LUCK-only speedrun to becoming an Overlord

from /hhg/ Helluva Hotel general #668
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Is I.M.P. working for free or do dead people magically spawn in hell with their bank accounts converted into hell currency?

Did the Egyptians get it right that you take your possessions along with you on death?

So some poor shmuck spawns in naked on the streets cause he was homeless or something? But this 1920's cosplayer spawns in with robotic super powers cause he was rich?

Does power in hell equate to your personal wealth on Earth when you died? Is Jeff Bezos gonna become the next ruler of hell when he dies?

Am I taking this too seriously?
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I sure as fck hope you spawn in Hell with some of your stuff like the money you had in your bank account, otherwise Hell would not have an economy. But we're probably overthinking this
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Everyone gets a set number of points to allocate to different stats when they spawn, with some bonuses or debuffs based on what their life was like. Lumpy and Loopy or whatever the fck their names were put all their points into "wealth" and "bullsht robot stuff".

>Am I taking this too seriously
Yes. Welcome to the thread.
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>You can point-buy your stats and skills in Hell
Alright boys, watch this LUCK-only speedrun to becoming an Overlord.

Actually Luck-related only would be fitting, since my dumbass would probably look like a Jackalope if I went to Hell.
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Why specifically a Jackalope?
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I have a godawful tendency to 'run away' from a lot of things, though mostly in a metaphorical sense. Add on the whole 'anxious over everything' and general skittish behavior I have buried under a facade of apathy and 'well adjusted'
So, basically 'Bunny Behavior' mixed with paranormal/supernatural interest which is heresy against god. Or whatever.
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Apparently it's just dumb luck as to how powerful you are?

When Alastor manifested, he was the most powerful sinner that had manifested in generations, and could easily topple Overlords. And it's said he doesn't like being known as an Overlord because it doesn't interest him.
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See, that makes a LUCK-Only run even more fun.
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>>Luck only run

>Manifest in Hell, missing the tail end of the latest cleanse by scant seconds
>Travis's car swerves to avoid you as you drop into the street, hitting "I'm Alive!" Guy instead
>You get pelted by a few pebbles of the debris flying off of Pent's territorial takeover well before the big chunks start raining down, giving you ample time to leg it out of the splash zone
>You end up in Cannibal Colony just after lunch time, so nobody is hungry enough to try to eat you
>You bumble into Piggsy's butcher shop just after Alastor and Sheep Softy have left and turned the corner, providing you with a clear run to empty out the register, grab a free weapon, and hoof it somewhere a little safer before anyone starts to get hungry again and starts eyeing you like a double cheeseburger
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>You end up stuck between two leaders of small, local gangs while figuring out the layout of Pentagram city
>They kill each other with Angelic weapons, and when you pick one of them up, nearby sinners taking cover peek out and spot you holding it
>Gain their territories because everyone think you did them both in at the same time
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>Local warlord Cherri Bomb decides that you're getting to be too much of a hotshot too quickly and resolves to put a stop to that, violently
>Kicks in the door after sneaking over and cold-cocking a few of your new sycophants
>Starts slinging bombs all over the place
>They're exploding for sure, but...they're not doing much damage for some reason
>It's like she's throwing around party poppers
>Turns out the gunpowder she pinched to make this latest batch of explosives was from a rather disreputable arms dealer who had cut it with ash, lint, and other random crap to stretch it out further
>The bombs she's armed with are less like actual ordinance and more like fireworks
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>You're in the middle of doing something mundane when she attacks, probably putting up a photo or something
>Panic really damn hard when everything gets loud and explode-y around you and send hammer flying in a random direction
>Ends up going straight at Cherri, impacting a bomb in her hand which ends up detonating, blinding and disorienting her
>She ends up stumbling and tripping over the bag of bombs she dropped after being impromptu-flashbanged
>K.O.s herself
>In bursts local thugs of hers who decided to hang back until it got loud, only to see you holding your now scorched hammer and an unconscious Cherri
>End up taking most of her reputation for your own because of the resulting mess
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>people keep wondering why you keep apologizing for essentially kicking as
>they presume you're a canuck
>tfw they recall the reputation Canadians eaned in the war
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>Later that night, you decide to take your newfound lackeys for a drink at some seedy backstreet bar.
>Doesn't seem to be many working staff, just one demon pulling pints at the bar you're leaning against currently.
>Supping some whiskey, you idly chat to one of the demons to your side, as your new crew amuse themselves in your eyeline.
>He?
>You think it's a he, at least, this demon you're talking to.
>He's thin.
>Like, impossibly thin.
>And furry.
>You decide to humor the spider demon, for fun.
>He's drinking a ccktail as he attempts to smooth-talk you.
>'...aaan anyway sugar, you just let ol' Angel Dust take ca-'
>His eyes go wide
>He grasps his throat, clawing for air.
>His face is turning blue.
>OH FCK!
>OHFCKOHFCKOHFCK!
>He's choking.
>You desperately attempt to slam his back so he releases back up whatever is clogging his throat.
>It shoots out with a *ping*, a wretching sound, and a hacking cough from the demon...
>Right into the throat of that bar demon who was polishing the tops and the beer pumps, and just so happened to be yawning right at this very nanosecond.
>He starts choking too.
>Reaching out his hands in a desparate dance for anyone to help.
>You leap over the bar, in an attempt to do the same as you did to Angel.
>Too late.
>He's already dead.
>More demons come up to you, expecting to be served.
>Fck it. You didn't think people would mind, old blue eyes wouldn't mind, who was laying as a slab on the floor.
>You deftly slip his apron off his corpse, and tie it around your waist.
>'Everything's on the house tonight folks!'
>Your ears are defened by an almighty cheer from every single patron of this backwater boozer.
>Maybe, after experiencing so much of it, you're getting used to this dumb streak of luck you're having.
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>Getting a reputation as a dangerous warlord
>Earning the respect of a large group of unaffiliated sinners
>Nobody really understanding how you do it
>This leads to you getting the attention of some Overlords, and they try to get you brought in for an audience
>Except every attempt fails
>Thugs sent to beat you into submission are inexplicably hurt so bad they end up in the hospital
>Stealthy demons sent to follow you get hung-up by large groups or convenient turf-wars
>Powers meant to bring you directly to them seem to grab the wrong person at the last second
>You are oblivious to all of this