Chapter Text
“The fuck is this? Who the fuck are you? What the fuck?”
Before Alastor stood a very strange, almost humanoid creature. It had an odd, flat face which appeared to be made of mostly glass, and wore a garish, peculiar bluish-black suit. It was lacking sleeves, seemingly torn off, and had very long coattails (albeit also torn and tattered). Atop its rectangular head sat a black top hat with a strange symbol, antennae poking out from behind (or underneath?).
Although, perhaps Alastor shouldn’t be judging the being who could very well be his ticket into not entering Hell weak. Strange possibly-cords sprouted from this being’s back, uplifting it (him?), and an expression of pure malice and irritation was displayed upon its face. He calmly closed the tome he had used to summon this creature.
Ensuring a pleasant, humble expression remained on his own face, Alastor spoke to him. “I apologize for the suddenness of this whole…” He waved his hands supplementarily. “Situation. But you must allow me to get to the point. I know this meeting must be surprising, but I have called upon you for a reason – I know what awaits a man such as myself after death.” He kicked one of the corpses sparsely littering the ground, chuckling lightly. “But I don’t wish to enter Hell weak. I wish to begin with a position among the highest-ranked demons. I want to continue my fun!” I refuse to start over. I cannot do all the shit I’ve done while alive again just to be only recognized as barely human once more. His grin widened, splitting his face. The Demon’s expression shifted from irate to apprehensively joyful.
“What’s your name, human?” He asked, a coy smile playing at the Demon’s face as he bent down to peer at Alastor more closely. The brightness of his face was nearly blinding. One of his eyes widened strangely, pulsing red and black. Alastor caught himself staring, entranced despite the strain it caused on his eyes, before shaking the feeling off. He set the book he had been gripping far too tightly down on the floor, crouching to do so. Now is not the time to show weakness. Don’t give him anything to exploit. When he stood up again, the demon’s face was much closer than before. Alastor almost yelped in surprise, instead sharply inhaling to calm his nerves and blinking rapidly to clear his eyes of the dancing dots of color.
“Alastor.” He replied, pushing up his glasses and offering a slight gentlemanly bow. He looked away and quickly schooled his expression to appear more docile, despite what his summoning implied. I must toe a thin line between confidence and domesticity, he reminded himself. He cursed inwardly at his brazen display of excitement, watching the demon survey the room. The blood painted on the floor in a pattern, experimented with and tweaked for months. The wooden talismans hanging from the ceiling, sticks broken and bent for his purpose. The bodies scattered about in varying stages of decay, white men who had dared insult Alastor. The man who had spilled wine on his shirt, seeing him as the butt of a joke. He hadn’t been laughing when Alastor drove his knife straight through the man’s heart, blood spattering onto his rumpled white shirt. The black of his suit had soaked up the color as well as any would, the only hint of gore being the crust of dried blood that remained. The man at the market, who had tried to upsell Alastor his bread. He had also attempted to barter for his life, but that hadn’t worked out too well for him now, had it? No, Alastor’s avenging knife had plunged all the same. He surely had earned himself a special place in Hell with his greed. These men, they served no purpose, – in society or his cabin – other than as trophies. He sniffed in disgust – getting a noseful of the musty stench of the cabin and rot – as his eyes skipped over them, but he willed his smile to remain in place.
The Demon’s smile and eyes had grown exponentially, covering more than half of its strange, flat, shiny face as it gripped one of the sides of its peculiar head, laughing in what Alastor could only describe as disbelief. He was surprised its head didn’t show scratch marks from how intensely he was holding onto it.
“Oh… oh my God!” His laughter devolved into hysterics. Alastor’s eye twitched. He tilted his head. How dare this being laugh at him? After he had put all this time and effort into contacting this demon, and he laughs in Alastor’s face? He fought to keep his smile plastered on his face. It was a struggle, but he refused to show any more weakness than necessary to this being of unknowable power.
“No fucking way. The- HAH! Oh my God! Wait, wait, wait. Can you frown for me?” Alastor’s expression froze – bemused and teetering on the edge of malice – before he begrudgingly obliged, and the demon roared with laughter, running Alastor’s patience even thinner. He quickly put his mask in place – his smile – although he still felt exposed. The demon turned around, seemingly taking in the scenery for the first time with incredulity and pointing at everything as if Alastor’s life was a novelty, sputtering all the while. Why was this the demon he managed to summon? He groaned internally. This demon’s grating laughter was almost worse than Alastor’s producers’. It was enough to sharpen Alastor’s smile. Thankfully, the wooden cabin dampened the cackle, wooden fibers soaking up the soundwaves.
Finally, the demon gathered himself, straightening his posture and wiping tears off the smooth surface that resembled a face. He took a deep breath, composing himself.
“Alright, Alastor – mind if I call you Al?” Alastor glowered, eyes narrowing, but he made a noncommittal noise. “–Al, you want power. Which I can give you. But I’m going to need something of yours.” His voice dipped lower, almost mesmerizing. The demon advanced, ever so slightly. Alastor felt compelled to give the demon whatever he wanted, thoughts growing slightly fuzzy around the edges. A little off. Akin to how his mind functioned after a few too many drinks.
“I can give you power. Power greater than anything your little human mind can imagine. You’ll be respected and feared. Nobody will be able to beat you in battle.” Alastor’s eyes grew wide, grin nearly dropping in disbelief. That was even more than he was asking for. “Nobody,” he held up one smug shining cyan claw, “except for me. You’ll own more souls than the stars you can count in the sky.” Alastor hummed in contemplation, missing the demon’s hungry look, but he wasn’t done.
“In return, I get your soul. And your loyalty. I will be your god.” Alastor broke free from the demon’s steady gaze, weighing his options. The demon seemingly relished in Alastor’s nearly imperceptible discomfort. He knew such great power had to come at a hefty price, but he still wanted a way out, a way to be completely free. Giving his soul to a demon seemed like a wonderful way to exist in hell as a “tortured soul.” He wanted to be able to do as he wished. Freely, without worry. He wanted protection. A guarantee of safety. But these terms were… not what he was looking for. What were this demon’s intentions?
“It’s simple. You remain loyal to me and me alone. You’ll be my right hand. We’ll bring all of Hell to its knees. So long as you swear to me these two, itty bitty things. That’s all.” He grinned, red leaking from the corners of his far-too-large mouth as he chuckled, as if laughing at an inside joke Alastor should be familiar with. It was enough to send a shiver down Alastor’s spine. Was it blood? Could this demon even bleed? It certainly didn’t look completely natural – in the sense that it appeared to be more machine than man – but at the same time, it – he – was expressing such strong, human emotions.
Concerning.
He chastised himself. Here he stood, before this impossibly powerful being, asking for power and grumbling about the terms. Yes, demons had ulterior motives. Of course they did! But if there was a back door – if Alastor would be able to do as he wished most of the time – the deal would surely be bearable. He pushed up his glasses once more, cocking his head.
“Would I have my own freedom?” He asked, apprehensive, but ensuring his voice exuded confidence. The demon’s eye twitched. Freedom was the only thing he wanted other than power. It was simple, really.
“Within reason,” the demon replied coolly, recovering quickly, grinning a little too widely. He was leering over Alastor now. The terms of the deal grew less and less appealing with each passing second. The red was pouring from the demon’s mouth in torrents now, yet it never left his glass. Was it really pouring if it didn’t move? Perhaps this “deal with the devil” plan was foolish after all. He could work his way up the social ladder once more. Perhaps Hell didn’t have Jim Crow laws. Did Hell even have laws at all? Perhaps, like this odd fellow, he wouldn’t be classified by the color of his skin.
Yes, he could work his way up to the top. A little grit and determination, and he’d be well on his way! Now, to send this demon back to where it came from. What was that incantation? His eyes darted across the room, looking for the tome he had used to summon this creature. He swore he had dropped it beside himself…
“Well, this has been lovely and all, but I don’t-”
“Look at me. Do you know how many humans would kill for this opportunity?” The demon thundered in reply, cutting him off. His voice oozed static and power and intensity. He must have noticed Alastor searching for the book. Alastor obliged, flinching, trying to stand his ground as more cords sprouted from the demon before him, writhing wildly and angrily. “Hell, I could kill you right. Fucking. Now.” Alastor swallowed, doing his best to maintain his composure, still searching for the tome.
“I know most Overlords would. And they wouldn’t even bat an eye. But I-” He broke off into manic laughter once more- “I offer you not only inconceivable power–” He broke off, ensuring Alastor met his eye – “more than any other Demon in Pride could offer – but I’m also allowing you to be almost equal to me. Me! Do you know how much of Hell I control? Do you understand how pathetic you are? I could fucking crush you.” His laughter finally subsided. He was panting from exertion, gripping his head again. “But instead, I’m giving you a generous offer. Which, for the record, no other Overlord would do.” He scoffed, straightening his suit, his voice losing its staticky, imposing layer.
“...Am I supposed to know what an ‘Overlord’ is? For all I know, it could be a mocking term you give to the lowest of the demons in Hell.” He was taunting. He knew he was taunting. He knew he shouldn’t provoke this demon. But was at least a little genuinely curious. He wouldn’t be tricked by fancy words.
The demon as though he would blow a fuse. “Overlords are some of the most powerful demons in Hell.” He spat. Why, if Alastor didn’t know any better, he’d say this demon was five seconds away from exploding. Or imploding. Both seemed just as likely. “So I would suggest you listen to what I’m saying.”
There was a long pause before either of them spoke again.
“Do we have a deal or not?” He snapped, one cyan claw-tipped hand resting agitatedly on his hip. He leveled a glare at Alastor, who for all the world was hiding the mild fear thrumming in his veins. He searched the room, avoiding eye contact. Mulled the demon’s words over. While it was possible this demon was lying to gain another soul, why would he offer him such a high position? Perhaps his words had a dose of truth. As irritating as this demon was, there was always the possibility of the summoning circle failing if he tried again. Or it might summon a worse demon – one with less power, or one with more demands.
Alastor debated for a few moments, carefully turning the deal over in his head. This demon seemed powerful enough, and certainly more than eager to work with Alastor. Perhaps he could use this eagerness to his advantage.
He cursed under his breath, then, extending his hand, he agreed, “It’s a deal.” The demon gripped his hand tightly, eagerly, securing their covenant. His grin grew wider than ever as Alastor’s eyes rolled back into his skull. He collapsed onto the rotting wooden floor from the surge of the demon’s power, still alive, but unconscious. A shot rang out, as if a hunter had gotten its prey. But the forest was empty of human life, save for Alastor.
There was a palpable wrongness in the air – the forest whispered, animals shifting, on edge. Waiting for a nonexistent predator to appear.
And suddenly, the universe shifted, settling into its new fate.