drones, the hotel returned to its usual state of chaotic peace. Ataru crawled out from under the table, looking at Sakura with a mixture of fear and newfound adoration.

"Sakura-san," Ataru whispered. "You just ate the entire world’s gossip. Does that mean... do you know all the phone numbers now?"

Sakura looked down at him, her eyes glowing with a lingering violet light. "I know everything, Moroboshi. I know your browser history. I know what you keep in that hidden compartment in your school desk. And I know exactly where you are going to hide for the next three hours."

Ataru turned pale. "Uh... is it the closet?"

"It’s the closet," Sakura confirmed.

Ataru didn't wait. He scrambled toward the nearest storage room, slamming the door behind him.

Mendō sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Well. At least the lights are back on. Though I still don't have my espresso machine."

"I’ll make you some tea, Mendō-san," Charlie offered kindly. "It’s not gold-plated, but it’s made with love!"

"I suppose it will have to suffice," Mendō muttered, though he looked genuinely grateful.

As the afternoon settled over the Hazbin Hotel, Sakura sat back down at the empty table. She looked at the empty platters, then at the bustling demons around her. She was a long way from Tomobiki, and the food here was strange, but for the first time since falling through the portal, she didn't feel quite so lonely.

"Charlie-san," Sakura called out.

"Yes, Sakura-san?"

"Is there any of that 'Hell-Hog' left? I find that digital consumption leaves a very metallic aftertaste."

Charlie laughed, a bright, hopeful sound. "I’ll check the freezer! But only if you promise not to eat the freezer itself!"

"I make no promises," Sakura said, a small, dangerous smile touching her lips. "I am, after all, on a diet."

In the corner, Alastor watched her, his grin wider than ever. He turned to the audience that wasn't there and tipped his hat.

"Stay tuned, folks," he whispered. "I think the menu is just getting interesting."