["Well, this just won't do!" Alastor said as he took out his mic staff, "I suppose I can cash in a few favors to liven things up."]
[At the snap of his finger, a new fireplace has replaced the hotel's worn down one as he approached it and picked up the mysterious figure covered in soot, which then opened its eye and stared at the trio behind him before the soot came off in a puff of smoke revealing a small figure with red hair.]
["This little darling is Niffty!"Alastor introduced Nifty to the others before dropping her.]
["Hi, I'm Niffty! It's nice to meet you! It's been a while since I've made new friends!" She introduced herself, waving at them, "Why're you all women? Are there any men here?!" She yelled as she lifted Charlie with no effort before putting her down.]
Hazbin Hotel:
Niffty let out a high-pitched squeal that echoed through the halls of the Happy Hotel, her single eye sparkling with excitement as she zipped around the room like a sugar-high pinball. "Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod! I'm on screen! Look, look, look!" she practically screamed, clambering up onto a barstool and waving wildly at the monitor as if it might wave back.
Her little arms flailed with gleeful energy, and she pointed so hard it looked like her arm might pop off, "There I am! I look adorable!"
Charlie chuckled warmly from across the room, her heart full at Niffty's genuine joy. She offered the small demon a supportive thumbs-up and a soft, encouraging smile, "You look great, Niffty! Super cute as always."
Niffty made a delighted squeak, her whole body vibrating as she hugged herself in excitement, "Eee! Charlie thinks I'm cute! This is the best day ever!"
Husk, meanwhile, leaned against the bar, one ear twitching in annoyance. He took a long, slow sip of his drink and grumbled, "You've been on screen for like three seconds, and it's already too much energy for me..."
Niffty zipped over to him in a blur, practically nose-to-nose with the grumpy cat demon, "C'mon, Husky! Be happy for me! I'm famous now!"
"Yeah, great," He deadpanned, "Next you'll want autographs and red carpets."
"Ohhh! Do you think I should sign cleaning supplies? Like sponges or mops?" She gasped, eyes widened with genuine consideration.
Husk sighed, resting his head on the counter. "...Please stop talking."
["I'm sorry, that's rude. Oooh, man! This place is filthy!" It really needs a lady's touch! She exclaimed as she looked around, shaking her head in disgust at the entire hotel, "Which is weird because you're all ladies, no offense. Oh, my gosh! This is awful!" She said as she takes out a feather duster and speed cleans throughout the hotel, "Nope! Nope! Nope! Nope! Nope!"]
{Heaven}
Promenade:
"Awww!" Someone in the crowd cooed, her hands clasped together as she watched the excitable little cyclops demon dash around on-screen, "She totally reminds me of my mom. Full-blown clean freak."
"You're telling me," Her friend replied, casually twirling a lock of her hair, "My mom used to flip out if there was even one dust bunny under the couch. She made us wear socks in the house so our 'filthy footprints' wouldn't 'taint her sacred hardwood.' It was like living in a sterile museum."
Just then, a sudden gasp echoed through the viewing area.
"Nifty?!" A voice from the back cried out.
A petite angel woman shoved through the group, her hands trembling and her singular eye wide with emotion. Tears streamed down her face as she stumbled forward, her bright red curls bouncing with each desperate step. Her ladybug-like wings fluttered faintly, matching the 1920s-style dress that swayed around her knees, a vintage design with a crimson and black color palette, eerily reminiscent of the demon girl on the screen.
She stopped short as the image of Niffty flashed across the broadcast again buzzing with manic energy, wiping down a table with rapid-fire precision.
The woman's knees buckled slightly and said, "Nifty... that can't be... is that really you?"
Charles Pentious, standing nearby and nursing his own heartbreak over his son's fate, turned his head sharply. His eyes widened as he registered the woman's words.
"You... know her?" He asked in a stunned tone, "That's your daughter?"
The woman, Linda, nodded slowly though she looked dazed, as if the past was unraveling right in front of her. Her voice wavered as she spoke, as though the memories had been buried beneath layers of time and trauma.
"I... I didn't know she'd end up down there. I didn't even realize she had died until... until those screens. Everything's so foggy. I was doing a job... cleaning windows. I lost my balance. And then... nothing."
She placed a trembling hand over her heart, taking deep breaths as she continued, "Nifty was always a little... intense. I taught her everything I knew about cleaning, made it into a game for her when she was little. But she had her quirks... always fascinated with bugs. I thought it was just a phase. When I'd take her with me to work, she'd get distracted and try to collect them instead of helping me mop."
She chuckled through her tears, "The last thing I remember was her telling me she met someone. A boyfriend. She seemed happy. I was worried, but I let her go. And then..."
Her voice trailed off, swallowed by grief and confusion.
Linda looked back up at the screen, reaching out instinctively towards her daughter, "She looks so different... but it's her. I know it's her."
For a moment, everyone around her was silent, caught between awe and sorrow as they watched a mother recognise her child now transformed into a demon, yet still unmistakably hers.
Charles gently placed a hand on Linda's shoulder, "I know what you're feeling," He said quietly, "My boy is down there too. Whatever happened in life, at least... they found a place. A purpose. Maybe even a strange sort of peace."
Linda nodded slowly, her eyes still locked on the screen, "I just hope she remembers me," She whispered, "That somewhere in all that energy and chaos... she still knows that I loved her."
[The four stared at Niffty before a voice coming from an unknown cat demon can be heard nearby.]
["Hah! Read 'em and weep, boys!" Husk exclaimed as he lay down some cards at the table, "Full Ho-" before some demonic illusions and voices distort the surroundings temporarily and transported him to the hotel, "-tel? What the fuck is this?" He asked as he looked around and spotted Alastor, eliciting an angry purr as he pointed at him, "You!"]
["Ah, Husker, my good friend! Glad you could make it!" Alastor said with fake cheer.]
["Don't you 'Husker' me, you son of a bitch! I was about to win the whole damn pot!" He yelled as the jackpot disappeared into nothingness.
"Husker?!"
Everyone turned at the sudden outburst, eyes falling on a white-furred figure standing near the back of the crowd.
The newcomer's appearance resembled that of an American Eskimo Dog, though stylized with an almost cartoonish elegance. He wore a crisp white magician's vest and a top hat to match, the brim slightly tilted. His blue eyes were bright with a storm of emotions, shock, recognition, and grief. His black hair curled slightly at the tips, and his bushy tail wagged furiously behind him, betraying his agitation.
But what caught everyone's attention most of all were the faint, but undeniable, stab scars across his torso and limbs, marks that seemed to pulse with the memory of a violent end.
"I should've known," The dog-like winner muttered, his voice tight with emotion, "Should've known that he'd end up in Hell. After all... it was partly his fault I died."
A hush fell over the crowd.
Linda, who was still reeling from the revelation about her own daughter blinked at the stranger in confusion, "And... you are?"
The canine demon tilted his head toward her politely, before offering a small, theatrical bow.
"The name's Max," He introduced with a wistful smile, "Former stage magician. Part of the Wandering Critters traveling troupe. I was Husker's assistant, we used to perform together all the time. Card tricks, disappearing acts, illusions with fire and light, he was the showman, I was the charm."
He chuckled quietly, but the sound didn't quite reach his eyes, "We had a real bond back then. People used to cheer for us like we were legends."
Max's gaze drifted toward the screen, looking at Husk's appearance, "But then came the sword box illusion. You know the one where the assistant lies in a box, and the magician 'impales' it with swords, only for the assistant to emerge unharmed?"
He let out a low sigh, ears folding back slightly as he continued, "Husk was always the one in the box. Always. But that night, something in me wanted to prove I could do it. Maybe it was pride, maybe just foolishness. I insisted he take the magician's role for once."
Everyone was quiet as he continued, the weight of the memory weighing heavily on him as he sighed, "We didn't realize the locking mechanism had jammed... until it was too late."
Max's eyes darkened as he added, "The swords went in clean. And they didn't come out. I was trapped. Skewered. Dead, before the audience even realized it wasn't part of the act."
A few people gasped, now everyone knows how those stab wounds were on his body since appeared in Heaven.
Charles Pentious placed a hand over his chest and said, "My god... I'm so sorry. That's... horrific."
Max shrugged, though his smile had grown thin, "It's alright. I've had time to... come to terms with it. You get used to being dead, eventually."
He tried to laugh but there was sorrow in his voice, "I figured Husk's been blaming himself all this time. Wouldn't talk about it. Wouldn't face it. Just... drank it away." Max's voice cracked briefly, but he masked it with a deep breath, "And now look at him... miserable as ever. Some part of me wonders if he even recognizes what he's lost."
He cast one last glance at the image of Husk on-screen, "I don't hate him," Max murmured quietly, "I just... wish things had ended differently."
["Good to see you too!" Alastor was unfazed by the apparent loss of the jackpot.]
[Husk facepalmed angrily and muttered, "What the hell do you want with me this time...?"]
[Alastor pulled Husk into a one arm hug and said, "My friend, I am doing some charity work so I took it upon myself to volunteer your services! I hope that's okay!"]
["Are you shittin' me?!" Husk asked with an angry purr.]
["Hmm... No, I don't think so!" Alastor answered by tightening his hold on Husk.]
[Husk shoved Alastor off of him and yelled, "You thought it'd be some kind of big fucking riot just to pull me out of nowhere?! You think I'm some kind of fucking clown?!"]
[Alastor grinned as if he's about to laugh before replying, "Maybe!"]
{Earth}
Las Vegas
A biologist in a brightly lit lab stared at the screen, eyes wide as she caught sight of Husk hunched over the bar, cards in hand and wings flaring ever so slightly. She blinked once, then pointed with the enthusiasm of a child discovering a rare insect on a nature walk.
"Furry," She announced flatly, her finger jabbing toward the monitor.
Across the room, her coworker, a fellow biologist and unapologetic furry with a streak of neon pink in her hair groaned, not even bothering to look up from her novelty "World's Best Tailor" mug.
"Oh my god, please shut up." She dragged a hand over her face, "He's a literal person. I am not going to be one of those freaks who makes a fursuit of a dead guy from hell. I have some standards."
The first woman raised a brow, "Even if it's just a tribute piece?"
"Still no."
"...Even if someone paid you?"
There was a pause. The fursuit maker sipped from her mug slowly, then side-eyed the monitor. Her voice dropped into a neutral hum as she studied Husk's silhouette, the way his wings folded around him with that distinct raggedness, how the fur lay unevenly over his shoulder.
"...Double my usual rate," She muttered at last, "And I'm charging extra for those goddamn wings. Not doing all those feather textures by hand without getting paid."
Similarly, across the bustling floor of a Las Vegas casino, frustration rippled through the crowd like a bad beat at the final table. Cries of outrage erupted from stunned gamblers, their voices rising above the clinking of glasses and the low hum of slot machines. The air practically sizzled with disbelief.
"I swear, if that ever happened to me, I'd throw hands," The bartender muttered as he wiped down the counter, then filled another glass with a practiced hand. His tone was calm, but his furrowed brow betrayed his shared annoyance. The man across from him, nursing a nearly empty wine glass, let out a bitter huff before taking another long swig.
"That's a few hundred bucks just went down the drain," He grumbled, swirling the remaining wine in his glass with a defeated sigh.
A group of poker players had momentarily abandoned their game, their cards scattered and forgotten. One man had climbed onto the edge of the table to get a better view of the broadcast, eyes wide as he stared at the unholy spectacle unfolding on the screen.
"Holy shit did all that just disappear?!" He exclaimed, his voice cracking with disbelief. Around him, others voiced their agreement with various groans, curses, and murmured outrage.
The dealer, clearly at the end of her patience, shot the man a sharp look and gestured curtly toward the floor, "Sir, please don't sit on the tables. Casino policy."
The man barely spared her a glance, his eyes glued to the screen. "Kiss my ass! I'm five-foot-nothing and can't see the damn TV!" he snapped, crossing his arms defiantly as others snickered around him.
["I ain't doing no fucking charity job." Husk growled crossing his arms as Alastor teleports behind him through his shadow and pulled him into another one armed hug.]
["Well, I figured you would be the perfect face to man the front desk of this fine establishment!" Alastor gestured towards the bar he made out of his magic, "With your charming smile and welcoming energy, this job was made for you! He exclaimed as he pulled Husk's lips into a forced smile before he continued talking.]
["Don't worry my friend, I can make this more welcoming! ...If you wish." Alastor said as he made a bottle of 'Cheap Booze' appear out of nowhere*]
[Husk's eyes widened for a second before they narrowed at the sight of the bottle, What? You think you can buy me with a wink and some cheap booze?! He shouted as he grabbed the booze and looked at it, "...Well, you can!"]
{Hell}
Hazbin Hotel:
Husk flushed a deep shade of crimson as the broadcast continued to showcase him in unflattering detail, He grumbled under his breath, tail flicking in annoyance.
"Great," He muttered with a gravelly voice, "My reputation was already circling the damn drain, but hey go ahead and toss it into the sewer while you're at it. Why not broadcast my hangovers next?"
Charlie, despite the awkwardness of the moment, reached out and gave his back a gentle pat. Her hand lingered for a moment, as if trying to offer moral support to a grumpy, half-soused cat-demon, "Uh... don't worry, Husk," She said with an encouraging smile that didn't quite hide her own nervousness, "You're definitely not the only one here with, you know, issues. I mean, we're in Hell. I'd say 99.9% of the population has some kind of addiction, drugs, gambling, wrath, bad decisions..."
Husk let out a humorless chuckle, "Yeah, but they're not the ones being dragged onto national demon television and shown off like some washed-up Vegas act." He rubbed at his face with both paws, "It's like being the world's saddest mascot."
Vaggie glanced over, raising a brow at him, "You kinda are, you know. Like if depression and whiskey made a spokesmodel."
"Thanks," Husk deadpanned, glaring at her,"Truly uplifting."
He groaned again and let his head thunk down on the bar, "You know what? Screw it. I'll deal with the existential shame spiral after I get sober. Assuming that ever happens."
Angel Dust passed by and raised a glass mockingly, "So... never?"
"Exactly," Husk groaned into the wood, wings twitching.
Charlie winced sympathetically and offered him a refill which is of course water, "Hydration first?"
He took it with a grunt and drank it, "You're lucky I like you, princess."
["Hey, hey! Hey, hey, hey! No! No bar, no alcohol!" Vaggie pointed at the bar while Angel had stars in his eyes before he frowned at her,
"This is supposed to be a place that discourages sin! Not some kind of mouth...brothel...man cave!"]
[Angel Dust launched himself at Vaggie before yelling, "SHUT UP! SHUT! UP! We are keeping this!" He pointed to the bar with all of his fingers before immediately started to flirt with Husk, "Hey~"]
["Go fuck yourself." Husk mumbled, before Angel Dust grabbed his face and said, "Only if you watch me!"]
{Heaven}
Promenade:
When Angel screamed at Vaggie, launched himself toward her, and then immediately began shamelessly flirting with Husk, Annie's mouth dropped open slightly.
"...Anthony," She whispered in stunned disbelief.
Molly sighed so loud it could have echoed off Heaven's gates, "Seriously? Do you always have to flirt with every guy you come across Anthony."
Annie was at a loss for words, "He's... still himself. Even after everything."
"Yeah, Mom, but that wasn't a compliment," Molly said dryly, gesturing toward Angel's wildly inappropriate pickup line, "Did he really just say that in the middle of a rehabilitation pitch?"
Annie shook her head slowly, a small smile tugging at her lips despite the embarrassment, "He's ridiculous. And inappropriate. But... he's alive. And trying, even if he's doing it with glitter and bad decisions."
Molly huffed, "I'll believe he's trying when he stops turning every conversation into a porno audition."
Annie turned towards the screen and said, "Maybe that's just his way of coping things. Of hoping he still belongs somewhere. Even if it's loud, crude... and chaotic."
Meanwhile, in a quiet corner far from the chaos of speculation, May sat with her arms loosely crossed, her gaze fixed on the screen with a conflicted expression.
"Well... I guess it's nice to know Alastor still has some semblance of companionship, even if it's down in Hell," She murmured softly, "Niffty, Husk... at least he's not completely alone."
Genevieve tapped her fingers thoughtfully against her chin, "True, but that raises a more concerning question." Her brows furrowed as she continued, "How exactly did he meet them? From what I've seen and knowing the kind of person he is, I doubt he'd approach anyone unless there was something in it for him."
May hesitated for a moment, "Maybe... maybe he just wanted some company?" But the uncertainty in her voice betrayed her lack of conviction.
Genevieve gave her a sideways glance and said, "It's possible, yes. But more likely? He offered them something. A deal. A trade. Just like the one he tried to make with Charlie. That smile of his... it's not kindness. It's a mask."
Her words sent a chill down May's spine. She drew in a shaky breath, suddenly very aware of how much she didn't know about her own son.
"No..." May whispered, almost pleadingly, "That can't be true... can it?"
Genevieve didn't answer right away. She simply looked back at the screen, her silence speaking louder than words. And in that silence, May's doubt only grew.
["Oh, my gosh! Welcome to the Happy Hotel! You are going to love it here!" Charlie exclaimed, rushing over to the bar and leaned over the counter. ]
["I lost the ability to love years ago." Husk replied before he continued to drink his booze.]
{Earth}
All across Earth, Husk's weary remark struck a deeply relatable chord as a good chunk of humanity responded in unison with a dry, collective, "Mood."
In a world that felt like it was teetering constantly on the edge of some new catastrophe, the sentiment of emotional burnout and reluctant resignation was universal. If a grizzled demon cat stuck in literal Hell could embody that same exhausted vibe, it was almost... comforting. A grim sense of solidarity.
Malaysia
In a modest community center, a therapist sat with his legs crossed, watching the broadcast alongside other professionals and locals. He stroked his chin thoughtfully as the scene cut to Husk hunched over the bar, looking like a poster child for self-destructive coping mechanisms.
"You know," The therapist mused, "Having a fully stocked bar in a rehab setting would obviously be disastrous but replicating a bar-like environment? That could actually be a therapeutic breakthrough."
One woman who was a counselor raised an eyebrow at him, "You mean, like a 'dry bar'?"
"Not just dry," He clarified, "I mean, keep the whole aesthetic the moody lighting, soft music, stools, even the clinking of glasses. But swap the booze with non-alcoholic mocktails, seltzers, or drinks served in familiar bottles. Let the recovering person maintain their rituals without the chemical addiction."
A younger behavioral researcher nodded slowly, "That's... actually smart. A lot of people don't drink because they like the taste. It's a habit."
The doctor seated beside them chimed in, "Correct. It's a combination of psychological comfort and cultural conditioning. If we can simulate that environment especially late at night, when loneliness and cravings peak, we could help reduce relapse rates."
He tapped a finger on the table as he continued, "There's also the placebo effect to consider. Presenting a familiar-looking beverage in a bottle or glass associated with alcohol can help ease withdrawal symptoms by tricking the mind into believing it's satisfying the urge."
"Bars without the buzz..." Someone murmured.
"Exactly," The therapist snapped his finger, "What we need isn't more 'dry lectures' on sobriety. We need sober culture that feels normal, fun... even indulgent. Rehab shouldn't feel like punishment. It should feel like hope with good lighting."
There was a pause and then a quiet murmur of agreement. Even in the shadow of demonic broadcasts and existential dread, the idea of reclaiming joy in familiar places felt like the first step forward.
["So, whaddaya think?" Alastor asked Charlie.]
["This is amazing!" Charlie exclaimed, rubbing her cheeks excitedly.]
["It's... okay." Vaggie admitted haphazardly.]
[Alastor grabbed the two towards him and said, "Hahaha! This is going to be very entertaining!"]
[He then lets go of Vaggie and summons a fireball, launching it to the hotel ceiling just so he could distract Charlie fast enough for him to shove Vaggie offscreen and dressed himself in a tux and matching top hat as Jazz music started to play.]
The record company employee blinked at the screen, already pulling out her phone with a knowing look, "Yup, I can feel it in my bones, we're about to get another spontaneous musical number."
"Holy shit," The guy next to her muttered, gripping his head like he was about to collapse, "I still can't wrap my head around the fact that Hell, actual, literal Hell has musicals. Like, full-blown Broadway numbers. Is this divine retribution? Is this what I get for trashing High School Musical when I was fifteen?"
His girlfriend chuckled and gently rubbed his back in comfort, "Hey, at least the songs slap. That's something, right?"
He let out a pitiful groan, "I swear, if I croak and end up in Hell, I don't wanna randomly break into song!"
Meanwhile, in a cluttered college dorm filled with overworked scientists and graduate students, a slightly chaotic watch party was underway. Pizza boxes, notebooks, and crumpled paper surrounded them like academic war debris as the broadcast continued to blare from the TV.
"I've been thinking about the musical outbursts," One physics grad muttered, swirling fruit punch in a red solo cup while sketching a diagram in the air, "I think there's something more to it, some kind of environmental magic baked into Hell's natural laws."
"Dude, what are you even saying?" Another guy asked, squinting behind his laptop.
"No, hear me out!" The theorist sat forward as he explained "Hell operates on magical systems right? That much is obvious. But what if there's two layers? Like, individualized magic what each demon or sinner can do and then a global system of environmental magic. Something embedded into the very structure of Hell, like a magical gravity."
"And you think that includes singing?"
"Exactly! Musical numbers might not be just entertainment. They could be involuntary magical expressions, like emotional outbursts that tap into Hell's ambient magic. Sort of like bardic rituals in D&D, where music channels power. Hell's rules might encourage that kind of release."
The rest of the room paused, stunned into brief silence.
"...Okay, shit, that actually makes sense." A stocky chemist muttered, scrambling for a napkin to scribble notes and in the process, he knocked over an entire bag of pretzels, "Damn. Imagine being able to study that. Real-time expression magic tied to emotional states..."
"Shame we can't just hop down there and run some tests."
"Technically, we can," Their friend said with a smirk, taking a dramatic sip from his cup. "The transportation method just kinda sucks."
"You mean dying?"
"Yup." He leaned back as everyone groaned.
[♫ You have a dream! ♫]
[♫ You wish to tell! ♫]
[Alastor crooned with a gleeful grin as he grabbed Charlie by the hand, spinning her in a whirlwind of excitement. With a flick of his wrist, her dress shimmered and transformed into a vintage 1930s ensemble, a flared skirt, white gloves, and a feathered hat perched jauntily on her head. He gave her a dramatic toss into the air, delighting in her startled laughter.]
[♫ And it's just laughable But, hey, kid, what the hell? ♫]
[The background behind Charlie changes to neon colored lights featuring two apples and a skull.]
Shreveport
The record company executive let out a whoop of delight, clapping her hands with genuine enthusiasm as the scene unfolded on-screen, "Oh, a reprisal! I live for these kinds of musical callbacks!"
She leaned forward, her eyes sparkling as she absorbed every note of Alastor's vintage-tinged performance.
Beside her, a man with a scruffy beard and headphones around his neck chuckled, swirling a cup of lukewarm coffee. "Gotta admit, the guy's got a hell of a voice. Is that radio static layered in? Genius touch. It gives me chills." He smirked before adding, "Sure, he's an absolute creep and probably the last guy you want narrating your dreams, but vocally? He's straight out of a golden age broadcast."
In the corner, an elderly station worker stood still, squinting at the monitor as Alastor's voice echoed through the studio speakers. His brows furrowed, and he tilted his head, lost in thought. "...That voice." He murmured slowly, "It's... too familiar. Like something I heard when I was just a lad, listening to the radio with my old man. Static and all. Feels like a ghost from the past..."
Meanwhile, on the other side of the studio, the fashion designer gasped in admiration, practically bouncing on her toes as Charlie's retro ensemble twirled across the screen. Her eyes lit up with glee, hands clasped dramatically at her chest.
"Oh, how utterly delightful!" She gushed out, "That transformation is magnifique! That craftsmanship! The flair! That dress is a dream, and the way it changed so seamlessly... Alastor's magic may be terrifying, but it certainly knows style!"
She rushed to her desk, flipping open a well-worn sketchbook already brimming with ideas. With a flourish, she began sketching furiously, referencing the crisp lines and flowing fabrics from the broadcast.
Her coworker, a quiet man busy adjusting lighting rigs and props nearby, chuckled at her enthusiasm, "We'll be able to recreate that and more. You've always had an eye for the bold and bizarre, Fana."
Fana didn't look up, her pencil dancing across the paper like it had a mind of its own, "Oh, just imagine the collection! Velvet, pearls, pinstripes, feathers, look at all of the possibilities!"
She darted over to her neatly stacked bolts of fabric, running her fingers across the textures, already envisioning the transformation from sketch to showcase. Her creative mind was in overdrive, inspired by hellfire and harmony all at once.
[♫ 'Cause you're one-of-a-kind! A charming demon belle! ♫]
[With perfect timing, Alastor caught Charlie by the hand and together they launched into a synchronized tap-dance routine, their feet clattering against the now-flattened staircase like thunder. Their smiles were infectious and manic.]
[♫ Now, let's give these burning fools a place to dwell! Take it, boys! ♫]
[With a sharp snap of his fingers, the rest of the hotel staff found themselves magically adorned in flamboyant period attire, pinstripes, flapper dresses, suspenders, pearls, and top hats. In a puff of dark smoke, Alastor's shadow demons erupted from the cracks in the floorboards, slithering like ink before taking shape as a ghostly jazz band, instruments at the ready.]
Shreveport
Fana's eyes widened with uncontainable joy as the camera panned over Angel Dust and Vaggie, both dressed in impeccably styled 1930s outfits, Angel in a feathered showgirl number reimagined with his signature flair, and Vaggie begrudgingly elegant in fur and a wide-brimmed hat, despite the clear scowl on her face.
"Oh my stars!" Fana gasped, practically vibrating with excitement, "Look at those silhouettes! The layering! The contrast! The dramatics!"
Without wasting a second, she threw herself at her sketchpad, her pencil tearing across the paper with blinding speed. Lines and shapes took form faster than her assistant could track, paper flipping, graphite flying.
Her assistant tried desperately to keep her fabric samples from scattering across the table, looked on in panic, "Fana! You're gonna give yourself a cramp if you keep going like that!"
"Ha! Nonsense! I'm fine, I've got stamina for days!" She laughed until
"OW SHIT!" Fana jerked her hand back, clutching it with a hiss, "Okay, ow, fine, fine! That one snuck up on me..."
She winced, flexing her cramping fingers with a defeated groan, "Ugh... damn it. I'll just grab some screenshots later... but oh, the details I have to capture them!"
Meanwhile, across town in a smoky dive bar frequented by unconventional minds, a group of scientists sat hunched around a flickering screen, surrounded by half-finished drinks and scattered notebooks. Their stunned silence was broken only by the sound of clinking ice and a long, exasperated exhale.
"Are you seeing this?" One of them snapped, leaning forward with wild eyes, "Shadow constructs? Sentient ones? That's not just magic, that's full-blown umbrakinesis!"
He dragged a hand through his disheveled hair, clearly at the end of his rope, "Great. Just great. We've got a theatrical, sadistic, likely sociopathic demon with the power to summon an army from literal darkness. As if hell didn't already have enough problems."
Across from him, his lab partner scribbled furiously in a thick leather-bound field journal, flipping to the page labeled Alastor underlined three times, "Adding that to the list... right after 'reality distortion via music.' That's a new one." She muttered without looking up.
Next to them, a woman nursing a bright blue cocktail propped her chin on her palm and stared dreamily at the screen, completely unfazed, "Man... I don't care how dangerous it is. I'd kill to slide down railings like that. Did you see the way they glided? Like old-Hollywood meets rollercoasters."
The first scientist blinked at her, "That's what you're focusing from this? The railings?!"
She shrugged, "What can I say? Style's eternal."
[Vaggie tried to grab Charlie's attention amid the madness, concern on her face, but Charlie was swept away by the rhythm, giggling as Alastor pulled her back in. The shadows swirled around them like a stage curtain.]
[♫ Haha! Inside of every demon is a lost cause! ♫]
[He puts a fedora on Angel's head and pulls a feather out of Husk's. Angel responds with a snap of his fingers back at Alastor while Husk flips him the middle finger.]
[♫ But we'll dress 'em up for now, with just a smile! ♫]
[He puts a hat and fur on Vaggie and slaps her butt before she throws the accessories to the floor, glaring after him.]
Vaggie whipped around with a fiery glare, her eye twitching as her hand flew to her backside where Alastor had playfully smacked her. Her voice rose in a furious growl, teeth bared as she stormed up to him.
"Si te pillo haciendo eso otra vez, te arranco los cuernos y te los meto por donde no te da el sol!" (If I catch you doing that again, I'll rip your horns off and shove them where the sun doesn't shine!)
The air around her seemed to bristle with sheer indignation. while Alastor remained delightfully unfazed. He let out a whimsical laugh, tipping his head back with a crackle of radio static.
"Ahaha! Oh, calm down, darling!" He cooed mockingly, eyes glowing with amusement, "It's simply so much fun to get under your skin!"
With a flick of his wrist, he lightly bonked her on the forehead using the tip of his staff more to annoy than to harm. Vaggie recoiled with a fresh burst of curses in rapid-fire Spanish, clearly two seconds away from lunging at him.
Before things could escalate further, Charlie stepped in, her usually gentle face cast in an uncharacteristically firm expression. She crossed her arms and fixed Alastor with a glare sharp enough to slice.
"Alastor," She said, her tone tight with disapproval, "I understand you were born in the 1930s, but that kind of behavior was inappropriate then, and it's still inappropriate now. I'm serious. Don't do that again."
Alastor's grin never faltered, but there was a subtle flicker in his gaze. His eyes narrowed just slightly, as a static undertone crackling faintly beneath his voice.
"... Very well, then," He replied smoothly, giving a small, theatrical bow, "If you do say so, my dear."
His smile held, but there was something unreadable just beneath it. The kind of dangerous politeness that hinted he was behaving by choice, not by principle.
Vaggie muttered something unholy under her breath, while Charlie let out a deep sigh.
[♫ With a smile! ♫]
[He declared, summoning a shadowy double of himself. The clone mimicked his posture perfectly, both grinning devilishly at each other.]
[♫ And we'll chlorinate this cesspool with some old redemption flair! ♫]
[He kicks off a skull which Niffty rushes in and cleans off.]
[♫ And show these simpletons some proper class and style! ♫]
[He sang as he summoned a shadow clone of himself to which it smiled back at him.]
Cannibal Colony:
Rosie, watching from her rose-trimmed parlor, sipped her tea with an arched brow as Alastor's little musical number unfolded on the screen. Her delicate gloved fingers gently lowered the teacup onto its saucer with a soft clink.
"Well, he's certainly not lost his flair for dramatics," She mused aloud, her voice crisp and eloquent as ever. The sight of Alastor summoning a shadow clone of himself mid-tap-dance wasn't entirely surprising to her but it did stir a sense of fond annoyance.
"Oh, Alastor," Rosie murmured with a sigh, half amused, half exasperated. "Still turning carnage into cabaret, I see."
When the lyrics about "chlorinating the cesspool" rang through the room, she gave a dry, aristocratic laugh. "Really, darling... You're just as twisted as ever. Cloaking mass delusion in vintage charm."
Watching Niffty scurry to clean the kicked skull made Rosie's expression soften for a brief moment, "At least he still inspires some... loyalty. Or perhaps just fear." She couldn't quite tell anymore. With Alastor, those lines had always been blurred.
Still, despite the spectacle, Rosie couldn't help but smirk as the shadow clones twirled and the musical chaos unfolded. "He's putting on a fine show," She said to no one in particular, "But I wonder how long the curtain will stay up before the audience remembers just how dangerous the lead truly is."
[♫ Class and style! ♫]
[Shadow Demons harmonized once again.]
[♫ Oh! Here below the ground! ♫]
[Alastor twirled Charlie once more, then reached out to pinch her cheeks with a mischievous grin.]
[♫ I'm sure your plan is sound! ♫]
[He joined hands with her again, spinning her in a joyful circle as the chaos danced around them.]
[♫ They'll spend a little time, down at this Hazbin Ho- ♫]
[Before he can finish his song, the hotel door explodes, ending the music and knocking Niffty offscreen. Charlie, Alastor, Angel Dust, and Vaggie look outside as Sir Pentious' war ship has made an appearance outside the hotel ]
V Tower:
Vox practically howled, his glitching screen-face flickering wildly as he doubled over with laughter, "Bwahaha! Holy shit! Look at his face! He's actually shocked!" he wheezed, sounding like a kettle left to boil over, "The great Radio Demon, caught off guard... priceless!"
Velvette bounced excitedly beside him, her eyes wide with amusement, "You're totally right, Vox! He looks like a deer in the headlights! Literal deer boy vibes!" she cackled, almost dropping her phone as she giggled uncontrollably.
Even Valentino cracked a grin as he leaned forward with interest. "Hah... I've waited to see that smug bastard get a taste of his own fucking medicine," He said, before exhaling a deep puff of pink smoke, "Didn't think it'd happen, but damn if it ain't delicious."
Meanwhile, in a gritty bar deep in the Pride Ring, the crowd froze as they witnessed the interruption. A stunned silence settled before erupting into a chaotic flurry of conversation.
"Who... who the fuck has the brain rot to pull that off?!" One demon stammered in shock.
"Attacking the hotel with the princess in it? That's suicide. But going for Alastor? That's just plain idiotic!" Another muttered, slamming down their drink.
Cherri Bomb leaned back in her barstool, watching with a grin before taking a huge drink, "It's like pokin' a bear in the eye with a rusty fork," She quipped before letting out a loud burp, "Morons."
The rest of the bar echoed her sentiment with a rising wave of murmurs.
"This is better than pay-per-view."
"I see what the Radio Demon meant now... this is entertainment."
"Whoever that was, they've got guts... too bad they won't be alive to brag about it."
["Hah! Well, well, well. Look who it is harboring the striped freak! We meet yet again, Alastor!" Sir Pentious exclaimed.]
["Do I know you?" Alastor asked with a tilt of his head.]
[Sir Pentious looked shocked as his ego deflated at Alastor's question, "Oh, yes you do! And this time, I have the element of- SURPRISE! Ahaha! I'm so evil!" He pulled a lever as an impractical laser cannon dropped down and began charging up, ready to annihilate them all.]
Pride Ring:
Cherri Bomb threw her head back in wild, uncontrollable laughter, nearly doubling over as Sir Pentious strutted onto the screen with his usual flamboyant flair and oversized machinery.
"O-oh man! He's a total nutcase!" She howled, tears forming in the corners of her eyes, "What kind of delusional steampunk lunatic actually thinks he's got a chance against that guy? He belongs in a mental ward, not a battlefield!"
Around her, the bar full of hellborn and sinners erupted in a roar of laughter and jeers. The moment Sir Pentious appeared, the atmosphere shifted from bored amusement to eager mockery, everyone already knew how this was going to end.
"Look who crawled back outta his junk pile!" One demon cackled, nearly spilling their drink as they banged the table, "Hey, Sir Scrapheap! This ain't cosplay hour!"
"Come on, shithead! Go ahead and try it!" Another demon shouted, sloshing gin out of their glass as they raised it in a toast, "I dare you! Ten bucks says the Radio Demon turns him into fried calamari with one hit!"
"That's too obvious, dumbass," A succubus snapped, rolling her eyes. "Now, if he breaks out his shadows or those freaky tentacles, then we've got a show worth betting on."
The crowd started shouting over each other, placing exaggerated bets on how Sir Pentious would meet his inevitable, humiliating doom. Some were rooting for vaporization, others for dismemberment by shadow tentacles, and one overly excited demon declared, "I just wanna see his stupid goggles shatter in slow-mo!"
{Earth}
Back on Earth, the mood wasn't much different.
When Sir Pentious appeared, dramatic and shouting about being evil, the crowd burst out laughing, treating the over-the-top villain like a slapstick cartoon.
"Yo! Get his slimy ass, Alastor!" Someone hollered, pumping a fist in the air, "I need to see him get pancaked!"
A young man in a leather jacket chugged his Coca-Cola, crushed the can with one hand, and smirked at the screen, "Alright, snake boy. Let's see what makes an 'overlord' tick, if he even lasts long enough."
Laughter and taunts echoed through the crowd. The absurdity of hellish monsters fighting live on screen was treated with the same energy as a UFC match or a wrestling pay-per-view. Most had no clue how any of this was happening, but they loved it.
North Korea
In a shadowy, high-security laboratory buried beneath layers of reinforced steel and classified clearance levels, a team of top-tier scientists sat hunched over their glowing monitors. Each screen displayed a live feed of the infernal broadcast from Hell, every pixel of supernatural chaos analyzed with the cold precision of empirical minds.
The atmosphere in the lab crackled with a strange blend of dread and exhilaration, which is something between scientific discovery and morbid voyeurism. Some tapped away at keyboards, some sketched diagrams, and others just stared, enthralled by the unfolding spectacle.
One scientist, a middle-aged behavioral psychologist, muttered as he scribbled in his notepad, "대상: 펜티어스 경. 예비 분류: 과대망상을 가진 하급 오버로드. 자기애성 인격 장애, 극도의 열등감, 그리고 보상적 과대망상 징후 진단. 위협 수준: 연극적." (Subject: Sir Pentious. Preliminary classification: low-tier Overlord with delusions of grandeur. Diagnosed indicators of narcissistic personality disorder, extreme inferiority complex, and compensatory grandiosity. Threat level: theatrical.)
"지옥같이 짜증나." (Annoying as hell, too) Another researcher added dryly.
Across the lab, a neurologist leaned closer to the screen as Alastor's silhouette sharpened and shadows began to flicker unnaturally. Her tone turned clinical, but her eyes gleamed with anticipation, "흥미로운 사실입니다. 관찰 대상: 알래스터. 최상위 포식자 원형입니다. 고도의 현실 조작, 그림자 애니메이션, 그리고 고도의 심리적 지배 전략을 보여줍니다. 단안경을 쓴 기생충에 의해 도발당했을 때 포식자가 어떻게 반응하는지 살펴보겠습니다." (Now this is interesting. Observe Subject: Alastor. Apex predator archetype. Displays advanced reality manipulation, umbral animation, and high-level psychological dominance tactics. Let's see how the predator responds when provoked by a parasite with a monocle.)
The room fell into a taut silence, all eyes glued to the growing tension between the two demons. Their breath was held as everyone knew something was about to go down, and it was going to be gloriously catastrophic.
Someone cracked a grin and said, "나는 Pentious가 10초도 안 되어서 엉뚱한 짓을 저지를 거라고 10달러를 걸고 있습니다." (I'm betting ten bucks Pentious gets turned into a smear in under ten seconds.)
"말도 안 돼. 알래스터는 연극하는 타입이야," (No way. Alastor's the theatrical type.) Another whispered, "그는 천천히 할 거야." (He's gonna make it slow.)
In a war room in a secret location , hidden behind several encrypted firewalls and layers of government obfuscation, Kim Jong Un himself sat in stony silence, watching the confrontation play out in real time. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes betrayed a deep intensity. This wasn't entertainment, it was reconnaissance.
"그래서 이들은 지옥의 악마들이군요," (So these are the demons of Hell.) He muttered, his voice low and ominous, "그들이 실제로 얼마나 강한지 보자." (Let's see just how strong they really are.)
Behind him, his military advisors exchanged nervous glances, knowing full well that if beings like this ever set foot on Earth, politics would no longer matter, only survival.
{Heaven}
"No, Edward! Don't do it! You'll get yourself killed!" Charles Pentious cried out, his voice cracking in fear, as his entire body seems to turn pale white
His eyes were wide with helpless horror, watching his son, his foolish, theatrical, overconfident son, stand defiantly before Alastor.
Not a soul in the Promenade dared to breathe as the scene unfolded. Max and Linda stood frozen beside Charles, both equally speechless. Any words of warning would be meaningless now. The confrontation was already set in motion, and there was no rewinding time in Hell.
In the background, a cluster of "Winners" watched the whole thing intensely, doing little to soften the dreadful sense of inevitability.
One of them leaned in and whispered, "Yeah... he's not walking away from this. Not after challenging that demon."
"Dude, shut up, his dad's right there!" Someone hissed, elbowing him sharply.
Another spoke softly, almost as if they were praying for Sir Pentious's safety, "I just... hope it's quick. That he doesn't suffer."
But even the kindest of wishes held no weight in the face of Alastor. For those who knew the name, knew the stories, knew the truth, there was one universal fact that hung over the entire realms like a guillotine.
No one challenges the Radio Demon and lives to tell the tale.
[With a snap of a finger, an otherworldly dimensional portal opens with tentacles and shadow demons emerging from it, destroying Sir Pentious' ship while he is inside. Alastor can then be seen finishing it off as he clenches his fist with a few drops of blood dripping off his hand. Alastor is then shown grinning menacingly in satisfaction for a moment as the others look at him in shock and horror.]
{Hell}
The aftermath of Alastor's devastating display left Hell in a frenzy. Across every district, from the crumbling slums of the sinner alleys to the velvet-draped lounges of high society, reactions ranged from jaw-dropped awe to pants-wetting terror, and a healthy dose of bloodthirsty cheering.
"Holy fuck," One demon whispered hoarsely, eyes wide as he clutched his drink with trembling hands. The screen replayed Alastor effortlessly ripping through Sir Pentious's ship like it was made of tinfoil, shadow tendrils dancing like reapers, "No wonder he's an overlord. That wasn't a fight... that was a slaughter."
Screams of excitement echoed through the streets as demons either hollered in wild approval or stared in dead silence, processing what they'd just witnessed. For some, it was entertainment. For others, a harsh reminder that in Hell, even legends could still terrify.
In a smoky penthouse atop a shattered skyscraper, the notorious Three V's-Velvette, Vox, and Valentino watched with forced disinterest as the broadcast faded into static.
"Ugh. Showoff," Velvette muttered, but there was an undeniable glint of unease in her eyes. She hated how easily Alastor could steal the spotlight.
Vox gritted his teeth so hard that, static crackling from the corners of his television-shaped head, "He's only ahead of us by a margin. That's all. A thin margin."
Valentino lit a cigarette with a sharp flick and exhaled slowly, "Tch. If we hadn't joined forces, he'd have picked us off one-by-one by now."
It was a bitter truth they all knew but rarely spoke aloud. Their alliance, as fragile as it is, it was the only reason Alastor hadn't already killed them and added their voices through his broadcast.
Down in the lesser districts, where the weaker sinners and civvies gathered in bars, dens, and dingy theaters, the mood was more chaotic.
"NO fuckin' way is that humanly possible!" A gamer demon with neon horns and cracked goggles shrieked, practically leaping out of his beanbag chair. "Dude's got hacks! He's busted! Too OP! Please ban!"
His friend, a scruffy parrot demon with oversized wings and a permanent energy-drink buzz, just stared at the screen slack-jawed, "...Shit. I don't think even angelic weaponry could take him down."
He blinked slowly, too stunned to even call out his friend's botched terminology, "That's... that's gotta be the most broken guy I've ever seen. Like, boss level final phase kind of broken."
Other low-tier demons were murmuring similar thoughts, some contemplating fleeing the city, others ready to start worshipping the Radio Demon out of sheer fear.
"Yeah, no. We're staying miles away from his turf."
"I heard he smiles while killing people. Like, genuinely happy. Who the hell does that?"
From every corner of Hell, one sentiment echoed louder than the rest:
"Don't. Mess. With Alastor."
{Heaven}
In the hallowed halls of Heaven, what little calm remained fractured like glass under a hammer. The celestial choir had long fallen silent, replaced now by gasps, whispers, and the distant thunder of fear. For all their wisdom and divine might, not a single angel present could deny what they had just witnessed.
One demon.
Just one.
And yet, the sheer force he wielded rivaled that of entire armies.
"Dear God..." One angel whispered, her voice trembling as she clutched the edge of her skirt.
"Is this why the Exterminations existed?" Another asked in horror, "To keep demons from ever reaching that level of power? To wipe them out before they could evolve into... that?"
"Such strength... it defies everything that we've ever seen," Another Winner murmured, "There's no way power like that comes without a price. It can't."
The Promenade rippled with holy panic as debates ignited like wildfire about morality, control, balance, and consequences but none of it mattered to the one figure who stood apart from them all.
Charles Pentious.
He was no longer listening.
His face, once burning with fatherly worry, now bore a hollow, pale expression, his eyes were locked on the screen, staring in blank disbelief as Alastor's attack struck down his son with merciless precision.
One second Edward Pentious had been alive, defiant, foolish, but alive.
And the next... he was gone.
A deafening silence fell around him, isolating Charles in disbelief and heartbreak.
"This can't be real..." He whispered, his breath was shaky in his words, "There's no way that he's... that he's really..."
But the sentence never finished.
His knees buckled, his body swayed... and then he collapsed.
A sharp cry rang out.
"Charles!"
Gasps erupted across the Promenade as the angels rushed to his side. Some checked his pulse, others tried to shake him awake, but all anyone could see was a father broken by the sight of a son's demise..
Meanwhile, high above the turmoil on Earth and beyond the veils of mortal comprehension, a heavy atmosphere loomed within the heart of Heaven itself. Deep in the Celestial Spire, within a sanctum of gleaming gold and radiant marble, the Archangels gathered in an emergency session around a circular divine table that shimmered with pure light. The tension was thick and palpable even in the holiest of realms.
"This is spiraling completely out of control!" Archangel Gabriel shouted, slamming his hand onto the sacred table with a sound that echoed like a thunderclap through the chamber. His wings, usually calm and composed, flared in visible agitation. "The humans know. Everyone on Earth now knows we exist, even the bloody exterminations!"
His voice cracked with fury as his mind burned with the image of Kieran, the rebellious, smug Observer who had dared defy the veil of secrecy that Heaven had upheld for eons, "Because of him, the line between life, death, and salvation is blurring beyond recognition! Families are tearing themselves apart trying to understand why their loved ones disappeared. And now the 'Winners' are demanding answers!"
A heavy silence followed until Archangel Raphael, the gentle healer and voice of reason, finally spoke up. "I can't say you're wrong, Gabriel. This has... escalated beyond any contingency we've prepared for." His brow furrowed with concern as he turned toward the silent figure in the corner, "Azrael, have you had any success in contacting Father?"
Archangel Azrael, the Angel of Death, stood still as stone. Shadows clung to the hem of his robes like obedient phantoms before he spoke, "No. I've sent summons through the sacred channels, whispered across the Veil, even tried the Divine Frequency. Nothing. Either Father is still absent, as He occasionally is during His divine sabbaticals..." He paused, his jaw tightening. "Or Kieran is somehow blocking our connection."
Michael, the former Warrior of Heaven and Lucifer's twin, leaned forward, running his hand through his golden hair in uncharacteristic uncertainty. His confidence, once always firm and steady, now flickered with doubt, "I... I don't know what to do this time."
The room fell quiet at his confession.
"We've faced celestial wars, rogue demons, plagues of corruption, even the Fall itself," Michael murmured. "But this... this is different. This isn't a threat we can smite with swords or purify with light. It's unraveling everything... our laws, our systems, the very trust humans placed in us."
His fists clenched in fear and worry as he continued "And worst of all... I don't think that this will end, rather this is just the starti."
The Archangels sat in grim contemplation, each one of them coming to the same conclusion.
The storm wasn't just coming. It had already begun.
{Earth}
Back on Earth, across cities, towns, and underground bunkers, the entire globe seemed to stop as footage of the Radio Demon's destructive onslaught played in real time. Skyscraper-sized monitors, café TVs, and smartphones all displayed the same moment: Alastor standing unfazed amidst annihilation, smiling politely as shadow tendrils retracted into the void he had casually opened and closed like a curtain.
A young man at a rooftop party dropped his soda, his eyes locked on the screen, "...That guy just got folded like an omelet. Scratch that-he was atomized. Not even a blood smear left."
Nearby, a woman wearing a leather jacket took a slow drag of her cigarette, then exhaled, "He got fuckin' tentacled. Like... full-on tentacle hentai'd." She said, with a half-impressed, half-horrified look on her face, "And he looked damn fine doing it."
In a room crowded with scientists and engineers, the normally skeptical crowd had gone silent. Glasses clinked. Pencils dropped. Charts were frozen mid-analysis.
One biophysicist, holding a clipboard filled with Alastor's growing list of anomalous abilities, blinked at the screen, "...Okay, I think we're gonna need some visual aids. Maybe a flowchart. Or a goddamn comic book, because no one's going to believe this data without a picture."
"Great," Someone groaned in exhaustion, "And he didn't even look tired. What kind of monster throws out an army of shadow demons like it's Tuesday and walks away smiling?"
"I don't even think that was his full power," A quantum theorist muttered, gripping the edge of the table with white knuckles.
Meanwhile in all churches across the world, chapels, priests and nuns watched on a dusty old TV as Alastor 'killed' Sir Pentious.
"Dear heavens," A nun finally spoke out, crossing herself twice. "This isn't power a mortal soul should possess..."
A pastor folded his arms and stared grimly at the screen, "Power that surpasses any known mortal. I cannot even begin to fathom what... dark pact might have brought this man to such heights."
Standing near the altar, A priest let out a breathless chuckle, clearly trying to process it all through humor, "I believe this is what the youth call a *'bruh' moment.'" His attempt at levity didn't last long. "But truly... this is no ordinary event. That creature isn't just unholy.... He's a monster among monsters."
The pastor nodded gravely, "This isn't just voodoo or hellfire. No... it's something older. Eldritch. There's a structure to it... like Lovecraft's horrors."
Another nun groaned and tossed her rosary onto the pew, "Great. Now we've got Cthulhu's cousin on our hands. Didn't see that in the fucking Bible!"
Back in a top-secret government research facility, physicists were having synchronized breakdowns. Equations scrawled on glass boards were being erased by shaking hands. Coffee spilled. Nerves shattered.
On the floor, one brilliant but now thoroughly broken researcher curled into the fetal position, mumbling nonsense as his notes scattered like feathers.
"Decades of theory... decades! Just... gone. Gone!" He wept, rocking back and forth on the floor, "He broke physics... and then he closed it like a door!"
A fellow scientist gave him an awkward pat on the back while still frantically typing. "There's no known quantum event that explains what we just saw. None. Not even the Large Hadron Collider's data can prepare us for this."
In a secure bunker, high-ranking military officers sat around a war table, the room deathly silent as the final moments of Alastor's "demonstration" played out.
Then, chaos erupted as all of the soldiers were screaming all at once.
"Sir, what in the goddamn..."
"I don't think we're gonna sanction our way out of this one, boss!"
"I've got four stars on my shoulder and not one of them trained me for fucking tentacle portals, sir!"
The commanding general growled, rising to his feet with a sharp slam of his fist on the table. The room instantly snapped into attention.
"Sit down, and shut up!" He barked, "We're not gonna lose our heads over some demon with a tricked-out shadow circus."
He glared at the paused image of Alastor on the screen, perfectly composed, grinning like a devil in a pinstripe suit.
"We've only seen a glimpse of what these monsters can do. And this one... this Radio Demon... is leagues beyond what we prepared for." The general twirled a pen in his fingers, lost in thought, his voice was low and resolute, "But we are the goddamn Army!"
He looked back at his team, with a determined look on her face and continued, "We'll figure out his weaknesses. Every broadcast, every movement we'll monitor it. If Hell wants toput on a show... then we'll be front row with popcorn and a dossier."
And so, the gears of Earth's most dangerous minds began to turn, preparing to face what they had never imagined: a smiling, singing, gentleman monster... from Hell.
[" ...Well, I'm starved! Who wants some Jambalaya? My mother once showed me a wonderful recipe for Jambalaya. In fact, it nearly killed her! Hahaha! You could say the kick was right out of Hell! Ohoho, I'm on a roll! Yes, sir! This is the start of some real changes down here! The game is set! Now..." Alastor chuckled as the rest of the Hazbin Hotel inhabitants walked behind him.]
[Alastor uses his magic for the last time to change the sign atop the hotel from 'Happy Hotel' to 'Hazbin Hotel' "..Stay tuned. Hahaha...!
{The Void}
"Bravo! Oh Bravo!"
The applause rang out through the boundless darkness of Roo's prison, an abyss where time had long lost meaning. Yet despite the void's crushing silence, Roo's gleeful voice cut through it like a blade, dripping with unfiltered amusement.
Her grin was ear to ear, eyes gleaming with twisted delight as she twirled in the void like a dancer on a forgotten stage. "Did you see their faces?" She howled with laughter, the echo bouncing endlessly around her, "The mortals, the angels, even those pompous demons... utterly gobsmacked!" She hugged herself in amusement, cackling as if the whole universe were a comedy written just for her. "Finally, someone is bold enough to wipe the floor with their illusions of control. Delicious chaos!"
But just as she let loose another wild laugh, a new voice pierced through the darkness.
"I see you've been enjoying the show... Eve."
Roo froze, her grin faltering only slightly at the sound of that name, her name, the one she'd cast aside eons ago. She turned slowly.
A screen of golden static materialized beside the one showing the Hazbin Hotel broadcast. And within it, sitting lazily atop a gilded throne that shimmered like molten sunlight, was Kieran. His eyes, those eyes of cold intellect and godlike indifference, stared straight through her, his trademark lazy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"I've heard," He began, his voice smooth as silk and sharp as glass, "That you've been trying to get my attention."
He leaned forward, resting his chin on one hand, as lights danced behind him like spirits kept barely at bay.
"So," He continued, his tone taking on a subtle gravity, "Tell me, Roo... why do you want to speak to me?"
The void held its breath, waiting for her answer.