Chapter Text
From hell’s crimson sky, Rosalyne-Kruzchka Lohefalter crashed head-first to the ground, and into a mud puddle.
“Where… am I?”
Rosalyne glared at the demon in the mirror, caked in filth. Her magnificent robes, which she had as the stunning Fair Lady, changed forms to dark red robes, the one she had as the Crimson Witch of Embers. The moth-shaped mask became one with her head except her eyes were visible, her dress’ fur trim became her shoulders’ tuft of fur instead, and her moth wing-shaped horns sprouted from her once-pristine long blonde hair. Her black nails grew long, shaped like a tiger’s unkempt claws.
“Crimson Witch of Embers,” she said while spitting at the ground and incinerating the mirror. “That purple tin can’s insults were as weak as it was when it let its human friends die at Tatarsuna.”
The purple tin can, wherever it was, is laughing at her fate along with the rest of those worthless Fatui recruits she didn’t prune that month. Hours ago, she was La Signora, the fearsome Snezhnayan diplomat taking the Gnoses like milk candies Arlecchino’s “children” give to her for her birthday (why didn’t she get those recruits as underlings instead?).
Her Majesty willing, she would find a way out of this strange dimension, regain her flawless visage, and make that insolent Balladeer wish that Dottore were to disassemble him! As the mirror melted to a crisp, Rosalyne placed the images of the Traveler and the Electro Archon into it, grinning as the hellfire from her veins consumed those vermin who destroyed her dreams of a pure world with her once-lover.
Leaving the abandoned store, she walked through the alleyways, pausing now and then to review its aesthetic. Dark red neon lights covered the cityscape, while demonic beings of all shapes, clothes, and sizes minded their own business. Some looked at her and laughed with their fellow fiends, while the others seemed to wait for the bus to stop by. Tall skyscrapers and apartment blocks gave the impression of Fontaine, but the Cataclysm swallowed it whole and this city was its excrement.
“Do you know any five-star inn or abode for a lady like me?” Rosalyne said to a human-sized demon wearing a tuxedo and business pants. Surmising that this particular fiend is a civilized variant, he must’ve known the high-class, exclusive blocks of this city. She would sleep for the night in a hotel fit for the Fair Lady, then find her way back to Teyvat.
“Wait… aren’t you the Crimson Witch of Flames?” The demon said, peeking at Rosalyne’s clothes and breasts to verify if it was her. “Hey guys, look what the ashtray spilled on us!” He turned to his fellow demons and screamed.
As if on cue, all of them rushed to Rosalyne and filled the air with roaring laughter. Wearing brown coats, neckties, and red berets, the demons’ eyes were a swarm of flies biting on her skin and nibbling away her clothes, forcing her to hide her face and kneel.
“Oh, look, it’s the Butterfly of Hell, crushed by the God of Thunder, which by the way - is a million times hotter than you - and put in this shit-filled jar!” An imp jeered.
“This is for Dralgy, you monster!” A goat-shaped fiend spilled her latte on her clothes. “And this is for all of my grandfathers you’ve exterminated!” She spat at Rosalyne when her cup ran out of coffee to spill at.
“Pale Flame, lay waste to my mortal shell and witness my suffering…” Rosalyne prayed as the volcano that was her heart began to steam. Every mocking word was kindling in the crater. Her body and the patch of ground under her feet shook. Flames began climbing her veins and into her skin. The mud sticking to her body began to evaporate into mist. She was waiting to erupt, to bury this Tsaritsa-forsaken hovel and all these Abyss-spawned filth hurting her in ashes and lava. If it killed her, so be it - perhaps she will wake up in the next life and her beloved Rostam by her side.
The jeers raged on to no end and Rosalyne saw herself back in Mondstadt half a century ago, with the same ungrateful villagers on these demons’ faces. When they once threw rocks and cow manure at her, they threw plastic cans and other garbage. Looking to her right she saw some fiends bring rusty pipes and sticks, eager to heap greater torment and misery at her! The jeers gave way to chants saying “CRIMSON WITCH, ASH-FILLED BITCH!”, and laughter joined the cacophony poisoning her ears.
“Hahaha…” Rosalyne grinned as flames filled her obsidian bars in the shape of whips, her body growing taller and her moth wings emerging from her back as her heart erupted. “In fires of sin and retribution, your souls will all be incinerated!” Her searing whips split into two, striking the ground as they swept away demons into the wall.
“GET THAT BITCH, BOYS!” The other brown-suited demons picked up their guns and fired at the Crimson Witch.
“Go, my lovely Peruere! Have your fill!” A large flame in the shape of a butterfly flew to shield her from the bullets heading her way, then unleashed fireballs that charred demons who didn’t dodge it in time.
“Call the reinforcements! Charlie Whiskey alert! I repeat, Charlie Whiskey alert!” One of the demonic mobsters screamed before a fiery lash burned off his head.
“Well, folks and fiends of all faces, this is no proper way to treat a lady.” A tinny radio announcer’s voice with slight static interrupted the mob. “Have you all failed Basic Etiquette 101?”
Seconds away from striking the mob with her fiery whips, Rosalyne looked up at her unexpected defender who grinned back at her. She focused on the demon’s red pinstripe coat and black bowtie. Its pinkish-red hair had tufts shaped like a deer’s ears, and its sharp, yellow teeth sparkled like Liyuan amber rocks.
“Hey, it’s the Radio Demon guy! What are you doing, defending the Crimson Witch of Mud?” An obese demon with a tank top answered.
“I’m not defending this lady. But your methods of attack are so hacky and unoriginal.” The microphone atop his staff mouthed his spoken words. “My goodness, are you trying to audition for Stormtroopers in a Star Wars movie?”
“It carries itself like a Harbinger…” Rosalyne thought while scanning this particular fiend. Staring down the mob of demons, the fiend looked at the sky and her every now and then, unimpressed at their numbers and her fiery wrath
“I think you all need to skedaddle…” The demon’s head tilted to the right, its grin drooping down, and its shadow split forward to reveal jet-black tentacles reaching out for the mobsters’ necks and flicking them away. “...or Hell’s denizens will hear about the Curious Case of the Masticated Mob in Belphegor Avenue next week.”
“Oh, my listeners will tremble when they hear the lurid tale about your grisly demise!” The demon’s voice grew more guttural, the static fraying it more and more. Showing intelligence for once in their pitiful lives, the surviving mobsters quickly scattered in all directions, screaming all the way.
“Heh, cowards… I’ve slain worse.” Rosalyne smirked to herself, which then coalesced into a cackle.
“My Crimson Companion, dear, how’s your first day in Hell so far?” The demon turned to Rosalyne - its head shifting back to normal, its grin folding up, and its tentacles dissolving back to the shadows fast - and patted her on the shoulder. “You seem to have a lot of haters these days.”
“The same way rat poison and the mousetrap have haters, yes.” Rosalyne laughed, shrinking back to her normal height and furling up her moth wings.
“Don’t get too cocky, my dear. You’re part of the rat race now.” The demon snickered. ”It was always a matter of time before you slither into our world.”
“I will claw my way out of this literal hellhole, and Snezhnaya will welcome its Fair Lady back.” Rosalyne flipped her hair, looking at the imaginary paparazzi.
“Now, now, Rosalyne. You don’t get a lot of photo moments here unlike upstairs. Although, the moment I enjoyed the most was you disintegrating into atoms.” The demon swept the ground near him with an imaginary broom.
“I ought to burn your head off for that…” Fiery images of red butterflies formed at Rosalyne’s right palm, flying around her before zipping in the demon’s direction.
“Let’s not fight here, Rosalyne. Call me Alastor, the Radio Demon.” With a flick of his fingers, fire emerged from his fingertips and devoured the butterflies whole. “My special business partner just so happens to have a hotel you can rest at, complete with five-star amenities!”
“Can you provide more details? I’m well aware that deals with your kind have some fine print in them.” Rosalyne crossed her arms. She imagined six-foot butlers giving her a shower and a spa, then serving her Snezhnayan beef (though she’d settle for whatever the local variant is) with white wine as dessert, then relaxing in her king-size bed while reading old Mondstadt poetry. Then, it turns out that mud and waste came out of the showers, the Snezhnayan beef was leftovers, the white wine was a demon’s urine, and the king-size bed was a bed demon slowly siphoning her soul.
“You’re smarter than average, which is a treat. I assure you that there are no fine prints, no hidden clauses, no malicious double or triple-meanings, and no exploitable legal loopholes whatsoever in my offer.” Alastor placed his hand on his chest. “If I’m wrong… I’ll expose myself to human-made conservative comedy radio shows for the entire week.”
Human-made conservative comedy radio shows? Rosalyne raised an eyebrow. Are those hell’s equivalent of the illustrations the Fatui newspaper Pravda had? What is a conservative by this dimension’s standards?
“Only fools would trust someone like you. You haven’t given me any reason to take up your offer.” Rosalyne swept the dust from her face.
“Fine then, try your luck at all the other hotels here,” Shadows gathered in Alastor’s palms, forming a book and handing it to the moth demoness. “For your information, textbooks here still talk of the Crimson Witch of Flames.”
Opening the textbook to a random page, Rosalyne read its contents. “The Orthrus Refugee Camp Massacre” featured an illustration of her as the Crimson Witch of Flames grinning as tents and makeshift homes of demons, hellhounds, and other Hellborn burned in front of her. The other focus of the art was a naked, childlike demon running away with her entire body charred beyond recognition.
“Upwards of 324 demons of all shapes, sizes, and clans burned to death in this senseless, horrific attack by the exterminationist Crimson Witch. Orthrus Refugee Camp was a camp founded in Wolvendom to escape the forever war between Teyvatkind and the Hellborn in which its residents pledged neutral status, yet it did not stop the mad Witch from slaughtering them…”
She didn’t bother to finish the one-sided propagandist screed that was Alastor’s book and just engorged her eyes on the Crimson Witch illustration. She stood tall, hands on her hips as her gigantic moth wings rained fire on the monsters who ruined her life. The artist even got the exact size of her breasts and the minute markings on her mask and dress right!
“How many little imps and tieflings have you incinerated, my dear?” Alastor asked.
“How much tea did you drink during your stay in Hell?” Rosalyne smirked, smiling at the thought that even demons managed to portray the tiniest details she added when she sewed those Crimson Witch clothes.
“Now, what would a hotel concierge do when they find out that a mass murderer of your stature is lurking in their property? Your execution upstairs got livestreamed here, darling.” The shadows surrounding Alastor shifted into lightning strikes, chilling Rosalyne’s lava blood inside her veins before slinking back to the ground. “By this time, the mobsters have spread the word that you’re now in town, and pretty soon you’ll have a million-soul bounty on that dainty head of yours.”
“Give me some fucking water…” Rosalyne’s arms stung like a wasps’ hive after putting her fires out, forcing her to hold tight to her shoulders while taking deep breaths. The adrenaline from setting monsters alight wearing out, she cursed whoever ran the underworld for letting fiends run loose and giving her this flawed form. Shouldn’t she, as a demon, be immune to the fires of hell?
“Your wish is my command.” Conjuring a glass of water, Alastor handed it to Rosalyne who sprayed her arms, relaxing them and soothing her for a while. “Before you ask, yes, we have people in your realm keeping tabs on everything you do. You’ve gotta thank whatever deity you worship that my special partner is gracious enough to take anyone in, even you. Unless you have better leverage, you have no choice.”
Rosalyne kept her disdainful smile. She had leverage, alright; she was a dazzling pillar of fire, a one-woman light show who could empty Hell if pressed. While she wasn’t familiar with the underworld’s geography, she knew there would be powerful artifacts that could help amplify her flames or remove her pain entirely.
But Alastor’s offer was too good to pass on. A five-star hotel with decent amenities and not staffed by demons calling for her head is good enough for a day two before carrying on her journey. Should anyone in the hotel try to pull a fast one on her, she would show them hellfire they’ve never felt before.
“Fine. Take me to your partner’s hotel.” Rosalyne said. “I have some terms to negotiate with your business partner.”
“Not on your mud outfit, my dear. You’ll have to head straight for the showers before we get to the hotel’s front desk.” Alastor stretched out his hand.
“Alright, then.” Rosalyne held his hand, and the demons dissolved into mist and reappeared at their destination.