Chapter Text
Alastor was unaware of his cause of death until two weeks following his arrival in hell.
He stood in what used to be a dingy bathroom. Now, it is but a mess of metal and gore encased by cobblestone walls.
The distant bustle of a city could be heard through the doorway. This part of town must have been unimportant, for, as far as he knew, any poor soul previously in this vicinity had recently been devoured.
The only thing left intact was the crooked mirror in front of Alastor.
Black sclera illuminated by a glowing red cross branded on his forehead painted an obvious picture of his demise in the reflection before him. Ah, bested by a firearm . Alastor himself never employed their use in his mortal life, far too impersonal for his liking.
Although, the same could now be said for the use of any tools. In life, sinking a knife into one’s flesh, his absolute control illustrated by the knife’s quiver with every pump of the victim’s heart, was Alastor’s greatest high. Now, that could never quite compare to his clawed hand caressing a sinner’s insides, feeling every intimate twitch as its life pitifully drained away.
Alastor can only wonder what became of his mortal body, and why his demise occurred when it did. Yes, he was unceremoniously disposing a body at the time of his death, but he made careful work of doing so in secluded areas. Being an anonymous creator of his sadistic arts was half the fun after all!
Later, he would ponder if the imbeciles on earth would even piece it together. Alastor Lacroix, found shot dead next to what suspiciously matches a body matching the modus operandi of the deadly Bayou Killer, oh the depravity! How could someone as trusted as the beloved radio host be responsible for such cruelty plaguing the Mississippi river! What will the papers say?!
Alastor relished in the thought that his unearthly deeds may still be striking fear into the hearts of New Orleans folk.
Back to the matter at hand – in the mirror before him, Alastor observed his tangible body for the first time since his demonly manifestation.
Yellow blood stained teeth shone in a broad grin. Pale velvet grey skin was topped off with blood-red hair that converged to black points on the top of his head - his ears . They twitched, ever so slightly searching for indications of someone near. There wasn’t. Nobody alive, at least.
On his person were the tattered remains of the black suit he wore when performing his very last earthly broadcast. His eyes’ sclera and irises were red-on-red, interesting , considering the sclera was black just moments ago. He supposed that was no surprise, his skin buzzed with latent power, and changing eye-colour was surely the least of the bodily transformations it could induce.
Carefully, Alastor beckoned his power. The buzz concentrated, and his eyes darkened as his antlers grew.
He towered over the mirror, and the monster looking back at him was divine .
Not wishing to continue his rampage just yet, Alastor slowly restrained himself, form shrinking until he appeared as he was moments before.
Alastor was surprised how right his appearance felt, Alastor could picture dozens of forms that would have fit his divine punishment as a sinner in the depths of hell. He could have been rebirthed weak, a shrivelled pitiful creature with no influence over this world, a testament to the hell he had once been trapped in during his mortal life.
No. Instead, he has been blessed with power .
Power, a razor-sharp 100-watt smile, and his silky-smooth radio host voice. My, was he in hell? It seemed almost foolish to conclude that, with how many blessings he seems to have been graced with.
But under it all he feels where the cruel punishment lies.
His brandished smile does not falter when nausea blooms deep within his gut and saliva pools in his throat, threatening to spill through his clenched teeth.
An insatiable hunger he had ruthlessly spent two weeks trying to absolve. Days of ripping flesh from bones, only for it to fall into a bottomless pit that is his stomach.
But this is not that. The hunger pangs are but a dull ache, ever present, but not the source of nausea wracking his body. This is his first moment in hell where he was able to collect himself into a corporeal body, no longer the rampaging abstract amalgamation of radio waves, runes, and mindless violence.
And thus, this was the first moment where Alastor could identify the sensation pooling in the base of his stomach.
A sensation he hadn’t felt in a decade. One he had locked away, never to be touched again because there was nothing more to be done.
But now it’s back, clawing into his physical being like it had first, years ago. It’s existence present because he was killed, but didn’t die. Alive to be punished forevermore.
The realisation that hadn’t previously sunk in blared over and over again in his mind, leaking into the corporeal world through means of a deafening radio static.
There is an afterlife.
And Alastor has unfinished business.
For the first time in a while, Alastor is taking a walk.
While Alastor revels in the displays of fear common sinners exhibit in his presence, he tends to prefer moving in the shadows. It is a much more efficient mode of travel. This time, though, something has compelled him to take a leisurely stroll in the pentagram’s Entertainment District on his way to Cannibal Town.
He rarely frequents this part of the city, and for good reason. It has become much too obnoxiously “modern” – real modernity began in the twentieth century and ended in the 1930s – over the years. The streets were filled with hundreds of screens, all blaring obnoxious lights as they advertised nonsensical products and idiotic shows.
Worse so, he could feel several cameras’ eyes on him. Vox practically owns this side of the pentagram, and it shows in the ungodly amount of cameras littering the area. Their presence, though deeply annoying, never concerned Alastor. His form is unable to be captured by the gnats, even without use of his powers – his very being an interference to their radio waves.
Yes, radio waves , it enrages him that his precious medium has been employed for such rot, both here and on earth.
Alastor could see the nearest electronics malfunction in his presence, videos warping and sound distorting in closer proximity.
He reined in his powers so as to not disrupt the surrounding technology. As much as messing with Vox certainly puts the entertainment in the Entertainment District – unlike all of the nonsense being spewed left, right and centre by inane picture boxes – Alastor did not wish for the idiot to know of his presence.
He continued his stroll until a familiar sight caught his attention. There, sat untouched, was one of his old radio stations, lavishly decorated in red velvet. As nostalgic it was, the collection of haphazardly arranged televisions to its right quickly caught Alastor’s interest, and he watched from afar as the 666 News broadcast showcased a rather unexpected guest.
Ah, interesting.
He melted into the shadows and quickly traversed to 666 News’ studio, a stone’s throw away from the heart of the entertainment district.
Now to find out what Princess Charlotte Morningstar was doing on Killjoy’s newscast.
He remained abstract when he materialised in the studio. Interrupting the ordeal was not his intention. Nested within the shadows of the dark studio’s corners, he listened.
“ –Whatever. Tell us about this new passion project you've been insistently pestering our news station about!” Alastor noted that Katie Killjoy’s voice was more annoying in real life.
“Well... As most of you know — ” Charlotte’s preamble continued as Alastor took in his surroundings. He mingled along the shadows of the many sinners dumbly soaking up the ensuing interview. Others were running about keeping production up. Alastor made sure to stay well out of their way, not wanting his presence to be known.
The studio itself was a mess of wires, expired coffee cups and an excess of tables. Despite the chaotic sight, it was fairly quiet, everyone near silent to not disturb the audio. Alastor’s normal demonic hearing was already better than most. His shadow form, on the other hand, allows him to hear nothing short of everything within an area. Luckily, the scuffling of working sinners and whispers of gossip were easy to filter out.
“ – a hotel that rehabilitates sinners!”
Ah, there was the crème de la crème. So this is the project the royal Princess of Hell had been devoting herself to. How selflessly optimistic of her.
Rehabilitation , how laughable .
The prospects of Alastor’s little outing were looking rather fruitful.
Alastor was further delighted when Princess Morningstar burst into song. How fun! He applauded her for her showmanship; at least someone on air knew how to properly add flair to their art. Tragically, he could sense the mockery building within the sinners as the song progressed. He respected her efforts, but they were not going to end well.
Her song ended with an outcry as nearly every sinner in the studio broke into a roaring laughter. No longer were they trying to keep quiet for the sake of the interview’s audio– in fact, the news station seemed to revel in recording every derogatory statement directed at the Princess.
There was far too much bustle for Alastor to remain there without notice, electronics getting dangerously close as his shadow slithered between the gesticulating sinners. While he took his leave, the last thing he heard was Killjoy’s shrill “What in the Nine Circles makes you think a single denizen of Hell would give TWO SHITS about becoming a better person?!”
Foregoing his earlier stroll, his shadow weaved in and out of buildings as he travelled to his destination.
It was foolish of the Princess of Hell to broadcast such a moment of weakness, moreso to allow such insolent disrespect from the likes of Killjoy.
He finds it quite interesting that the Morningstars taught their daughter nothing regarding politics. Especially the importance of secrecy. Alastor has known of the Princess’s antics for some time. With her naiveté, it didn’t take much effort to keep tabs on her.
Lilith Morningstar’s rule over Hell was purposeful, and she never let weakness show. Quite contrarily, weakness is the only thing Princess Charlotte has been able to exhibit. That and her effervescence, yes, but majorly the former.
Alastor is sure no being in Hell would manage killing the Princess, but the contrary rings true. He can’t imagine her harming a sinner’s little head unless she was reduced to base instincts for her very survival, a state he’s sure she has yet to experience.
Nothing that can’t still be taught.
By the time he had finished his musings, he found himself at the entrance of Cannibal Town, the only place he avoids being one with the shadows. He would never pass up on an opportunity to take a stroll through this lovely truly modern part of Hell!
—
After some time and a needed checkup for his microphone, he briskly exited the Town. He, unfortunately, did not have time to visit Rosie, but that could wait. She was used to infrequent visits. Even when his absence was due to… more satisfactory reasons, they have frequently gone years without any meetings over the duration of their friendship.
Once outside the towns’ cosy borders, he dematerialized and beelined to the Princess’s “Happy Hotel.”
It was a terribly huge property. It sat on the pentagram’s northeastern point: one of the five locations ultimately reserved for lavish royal properties. The Princess’s abode, though a Hotel, surely fit that criteria.
Although lavish would be the wrong word to describe it. Even from outside, as he walked the long winding path to the front door, he could see the building was falling apart. Half of the Hotel's internal supports were exposed by a multitude of holes, while the other half of the building was shrouded in overgrown foliage.
Well, this just won’t do!
A parked limo was all the indication Alastor needed to know the Princess was indeed home as he walked to the front door.
He gave a hearty knock with his microphone staff and patiently waited until the Princess opened the door.
“Hel–”
The door slammed shut.
His ear twitched.
The door opened.
“ –lo!”
The door slammed again .
He violently suppressed the buzz building beneath his skin. Can’t scare the gal before he’s even let in!
…
But, my, is she taking her sweet time. Radio static leaked out of his microphone, ending right as the door opened for the third time.
“May I speak now?” He said, smile tight.
Her apprehension was palpable, “You may…”
Wonderful .
“Alastor! Pleasure to be meeting you, sweetheart. Quite a pleasure!” He shook her hand and made his way into the dank hotel, “Excuse my sudden visit, but I saw your fiasco on the picture show, and I just couldn't resist. What a performance!”
“Stop right there! – ”
His entrance was interrupted by the thrust of a spear dangerously close to his head.
Angelic steel.
Pure, too , its radiating heat uncomfortably warming Alastor’s face. His eyes trailed down its brimstone shaft to the moth demon holding it. A short gal, but surely compensated for by her hateful expression.
Alastor paid no mind to her yammering about how detestable his presence was. As much as she irked him, he was impressed the Princess had such a well-equipped companion. Anywho, that did not excuse the demon’s blatant rudeness with the weapon, or her words.
“ – you pompous, cheesy, talk-show shitlord!”
Alastor rolled his eyes and pushed the offending angelic spear away from his person, fingers burning where they touched the metal.
“Interesting that you wave around such deadly weapons, my dear! Quite a deadly fate you’re risking for yourself and your companions, no?” He relished in how her expression dropped, and promptly noted her concerned glance towards the dear Princess.
“And do not fret, if I wanted to hurt anyone here,” He let some of the buzz slip, static and dancing sigils filling the room, “I would’ve done so already.”
Her scowl returned full-force and his smile grew. Oh, how pitifully easy she made this for him.
He sidestepped to face both of the girls, “...No, I'm here because I want to help!”
They were both dumbfounded, “Say what?”
“Help!” A laugh track played and for a moment Alastor wondered if his microphone had been damaged during the checkup, “Hello? Is this thing on? Testing, testing…” Nope! All dandy– good as new!
“Um, you want to help with…?” The Princess inquired.
“This Hotel! You have shown true passion for this grandiose project of yours, and I want to help run it!”
“But... Why?” Morningstar replied, her companion sauntering off to sit next to a spider-looking fellow on the couch.
“Hahaha! Why does anyone do anything? Sheer, absolute boredom! I've lacked inspiration for decades, but you, my dear, represent the joys of youth! Nothing can beat fresh ideas, much less one as unique as rehabilitation for sinners !"
“...So, does this mean that you think it's possible to rehabilitate a demon?”
He gave a hearty laugh “Of course not! Such nonsense! My, I haven’t heard quite a ludicrous proposition since the start of the Prohibition! Nononono... I don't think there's anything left that could save such loathsome sinners.” He grabbed her shoulders with his right arm, waving his cane with the other, “ Comme on fait son lit, on se couche, ma chère ! Anyone who thinks otherwise should have reconsidered their actions when they were alive.”
She looked up at him, “Why do you want to help me if you don't believe in my cause?”
“Well the entertainment, dear Princess! No media could evoke the raw emotion one encounters in the real life! I could never pass up on an opportunity like this.” He let her go and flamboyantly gestured to the two sinners lounging on the couch, “I want to watch the scum of the world struggle to climb up the hill of betterment only to repeatedly trip and tumble down to the fiery pit of failure!
“And not to mention the power struggles!” He poked her shoulder with his staff, “If you’ve truly set your sights on growing this Hotel of yours, you will have to face the unadulterated idiocy sparked within lesser overlords threatened by every trivial display of power! For that I happily offer protection of you and your endeavour, if you so let me!” He ended with an outstretched hand, carefully reading her expression as his words were considered.
Before she could reply, she was whisked away by the moth demon from earlier, bickering commencing once Miss Morningstar was dragged to the other end of the room. Slightly irked by the interruption, he took his time to peruse the unappealing decor as they not-so-quietly discussed whether Alastor was a trustworthy stakeholder.
How otiose .
The decor was all personal photos unbecoming of a Hotel’s lobby.
One painting, however, stood out to Alastor.
A family portrait. The Morningstar Trio.
It was interesting seeing Queen Lilith outside of her demonic form. Her act was strictly business, and she was not seen outside of her displays of power. Not many could put a domestic face to her name, though Alastor cared very little that he was now part of that small population.
On the other hand, it was interesting to see Lucifer at all. His presence amongst the sinners of Hell dated back several lifetimes before Alastor’s arrival in Hell. Whether Lucifer gallivants in the other rings or is a miserable shut-in is unknown to Alastor. Either or, he cares very little.
Alastor swivelled once he heard footsteps coming in his direction to see the Princess before him.
“Okay... Al, you’re an overlord, and you clearly see what I'm trying to do here as a joke.” She steeled herself, “But I don't. I think everyone deserves a chance to prove they can be better, so I'm taking your offer to help. On the condition that there be no… tricks or voodoo strings attached.”
His smile grew.
“So it's a deal then?” He twirled his microphone, static blaring as a pulsing green light flashed into existence.
"Nope! No shaking. No deals. –"
Good .
He would have lost all his vested interest in this project if the Princess proved dumb enough to agree to such an obvious ploy.
He retracted his hand, the call for a deal dissipating as fast as it came.
" – I… hmm… As Princess of Hell, and heir to the throne, I-uh, hereby order that you help with this hotel… for as long as you desire.” Cute , Alastor thought, “Sound fair?”
He feigned consideration, “Hmm… fair enough.”
This time he properly took in his surroundings as he slowly walked round the lobby. It really looked no better inside than out. The holes were more prominent on the inside, accentuated by lightrays and peeling wallpaper. The Princess’s garish decorations surely did not help. Had she ever stepped foot in an actual hotel before? He supposed not, with how she thought family portraits were a fitting touch.
His once-over also confirmed that nobody else was there. Nope! Just him, a moth, a spider, and a Princess.
Well, no harm in calling out how unequipped she is.
“So, where is your hotel staff?” he questioned, and chuckled when the Princess’s eyes shot towards the moth demon. “Ah well of course! How could I not assume she was to be the front of the house, for she just oozes hospitality!”
He warped to grabbed the moth’s face, screwing the corners of her mouth into a smile, letting her jump away with a scowl, “All she needs is a smile, and then every sinner in Hell will just be delighted to partake in this wonderful experiment!”
He sent a knowing smirk at the flustered Princess, You're going to need more than this , communicated without words.
He gestured to the spider, “And who is this? A resident?”
The Princess regained her bearings and promptly nodded, “Yep! That’s Angel Dust, he’s been staying here for a week now!”
“Ah, well what services can you offer, my effeminate fellow?”
The spider smirked, “I can suck ya dick!”
A radio screech pierced the room.
“Hah! No.”
"Hmph, your loss."Alastor resisted the urge to bite the demon’s head off.
Alastor twirled his staff, “Well, this just won't do! I suppose I can cash in a few favours to liven things up.”
With a snap of his fingers, the hearth’s fire grew, reinvigorating the lounge area as a black lump appeared in the fireplace.
In the background, he summoned several of his shadows, ordering them to first tame the outside foliage before tackling the building’s severe weathering.
He picked up Niffty’s form from the fireplace and promptly dropped her onto the floor. She poofed to her normal prim and proper self, cleaning service at-the-ready.
“This little darling is Niffty!” He let her get accustomed to her new assortments, and it wasn’t until Niffty started her cleaning regimen that a groan was heard on the other side of the room.
All heads, save Niffty’s– too preoccupied killing roaches—, turned to find the source of the noise.
The reception desk was no more, now a casino bar decorated with a wonderful assortment of cervidae skulls. Much more charming than the sad sight it was before.
Sitting behind the bar counter was dear old grumbling Husker.
The cat sighed, glaring at Alastor, “What do you want from me this time?”
“My friend, I am doing some charity work so I took it upon myself to volunteer your services! I hope that's okay!”
He rolled his eyes, “Not like I got a choice.”
“Haha! Don’t fret, old friend. I won’t let you wallow in misery with nothing to keep you company!” With a wave of his hand the bar was stocked to the brim with only the finest spirits.
Husk scowled, but didn’t hide how he immediately snatched up one of the newly stocked bottles of whiskey as he got settled behind the counter.
The Hotel was bustling with activity: the spider and moth arguing over the bar’s addition, Niffty scrambling to fix the Hotel’s disrepair, and the Princess happily introducing herself to an unhappy Husker.
This has turned out to be a very promising day.
Alastor’s lifetime consisted of three names.
Here in Hell, he is Alastor. Alastor Lacroix for those who live to witness his politeness.
His first month in hell – the first month after he figured out how to have a physical being, mind you, the first two weeks don’t count – was his learning phase. Much like a newborn fawn, it had taken some time to become confident in his footing. Not only for his understanding of the inner workings of hell, but his own bodily control.
While he has not gone on quite the rampage as his first endeavour in this sacrilegious place, there has since been several instances where his carnal desire took over. Alastor never was bothered by hunger in his mortal life very much, but now it is an unbearable ache. And it is frustratingly difficult to stay sound of mind if he doesn’t gorge himself on three times his body weight worth of food.
As much of a power display his rampages are, he is not fond of them. They are the realisation of a great fantasy, but even the greatest dreams should stay that way - a dream . Pulling himself back together leaves him in a state of disarray, and he does not appreciate winning back his consciousness to find himself in an unfamiliar location.
Additionally, he has been made aware of Hell’s ruthless power system. He could handle small-fry, but he would want his intellect intact for any dangerous forces he may encounter.
Though, he’d like to avoid any such encounters until he knows what he’s going up against.
As of now, he is by no means sure of his place in this new world.
Much like on earth, there are many intricacies to consider. If he truly is more powerful than the average sinner, that does not mean he can jump into the fray just yet. Alastor always enjoyed the dominos of a carefully constructed plan falling into place over impulsive actions. That’s something he supposed his episodes were supposed to be a punishment for: removing his control surrounding his sadistic tendencies.
It’s been a month and he has hit a tremendous learning curve, but, nonetheless, there is more learning to be done.
No matter! He is no longer constrained by the need to please a population hellbent on pushing him down. He has all the time in the world to devote to his learning, to controlling himself and his powers as he shows this new world what he is truly capable of.
Alastor refuses to take his chances here, and he refuses to allow his afterlife reflect his mortal life, to be pushed to rock bottom again and again and again .
And he’ll be damned if he doesn’t claw his way to the top.
—
One year later, his first broadcast floods the pride ring with shrill screams.
Alastor has known three names in his lifetime.
The Radio Demon was a positively wonderful addition.