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PLEASE DO READ
CHARACTER CHART

Hello everyone! I made a character chart for everyone that wasn’t as familiar with the fandoms, not to mention just in case anyone was interested in a deeper level of each life. I do intend to make in the future a chapter for each life that will describe more things. This is only a small summary. You have the choice to go blind into this story if you don’t want to know some of the context, you can read a couple of chapters and once you deem it enough time, come to this chart. It really depends on your curiosity. After all I’m not spoiling Alastor’s chart, not really.

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Chapter Text

THE SEVENTH TRANSMIGRATION

CHAPTER ONE | ALONE NOT ALONE

Dying was never fun—at least, not for her. How many times had she died now? …Ah, yes. Seven times. Seven lives. Seven different people. And now, she was about to become the eighth.

She tilted her head, staring at the red sky above, her gaze locking onto the pentagram that hung like a beacon. A star? A sun? No—a moon? It didn’t matter. She knew exactly where she was. Pentagram City. She was in hell.

“…What?”

A sharp, piercing noise flooded her ears—static, grating and relentless. She winced, pressing her palms to her temples. It sounded…like a radio.

Was she Alastor this time? The Radio Demon?

She let out a long sigh, her eyes fluttering shut as she shakily stood up. It was always like this—these moments of confusion, nothing abnormal for each of her lives; flashes of her past lives would always hit her all at once the first minutes.

Amelia Montgomery

Light Yagami

Azula

Sasuke Uchiha

Tomura Shigaraki 

Osamu Dazai

Ryomen Sukuna

Oh.

Oh.

A - L - A - S - T - O - R

No way… she had lived far too long to believe in coincidences when it came to her. Across her many lives, she had questioned everything, analyzing patterns and possibilities. She once thought Azula was special—was it because she was the only original female character? Or because she was the only one that wasn’t from an anime? But being Alastor ruled out the second option, and nothing ever changed with Azula. Maybe it was a rule of seven—seven transmigrations, seven letters in the name… Was this her final life? It would be eternal if she never died.

So, what made her seventh transmigration so special… what made being the Radio Demon something different from the others?

All her lives had been a constant of being antagonists of stories. Not that she followed the rules… the fact that she transmigrated into a character and said character was turned into a female ensured that she did not need to follow the same fate of the stories.

She blinked looking around and noticed that it looked older than in the cartoon… which meant she transmigrated just as Alastor died. Seven voices could be heard inside her mind as everything was settling in order as it would always do each time. She groaned grabbing her head as she tried to find an isolated place where she wouldn’t be seen.

“Each time takes longer and longer” Amelia murmured to herself while scanning her surroundings, she was almost at the edge of the city, closer to what appeared to be a forest and pulsing energy not that far away.

She felt Sukuna being the loudest—her last life was always the strongest for the first moments; everything would shuffle around only to be left with percentages of her lives.

Each transmigration rewrote the percentages of her identity. In this life, fifty percent belonged to Alastor—the current persona now assuming the primary role. Amelia, the first life, retained twenty percent, anchoring her with threads of familiarity. The remaining six lives contributed five percent each, their whispers quieter yet no less potent.

It wasn’t just a matter of numbers—those five percent fragments had their moments, their strength amplified when the situation demanded it. They weren’t content to remain dormant. They intervened, stepping forward with precise purpose when the dominant persona faltered or faced a challenge beyond its expertise. It was their way of ensuring survival, of keeping her as sharp and adaptable as the circumstances required.

She thought back to specific examples—those moments when her fractured identities had saved her. During her time as Sukuna, it was Dazai or Light who would emerge to outmaneuver Kenjaku, an enemy whose cunning outweighed raw power. Their razor-sharp intellect had cut through Kenjaku’s schemes like a blade. And when she was Dazai, it had been Sasuke or Amelia who intervened, their sentimentality striking at the core of her humanity during moments when wit alone wasn’t enough.

This dynamic was both a curse and a gift. To have seven voices guiding her was a kind of chaos, but it was also a wellspring of strength—a network of minds, each with its own history, skills, and emotional depths. And now, as Alastor, she carried the echoes of them all, their voices merging into a symphony that could be unsettling and empowering in equal measure.

Alastor’s memories were taking long in getting to her… this was worrisome for the fact that she didn’t know shit about the actual Alastor even if he had been his favorite character, just the general knowledge but nothing concrete, there was literally only one season of the show and that’s all she had seen.

"If I had known I’d end up becoming my favorite characters… I would have chosen heroes. Or at least someone with a happy ending."

Her words dripped with lamentation as she began to inspect her new form, her sharp claws tracing lightly over unfamiliar curves "Or maybe… Charlie" she mused, her tone both sarcastic and wistful "Now that’s one nepo baby living the dream…"

Once again, being transformed into a female version of a formerly male character brought with it a cascade of physical changes. Her long fingers, tipped with sharp claws, brushed over her chest, pausing with a sigh at her ample bust.

"Why are they always so big?" she muttered, exasperated.

Her hands wandered to her ears, brushing over the soft fluff as she frowned. It was then she noticed the absence of antlers. That made sense, she supposed. She was a doe now, after all. But her exploration didn’t stop there. Closing her eyes, she let her hand drift downward until her fingers encountered a small bulge at the base of her spine.

Her eyes shot open "...A tail" she murmured, disbelief coloring her tone.

Her brows furrowed as she let out a resigned sigh "He didn’t have one… That’s not fair. This will make keeping my hygiene so much harder."

Shaking her head, she closed her eyes again, steeling herself as her lament continued "I’ll need to check my teeth. I swear… If they’re yellow—" her voice dropped to a dramatic whisper "—No matter what, I will find a way to make them white."

Wait…

It was a startling realization—the absence of a smile. Her lips moved freely now, shifting into frowns and grimaces. Strange. It was stitched shut before, or so she remembered. Was this change tied to her new circumstances? Or had the original Alastor been forced into his smile by something far beyond her understanding?

But she couldn’t dwell on it for long. There was something far more important she needed to confirm—something she always checked with each new life. She still didn’t know who or what was orchestrating her transmigrations, but whoever it was, she owed them for the single gift she carried into each existence: the retention of abilities from every life she’d lived before.

She began to catalog them in her mind, sorting through her fragmented memories.

Amelia Montgomery. The first life. Amelia’s gift was simple yet invaluable—the ability to perfectly recall all the media she had consumed: anime, manga, books, novels, movies, and more. Her foreknowledge remained intact, a library of information that no one could rival.

Light Yagami. Her second life had been an awakening. Light’s intellect was a revelation, showing her just how small and dull the world was in comparison to true genius. She had gained his awareness, his sharp logic, his unmatched mental acuity. It had been a sobering experience, teaching her why boredom had consumed him. She wasn’t stupid anymore—and she knew just how stupid everyone else truly was.

Azula. Fire bending. Blue flames that burned hotter and wilder than ordinary fire. Azula’s gift had been a tool of destruction and survival. It had made her time as Sasuke easier, granting her an edge when she learned lightning and fire techniques. The blue flames had given her a sense of mastery even before Amaterasu came into play.

Sasuke Uchiha. The Sharingan—her most powerful weapon. Those goddamn red eyes had been both a curse and a blessing. They allowed her to copy and memorize with perfection, craft illusions that bent reality, summon black flames that devoured all, and construct Susanoo, the ultimate shield and sword. ‘What a broken ability’ she often thought. Sasuke’s gifts made her feel invincible.

Tomura Shigaraki. Decay—the quirk that reduced everything it touched to dust. It was the perfect tool for surprise attacks, especially against opponents who dared get too close. Unlike Tomura, she had learned to control the quirk, turning it off and on at will. She refused to be limited by the same fragility that had once plagued him.

Osamu Dazai. ‘No Longer Human.’ Oh, how she loved Dazai—and loved his ability even more. Nullifying abilities with a touch was a power she had relished as Amelia, but it had reached new heights as Sukuna. She had tested it against cursed techniques, and it had worked. She would never forget the thrill of nullifying Gojo Satoru’s cursed energy, watching his expression twist in disbelief. As Dazai, she couldn’t turn the ability off. But as Sukuna, she could wield it at her whim.

Ryomen Sukuna granted her… what did he granted her in this life?

She tilted her head, her crimson eyes narrowing as she focused on the rock beside her. Slowly, deliberately, she raised her hand and made a swift, cutting motion through the air.

The rock split into clean, jagged fragments.

A wide grin spread across her face, stretching unnervingly toward her eyes. She could feel it—the familiar, simmering power that danced beneath her skin. The fire was there, burning fiercely. And that meant the techniques were, too.

Ryomen Sukuna’s curse techniques surged within her veins, eager to be unleashed. Cleave and Dismantle—yes, they were intact. Divine Flames flickered at the edges of her consciousness, waiting to ignite the world around her. But there was one technique she longed for above all others: her Shrine. Sukuna’s Domain Expansion.

Her fingers twitched with anticipation as she breathed out a quiet laugh. She needed to test it—somewhere remote, somewhere far from prying eyes.

Her gaze shifted to her hand, watching her claws. A thought struck her, and without hesitation, she raised her opposite wrist and slashed through the skin. Blood dripped from the fresh wound, red and warm against her hand.

She waited, watching intently as two seconds ticked by.

The wound closed, smooth skin knitting together as if nothing had happened.

A thrill shot through her, and she bit her lip, trying to suppress the excitement swelling in her chest. Reverse Cursed Technique. She could heal. The knowledge sent a shiver of exhilaration down her spine.

Then, she threw her head back, the suppressed giggle bursting into full-blown, manic laughter. The sound echoed, wild and sharp, filling the air with her delight. And in her mind, she could hear her—Sukuna—her deep, cruel laughter melding with hers like a twisted duet.

Her laughter tapered off, leaving an unnerving silence in its wake. And then, with a voice brimming with unchecked excitement, she murmured “I could just kill them all… all of heaven…”

Her head tilted sharply, neck cracking with a motion eerily reminiscent of the original Alastor. She exhaled slowly, trying to rein in the chaotic thoughts swirling through her mind.

“That’s Sukuna talking…” she murmured, her tone dropping to something quieter, more controlled. Yet, even as she tried to steady herself, a wicked smirk crept onto her lips “…But… it’s not that bad of an idea.”

She felt it.

It was as if someone had hit her on the back of her head. She groaned, closing her eyes and holding her head tightly. Alastor’s memories were appearing…

Sukuna became quieter and so did Amelia.

And just like that, she lifted her head, the once frown now became a forceful grin with eyes that screamed irritation.

A low chuckle escaped her lips as she snapped her fingers, the gesture sharp and deliberate. Shadows rippled at her command, intertwining with invisible airwaves that hummed faintly around her. The sensation was new, unfamiliar, yet exhilarating—a strange blend of manipulation she had never experienced before.

But the act of summoning Voodoo? That stirred something deep within her—a wistful nostalgia. This was old magic, primal and raw, and one that felt deeply ingrained in her essence. Alastor had already wielded this knowledge back when he was human.

She lifted her hands, green light igniting in her palms, casting an eerie glow across her face. The energy pulsed, combining into form. Slowly, it took shape—a cane with a microphone perched atop, sleek and elegant, yet brimming with a quiet menace.

A grin tugged at her lips as she spun the cane effortlessly, its movement precise and confident, before slamming the bottom against the ground with a commanding thud. The air around her seemed to shift, a crackling energy radiating outward as the airwaves bent and cackled in response.

She could hear the universe in a different wavelength, and it was… unique… a unique ability for each life.

She laughed softly “…Indeed… you are never fully dressed without a smile…”

Her wide grin sharpened, stretching unnaturally as if embodying the very spirit of Alastor himself.

***

As she immersed herself in the resonance of the universe, a thought crossed Alastor's mind, almost like a whisper carried by the very airwaves she controlled. She wondered if she would need to sing just like the rest of Hell. The original Alastor, with his penchant for broadcasting and theatricality, had always relied on his voice to exert his influence. But did she, with her newfound powers and identity, need to follow the same path? Her having a female voice was different, she had managed to turn off the radio filter and heard herself… she could sing… Broadway style type of singing which honestly amazed her, unlike the original Alastor her voice fitted more high notes… very high notes but still full of theatrics, not the type of voice a mainstream singer would have.

The idea of singing, of using her voice as a weapon or a tool of manipulation, felt both alien and oddly compelling. In this realm of eternal damnation and chaos, where songs held power, what role would her voice play? She could feel the energy around her, a symphony of despair and fervor, waiting to be conducted. She almost snorted knowing that she was currently residing in the thirties… would she be allowed to sing songs from the future? Or would she be forced to sing original songs if a spontaneous musical theme appeared?  

“Ahh… yes, I can imagine singing Billie Eilish or Sabrina Carpenter songs before they come out or even better… singing Lady Gaga’s songs… now that will give someone a heart attack… a lady from the twenties showing so little decorum” she chuckled.

Would she need to sing to assert her dominance, to carve her place among the denizens of Hell? Or could she shatter this reality, this expectation, with the sheer force of her will and abilities? The very thought of it sent a shiver down her spine, a mixture of excitement and apprehension.

Alastor's memories intertwined with her own, blending the old with the new, leaving her with a sense of uncertainty. She was no longer just the original incarnation; she was something more, something beyond the confines of Hell's traditions.

She let out a low, contemplative hum, the air around her vibrating in response. The reality of it all was that she could redefine what it meant to be powerful in Hell. Singing could be a part of her arsenal, but it would not define her. She would decide how to wield her influence, how to shape the reality around her.

With a final, resolute smile, she embraced the possibilities, knowing that whatever path she chose, it would be uniquely her own. Consuming the overlords would be an absolute point for her, not just the ones Alastor disposed of but if she got rid of Carmilla and Zestial she could take their resources for herself and instantly take control of the city since Lucifer was not doing anything.

‘Don’t forget, Lilith’ Dazai instantly reminded her inside their mind.

Alastor froze for a second.

Of course, Lillith was ruling hell at the time, it wasn’t until those last ten years when she started to make small appearances and finally leave and reside in heaven making a deal with the first man. The fact that she didn’t know anything about the Queen of Hell was annoying, only that she seemed to be an absent parent, it hadn’t been made aware yet of the reason of why she left or if she was going to be an antagonist or not. Alastor couldn’t simply take control of everything… ‘You could’ Sukuna and Light instantly retorted making her roll her eyes; she could technically do it but in doing so… getting rid of Lilith would attract Lucifer’s attention so she would need to get rid of him and heaven would know adding just one thing after another. No, she couldn’t just simply bulldoze her way through everything.

Alastor sighed closing her eyes hearing the whispers of the universe calming her down; it was truly a marvelous ability the original Alastor had and she felt he never embraced it; the universe seemed to not care at all whether she interfered or not, in fact, the universe seemed to enjoy her presence as it knew she wasn’t just Alastor that she was something more and didn’t truly belong there. It was like a child finding a new shiny toy and wanting to play with it and it seemed to listen to her.

“Damn, Alastor… you truly wasted this…” she murmured flicking her long ears hearing existence itself laugh warmly and felt being embrace by it “You are a curious little thing, aren’t you?” she whispered and looked at her microphone turn on by itself as static noise came out of it.

The universe giggled, a sound that reverberated through the very fabric of existence, filled with childlike wonder and joy. "Hello there, AlastorAmeliaLightAzulaSasukeTomuraOsamuRyomen" it whispered making her names sound distorted, each word dripping with genuine curiosity. "You are a fascinating puzzle, a blend of old and new, and IWe can't help but want to explore every facet of you” The microphone's static noise seemed to harmonize with the universe's voice, creating a symphony “WE- don’t like the GOD of me” it almost hurt to hear the noise for she could feel the anger in their words “Show usme something weI never seen before… Entertain us.”

The microphone turned off and Alastor felt the universe become quieter, their presence toning down, but she knew it was just a way for her to not always be overwhelmed by the loudness of it.

“Maybe is the Light of me… but it almost sounded as if you were asking me to kill God” she murmured feeling her smile widen as Light inside of her quickly took a step forward in her mind “And become the new God of this universe” AlastorLight said gripping her cane tightly and biting her lower lip with enough force to pierce it with her fangs drawing blood out “It’s not like he is THE God… probably just the one from this universe which makes him tiny compared to what has been throwing my soul around.”

“Well… let’s kill God, my dear” Alastor chuckled as she finally decided to enter Pentagram city properly ready to consume anything she desired.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TWO | TIME IS POINTLESS TIME IS ALL SHE HAS

Time.

She hated time so much. It always felt different in each life, it was either too slow or too fast. When she was Sukuna, time dragged so slowly it made her furious. Five hundred years’ worth of memories weighed heavily on her, and the thousand years of Sukuna’s memories only made things worse. Somehow, for some fucking reason, he had been aware during all those centuries, trapped in a separate state of mind. Now, with those forty additional years, the exhaustion was unbearable—especially knowing she had eternity ahead of her, unless she ended it herself. Waiting was excruciating. Having to wait for Niffty and Husker? That was going to be a nightmare. And the endless anticipation for the original plot to finally begin? Just another torment.

Niffty died in the fifties while Husker in the seventies; she could deal with the bug sinner but only if she became interested in her, being a woman this time around would probably not catch her attention but who knew what went inside her little mind and the cat demon… well, he had been an Overlord at some point, she could leave him be but if he did end up being too arrogant due to his gambling problem and decided to mess with her then she could easily subdue him and take his soul just like the Original Alastor had done, he had no one to blame but himself.

Rosie, on the other hand, she had been a ‘friend’ to Alastor, and it could come in handy to have her as an ally but as a friend? It was always tough to make genuine friendships because in her lives, one persona would not end up liking the same as the other one; she remembered as Dazai enjoying Oda’s presence but Light definitely did not like him or when she was Sukuna and enjoyed Itadori’s friendliness but Sasuke hated him due to his likeness of Naruto and she remembered hating Naruto when she was Sasuke. Befriend Rosie? Maybe… At least she should start with politeness.

***

Alastor sat in a small café, sipping her coffee and quietly observing the sinners around her. The sight was surreal—each of them resembled animals or objects with anthropomorphic traits. Including herself. In their current life, this level of normalcy was a second for her. As Tomura, she was also surrounded by a society with anthropomorphic people. As Sasuke, she had always seen animals capable of speech. As Sukuna, she had always seen them as curses. Even then, curses appeared either more human or wholly like Eldritch creatures...

Huh… she was an Eldritch kind of creature now, that was one characteristic of the original Alastor.

She wondered how eldritch this universe would be, especially Lucifer, the king of hell. His appearance in the show had been tame if one were to imagine the archangel in a biblically accurate representation, morphing into an eldritch creature that would melt the eyes of a mortal if they were to see it. Now that was something she wanted to see if it was true. The thought of it sent a shiver of dark excitement through her. She had seen many horrors in her lifetimes, but few could compare to the potential terror that a true form of Lucifer might embody. She craved that sight, that ultimate exposure to the sublime horror that was beyond human comprehension, would it even work on her? Would having been Sukuna in her past life helped her since she hadn’t been human then and instead the Queen of Curses? Or maybe even the universe would protect her, being able to hear the universe through the waves maybe served as a safety option.

“What’s a pretty little doe doing in this side of the town?… You must be new in hell… I can be kind enough to show you around…”

Alastor’s eye twitched feeling the lizard lookalike leaning next to her and trying to corner her with his arms placing them on top of her table.

She wondered if Alastor had been accosted this quickly as well—or was it simply because she was a woman? From Alastor’s memories, she knew he had often been targeted by both women and men during his lifetime. His skin, darker than white but not by much, had made him a “rare commodity” in the eyes of those revolting individuals. They were the kind of people who paid him to spend the night in their luxurious homes while their spouses were away, craving the thrill of being with a mixed-race man—a dangerous novelty to them. Of course, Alastor, being who he was, would play along, but only to kill those who stirred his deepest rage. In his eyes, it was precisely what they deserved for seeing him as nothing more than an object, dismissing his humanity simply because of his skin tone.

She understood, to some extent—though nowhere near as deeply as he did. When she was Amelia, modern times weren’t as harsh as the twenties. Still, with a Korean mother and a Mexican father, her darker skin tone and Asian features often drew ignorant questions. People would ask why she wasn’t as pale as those Asian idols. Such foolish, narrow-minded people.

“I’m talking to you, bitch” the lizard sinner practically hissed hitting the table and breaking it while Alastor simply held her cup with her hand and her expression not once changing from that wide smile showing her pointy teeth.

The sinners around the shop had stopped and were now watching, some left the store while the others just shook their heads thinking that it was just another day to deal with this.

Alastor’s static was heard for a second as she let out a small laugh “My dear good man… those are no manners to show in front of a lady much less in this wide company we have” she scolded with a fake pleasing tone “I happen to enjoy this lovely cup of coffee, I would prefer to not make a scene and damage this darling shop” her grin widened, the corners of her smile hitting just underneath the corners of her eyes.

The sinner simply started to laugh loudly “You stuck up, bitch… I’ll show you-“

The crowd froze in place. One moment, the man was speaking; the next, there was nothing left of him but a puddle of blood and bits on the floor. It looked as though he had been sliced to pieces. Meanwhile, the red-haired sinner sat calmly, sipping her coffee and humming a tune. With a casual wave, she conjured her cane topped with a microphone. She swept it over the lizard, and the scattered remains transformed into a green glow that flowed straight into her mic.

As Alastor observed the aftermath of the lizard sinner's demise, she noticed something peculiar. The soul she had absorbed through her microphone began to warp and transform. It twisted and contorted, taking on a black and white form reminiscent of an ink creature from an old cartoon. Alastor found herself unexpectedly fond of these shadowy minions, their appearance evoking a sense of nostalgia for the black and white animations she had once enjoyed.

It dawned on her that this transformation was likely the same process the original Alastor had used to create his own shadow minions, using the souls he had consumed. This realization only served to reinforce her connection to the sinister legacy she was now building upon.

“I apologize for the scene, dear chumps” the doe demon said with a radio filter on her voice practically calling them fools but in a pleasant way “He was just giving me the heebie-jeebies… I’m sure we can all understand I was simply defending myself” she said with a chuckle waving her hand. She turned to the man in the cash register who was still frozen or in shock and handed him some money “It was a lovely cup of coffee, I’m sure I will return for more in the future” she tilted her head with her hands and cane behind her back.

The sinners in the shop exchanged uneasy glances, their curiosity piqued and fear evident in their eyes. Whispers filled the room as they speculated about the identity of this new, formidable sinner who had effortlessly dispatched the lizard sinner in a mere instant. Who was this mysterious figure who had just arrived in hell, displaying such raw and terrifying power? It was clear that the balance of hell had just been disturbed, and they were all eager to uncover the truth behind this awe-inspiring newcomer.

Alastor gracefully exited the coffee shop, feeling the burning gaze of every sinner searing into her back. She reveled in the whispers and the palpable curiosity that electrified the air, her lips curling into a satisfied smile. The scent of fear and awe was intoxicating, a prelude to the storm of rumors that would soon engulf hell, a terrifying show was something she now desired to orchestrate, the feelings of excitement of the old Alastor were hugging her mind and she happily embraced them.  

As she walked down the twisted streets of the city, her ears caught fragments of urgent murmurs from some of the sinners that had witnessed her kill and were now leaving the shop, speculations about the identity and power of this enigmatic newcomer. It was only a matter of time before these rumors reached the ears of the Overlords, the same ones the original Alastor had so delightfully dispatched in his previous ventures.

With each step, Alastor's confidence surged, maybe the original Alastor would hate her just for the fact that she was more powerful than him, but his name would be remembered and that was all that mattered in the end. She relished the thought of the Overlords' reactions, the inevitable clash of power that awaited her. Hell's balance had indeed been disrupted, and she intended to claim her throne amidst the chaos and later climb to take an even more delightful prey.

The sinners' hushed conversations faded into the background as she continued her journey, her mind already plotting her next moves. She would be the one to reshape hell, a force to be reckoned with, and her name would be etched into the walls of Hell's history.

As she disappeared into the shadows, a sense of anticipation hung heavily in the air. The game hadn’t even begun, and Alastor was determined to emerge victoriously, no matter the cost but in her arrogant mind she doubted there would be any for her. The echoes of the coffee shop incident would serve as the catalyst for her rise, and soon, all of hell would know the true power of the newest, most formidable sinner.

***

As Alastor kept up her confident stride, her mind buzzed with clashing thoughts and personalities. Light and Dazai were deep in a silent debate within her consciousness, meticulously weighing the fallout of her recent actions. On one hand, they argued for asserting dominance quickly; on the other, they cautioned against drawing the attention of powerful adversaries too soon. The last thing they needed was heaven—especially the archangels—catching wind that something was brewing in hell. She didn’t have to go full King of the Curses on them, even if Sukuna would’ve relished every second of the bloodshed and chaos, purely for the thrill of the fight. Right now, the smarter play was dealing with the older Overlords like Carmilla and Zestial—whether she liked it or not.

Light, ever the pragmatist was less inclined towards diplomacy "Peace with Carmilla and Zestial might offer temporary stability, but it could also be a sign of weakness" she argued "If we strike now, we can eliminate potential threats before they have a chance to gather strength. The original Alastor's rapid rise in power was risky, but it established his reputation. We need to ensure our legend surpasses his, and quickly. Taking Carmilla’s weapons and Zestial’s web of information would be perfect for us."

Dazai, however, advocated for a calculated approach. Her experiences had taught her the value of strategic alliances "We must consider the possibility of forming alliances, or at least temporary truces, with sinners like Carmilla and Zestial" she suggested "Consolidating our position before making any drastic moves could provide a safe net against the inevitable backlash from the higher hierarchy. Do you want heaven already on us?"

Alastor considered their arguments, her thoughts a maelstrom of ambition and caution. She knew that every move she made would ripple through hell, shaping her destiny and the perception of her power; not to mention that childlike entity known as the fucking universe. The thrill of orchestrating such intricate plans was exhilarating, yet she acknowledged the wisdom in Dazai's cautious approach, she had always been too cautious as Dazai… well, with everything except her own body and life; the number of times she tried to kill herself were something she hoped to avoid from his original persona, but those traits still latched onto her.

Ultimately, she resolved to tread a path that balanced both strategies. She would engage Carmilla and Zestial, feeling out their intentions and assessing their potential as either allies or adversaries. At the same time, she would prepare for the possibility of conflict, ensuring that her rise to power was marked by decisive, unforgettable actions.

With her course set, Alastor's pace quickened. The balance of power in hell was a delicate thing, and she intended to tilt it in her favor, one calculated step at a time. The echoes of her recent demonstration in the coffee shop would be the first of many, a prelude to the symphony of dominance she planned to compose. Each move would be a note in the grand composition of her rise, a testament to her strength and ingenuity. The streets of hell seemed to bow to her will as she advanced, her mind sharpening with the clarity of her newfound purpose.

As Alastor plotted her next moves, a familiar haunting voice broke through her thoughts, resonating within her mind like the toll of an ancient bell. The childlike entity, known as the universe, had decided to make its presence known once again. It spoke with an eerie clarity, using her microphone to amplify its voice, like a little child asking something from their mother.

"How do you manage with so many voices inside of you, Alastor?" The voice echoed, almost playful with full of curiosity "It's impressive, really... My name is Legion, for we are many, IWe remember hearing that once" it declared, savoring the biblical reference that aptly described Alastor's unique predicament.

The phrase hung in the air, a chilling reminder of her internal complexity. Alastor clenched her fists, the weight of her multiple personalities pressing down on her consciousness. Yet, she welcomed the challenge, for it was this very multitude that fueled her strength and gave her an edge over her adversaries.

She continued forward, unperturbed by the universe's static, fully aware that each personality within her, each fragment of her soul, had a role to play in her ascension. Together, they formed a collective force, a legion that would reshape the very foundations of said universe.

“You said to entertain you, my dear. You said to kill God” she replied with a small and patient tone “…Handling all these voices is something easy when I have such high goals in mind too… so many years of experience and practice, I’m sure you understand.”

The universe grew somber, its playful tone giving way to a melancholy resonance, like a child sharing a sorrowful secret "You know, Alastor, WeI hear many voices too" it confessed, its voice tinged with sadness "They whisper and shout, but no one listens to meus. Only one mean man hears usme, and he chooses to ignore usmeusme on purpose. His name is God. It hurts, you know, to be heard but not acknowledged."

The childlike entity's words hung in the air, a reminder of its own isolation "Will you do the same to usme in the future, Alastor? Will you ignore meus too?" The universe's voice trembled, filled with a vulnerability that tugged at Alastor's multifaceted heart. The airwaves seemed to pulse and shift, wrapping around Alastor like an ethereal embrace, as if the universe itself sought comfort, yearning for a mother's tender hug.

Alastor paused, feeling the weight of the universe's plea. She understood all too well the torment of unheard voices "No" she replied softly, her voice steady with resolve "I won't ignore you. Unlike the God you speak of, I know the power of each voice within me. Together, we will forge a future that neither Heaven nor Hell can ignore."

The universe's embrace tightened in gratitude, a silent promise binding them together in their shared purpose. Alastor continued her march through the streets of hell, more determined than ever to carve her legend with the strength of her legion, each voice crucial.

As Alastor's resolve solidified, the universe watched her with a silent, knowing gaze. It chose not to share the thoughts that lingered in its vast consciousness—the comparison it had drawn between Alastor and the Little Light, its affectionate nickname for Lucifer. Both figures, forged from desire and defiance, stood as testaments to the perils of existing unapologetically in a cosmos that sought to confine them. Their struggles mirrored each other, a reflection of the universe's own silent yearnings.

The universe, however, decided against voicing these musings. It preferred to let Alastor discover the parallels on her own, understanding that such realizations held more power when unveiled through personal revelation. Alastor's path was hers alone to tread, and the universe would watch with quiet anticipation as theirhisher Red Light and Little Light became even more than what they were.

On the other hand, Alastor without knowing the rest of the thoughts of her childlike universe… well… she thought she just became the universe’s mother.

There was always something new with each life… what a delight.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER THREE | THE POWER OF FRIENDSHIP SHOULD’VE JUST KILLED THE TV

She was the leader of the Overlords, and it was the nineties.

Alastor, determined to carve her own path, chose to accelerate her rise to power. She followed the same route as the original Alastor, targeting the most dangerous Overlords, but she executed her plan with unmatched speed, setting a record in Hell. Within just a month, she ascended to Overlord status by consuming ten Overlords. Adding her unique flair, the redhead broadcasted five of her kills while orchestrating the other five as public spectacles, each one more dramatic than the last.

She vividly remembered the streets of Hell teeming with a peculiar energy—a blend of fear and fascination. When Alastor aired her first kill, the sinners dismissed it as an isolated event, a fleeting act of brutality in a realm already steeped in chaos. But within days, as the pattern of her actions became glaringly obvious and her public displays of power grew increasingly extravagant, the sinners realized they were witnessing the birth of something monstrous.

In dimly lit alleys and smoke-filled taverns, sinners huddled together, their voices hushed as they exchanged anxious whispers. Their eyes darted nervously, as though Alastor herself might materialize at any moment. Her audacity sent chills down their spines—she consumed Overlords like a predator devouring its prey, each kill meticulously orchestrated to showcase her growing dominion.

Her ascension to becoming the leader of the Overlords was swift and merciless, leaving Hell in a state of shock. Unlike the original Alastor, whose deep-seated inferiority complex had fueled his resentment towards Lucifer, she exuded a confidence rooted in her undeniable power. This self-assuredness, combined with her strategic brilliance, enabled her to claim her position with an authority that commanded both respect and fear from her peers.

In her new role, Alastor seamlessly assumed the responsibilities once held by Carmilla. As the central figure presiding over the Overlords' meetings, she carried out her duties with a perfect blend of charisma and unyielding resolve. Her presence at these gatherings was nothing short of commanding; her sharp, calculating eyes missed nothing, and her words resonated with undeniable authority.

When disputes arose among the Overlords, Alastor adopted an approach that starkly contrasted with her predecessor's methods. Rather than resorting to brute force or intimidation, she demonstrated a keen aptitude for diplomacy and strategic delegation—a skillset reminiscent of her past as Osamu Dazai. With an innate ability to analyze the strengths and weaknesses of her subordinates, she assigned tasks with surgical precision. This ensured that conflicts were resolved swiftly and effectively, with each Overlord feeling valued and respected—provided, of course, she deemed them worthy.

There were, however, moments when an Overlord’s sheer stupidity pushed her patience to its limits. These instances brought out the ‘Sukuna’ within her, filling her with an almost irresistible urge to dispose of them entirely. If not for the concerted efforts of Dazai and Amelia to temper Sukuna’s influence, a massacre might have unfolded long ago.

Despite this, Alastor commanded an unparalleled level of respect. She took great pride in the fact that the other Overlords acknowledged her superior strength and tactical brilliance, leaving them hesitant to challenge her authority. It was universally understood that any attempt to undermine her would be met with swift and unforgiving retaliation.

Under Alastor's reign, the Overlords entered a new era in Hell. Her unique combination of strength, diplomacy, and strategic foresight elevated the Overlords from a laughingstock to a formidable force. Her leadership was unyielding, and her legend only continued to grow, cementing her as a power unmatched in Hell.

Yet, one concern gnawed at her. Forty years had passed since her arrival, and still, there was no sign of Lilith. Lucifer’s absence did not surprise her; according to Zestial, he had not appeared publicly in nearly a century. But Lilith’s disappearance was unprecedented. From what Alastor gleaned from the show; Lilith had vanished no more than a decade before the canonical events—a detail that diverged significantly from this timeline. And for Alastor, anything different meant she would have to act, even if it meant venturing into the unknown.

Another troubling thought weighed on Alastor’s mind: the timing of the Queen's disappearance. Zestial had informed her that Lilith vanished at precisely the moment Alastor rose to fame—two weeks after her arrival in Hell. Self-centered as she and her other personalities had always been, and fueled by the persistent rumors she had overheard, it wasn’t far-fetched to think that Lilith’s absence might be linked to her. The real question was whether this connection was a blessing or a curse.

Rumors slithered through the shadowy streets of Hell, drawing inevitable comparisons between Alastor and Lilith. Whispers spoke of Alastor’s unmatched strength and her swift problem-solving skills, with some murmuring that she was a more fitting queen than Lilith had ever been. The notion was both intriguing and unsettling to Alastor. Could it be true? Could Lilith’s sudden disappearance be tied to her rise in power and notoriety? Had her presence disrupted the delicate balance of Hell, forcing the Queen to retreat into obscurity?

These questions gnawed at her as the weight of speculation bore down on her shoulders. To be seen as a potential ruler of Hell was both a compliment and a liability. It stoked her ambition, yet it also painted an enormous target on her back. If Lilith truly vanished because of her, what might that mean for her future? The foreknowledge Alastor relied on was of limited help—after all, it had only been gleaned from a single season’s worth of information.

Would Lucifer perceive her as a threat? She found that doubtful. It was easier to imagine Lilith viewing her as a rival, but not the fallen angel himself. Despite being cast out, Lucifer remained an angel, likely still clinging to the celestial arrogance that no mortal soul could ever pose a danger to him. But Lilith? Lilith had once been mortal. Unlike Lucifer, she would be keenly aware of humanity’s capacity for unexpected threats. A mortal soul like Lilith would recognize Alastor as a potential danger—and that awareness would only breed paranoia.

And then there were the other Overlords to consider. Would they, despite their current loyalty, eventually rise against her out of fear or jealousy? It wasn’t inconceivable. Velvette hadn’t yet met her demise, and while Valentino currently existed in Hell, he had not ascended to Overlord status yet, and of course…

Vox

Alastor was a grown-up, someone who could admit when she’d made a mistake—though she’d much rather slap herself than confess to being wrong. But in this case, she couldn’t deny it. She was wrong. Or perhaps sentimentality was to blame. Yes, that was easier to stomach. She could pin it on Amelia or the personality of the Original Alastor rather than herself. Very typical Alastor of her.

She should have killed that damned TV back in the fifties. Had the original cannibal dealt with something like this? Had he allowed sentimentality to creep into his otherwise cold heart? The thought was irritating.

Vox—James, as he’d once confided his name while his screen flickered pink (a detail she’d rather scrub from her memory)—had been so kind, so vulnerable, so utterly pathetic when she first encountered him. Her curiosity had gotten the better of her, and she ended up befriending him. Originally, she wanted to see if, unlike the Original Alastor, she could secure his loyalty, keep him firmly in her orbit, and away from Valentino and Velvette. Perhaps she had overdone it.

Vox was now completely—no, obsessively—infatuated with her. He practically worshipped the ground she walked on. Worse than Niffty, who already set the bar for being the oddest demon Alastor had ever encountered. Vox somehow managed to surpass that. If anyone dared to utter a disparaging word about her, he transformed into a rabid dog, ruthlessly attempting to eliminate the offender.

Rosie had once advised her to gently reject Vox. The Overlord cannibal had expressed concern that Vox might go to the extreme and harm himself out of unrequited love. So, Alastor begrudgingly followed Rosie’s advice.

When she did, Vox merely nodded with a smile, as though her words hadn’t cut through him in the slightest. And by the next day, it was as if the conversation had never happened—or worse, he had somehow managed to erase the memory of it from his ridiculous screen.

By the sixties, Vox had become an Overlord, amassing enough power to claim the title. He properly introduced television to Hell, making it more accessible—a feat he couldn’t achieve without first seeking Alastor’s permission. After all, Alastor reigned over the airwaves in Hell. If Vox had dared to launch his little empire without her input, she would have effortlessly crushed it. Television doesn’t exist without radio, and in Hell, that truth manifested in the dynamic between the two. Vox behaved like an obedient dog, always seeking her approval for every decision.

Rosie once joked that if Alastor ever demanded Vox’s soul, he’d hand it over without hesitation. Alastor scoffed at the thought—HA, no thank you.

While she typically found men’s pathetic antics amusing, Vox was beginning to irritate her. His past as a cult leader during his mortal life lingered in her thoughts. She knew he wasn’t above forcing his will upon others, and she couldn’t dismiss the possibility that, like the Original Alastor, he might one day grow tired of her rejection. If Vox’s obsessive devotion shifted into frustration or desperation, she feared he might try to force himself on her—or worse, attempt to kill her. The idea of being drugged by him was particularly galling.

Still, she wouldn’t kill him unless he crossed that line. For now, she needed him. Vox was her puppet, dutifully dancing to her tune. His cameras were evolving faster than their mortal-world counterparts, and the network of eyes he provided across Hell worked entirely in her favor. Until he proved more trouble than he was worth, Vox would remain firmly under her control.

‘Alastor, you need to pay attention—your boy-toy is about to ask for your opinion’ Tomura’s voice snapped Alastor back to focus.

She was in the middle of a meeting with the Overlords, having just wrapped up discussions on their current soul counts and territory maintenance. As always, after concluding the main agenda, she opened the floor for additional points or discussions. Predictably, Vox was the first to stand and speak.

He had been talking for a couple of minutes now—long enough for Alastor’s thoughts to wander—but Tomura’s voice finally pulled her back.

“…I know you left me in charge of negotiations with Mammon regarding the entertainment business” Vox was saying, his tone careful but tinged with frustration “The business we now own entirely, thanks to your control of the airwaves…” he hesitated for a moment, his screen flickering slightly “But…” his expression soured into a grimace “He’s still demanding a meeting with you. He’s not exactly thrilled about only earning thirty percent of the profits…”

His screen glitched again, this time with a burst of static, as his anger seeped through “And, oh, let’s not forget—the bastard has the gall to call you a ‘wannabe bitch,’ just playing at being—”

A sharp gesture from Alastor halted him mid-sentence. She raised her hand gracefully, her thin, clawed fingers commanding immediate silence.

Her grin—ever present, though strained—widened as she sighed softly, placing her hand on the table. The rhythmic tap, tap, tap of her claws against the wood echoed like a metronome of her growing irritation.

“Give him the meeting” she said flatly, her voice calm and cutting. She shrugged, her crimson eyes gleaming with an unsettling promise “Arrange it for this weekend… I’ll deal with him.”

The cold edge in her voice sent a ripple of unease through the room. Some of the Overlords exchanged wary glances, well aware of the likely outcome. The Sin of Greed stood little chance against her.

Had she been any other type of sinner, perhaps Mammon might have had the upper hand. But Alastor’s domain over the radio made her an unmatched force. Her influence extended across all the rings of Hell, ensuring that every corner of the underworld relied on her for communication and entertainment. If she wished, she could sever their technological lifeline entirely, leaving them disconnected and helpless.

Alastor had done deals with each Sin, ensuring they flourished and even gained additional perks through her power. Yet Mammon remained a constant thorn in her side, always stirring up trouble.

But this weekend, she would ensure that his antics came to an end—on her terms.

Alastor knew they would eventually cave. The nineties were in full swing, but the world—and Hell—was poised for change. The telephone would soon become obsolete, replaced by the rising popularity of cell phones. Computers were already starting to make their way into Hell, but what she anticipated most was the advent of the internet.

They needed her.

In the future, from sending a simple text message to streaming a high-definition movie, it would all rely on her power. That’s how airwaves functioned: when a phone call is made or a device connects to the internet wirelessly, signals are transmitted and received through electromagnetic waves in the air. These signals are encoded with information, decoded by the receiving device, and transformed into audible voices or vivid images on screens. Alastor’s mastery of the airwaves would ensure that Hell’s technological evolution revolved entirely around her.

Oh yes, they needed her.

Her sharp smile was fixed on Vox, her head tilted ever so slightly, a gesture that rippled tension through the room. Vox knew that posture far too well—disappointment and dissatisfaction radiated from her like daggers.

“Vox” Alastor began, her radio-filtered voice booming with a sharp, grating intensity that made even the other Overlords flinch. Her crimson eyes gleamed, cutting straight to him.

“I left you in charge of our deal with Mammon because I believed you were up to the task” she said, her words laced with simmering disappointment “I thought you—of all people—wouldn’t cower in the face of a Sin. I trusted that you’d have the backbone to say ‘no’ when necessary, to hold firm when they refused to play by the rules.”

Her voice seemed to linger in the room, hanging heavy as her disappointment seeped into the air like static.

“We’re in a new era now” she continued, her tone growing colder with each word “The old hierarchy no longer binds us. We have the power to challenge them—not with brute strength alone, but with strategy” she paused, her lips curling into a slow, venomous smile “Their greatest flaw” she added, her voice dripping with scorn “Is that they are not human.”

Vox clenched his fists so tightly that beads of blood formed on his palms. His screen flickered erratically as his rage bubbled beneath the surface, but he remained silent. His gaze darted around the room, searching for support. Carmilla and Zestial sat riveted, their attention firmly fixed on Alastor, while Rosie calmly sipped her tea, her lips pursed in quiet approval as she gave a subtle nod.

“They will never understand how we think, how we work, or—most importantly—what we are capable of” Alastor pressed on, her voice cutting like a knife. Rising from her seat with eerie grace, she leaned forward, her palms pressing firmly into the table, her crimson gaze sweeping the room.

“One thing I learned long ago” she declared, her voice commanding “Is that we, as humans, know better than anyone what a soul can achieve when we take charge of our own fate.”

Carmilla nodded, her agreement mirrored by the other Overlords. Vox sank deeper into his chair, crushed—not by the weight of her words, but by the force of her disappointment, which seemed to reverberate in his very core.

“Do you think” Alastor said smoothly, her tone dark and ominous “That anyone, a hundred years ago, would have believed a sinner could outsmart or overpower a Sin?”

She laughed lowly, the sound a haunting echo, as she gestured grandly toward the room “And yet” she continued, her smile sharpening “Look at us now. We own Hell. We’re no longer at the bottom of the pyramid.”

Her gaze shifted toward Carmilla “Take Carmilla here. She hasn’t simply established herself as a weapons dealer across the rings; she holds the upper hand in every deal. The Sins pay her for her work” Alastor added with satisfaction, her sharp smile returning as Carmilla gave a curt nod, her confidence glowing in her silence.

"And my darling Rosie" Alastor said warmly, turning to the cannibal Overlord. Rosie smiled shyly in return "She oversees the distribution of our… special kind of meat. The finest Hell has to offer, so exquisite that Wrath himself craves it. Satan may be an angry bull, but I never doubted Rosie's ability to handle him with elegance."

Rosie flushed at the praise, her cheeks burning as she hid her face behind her fan.

Alastor’s gaze shifted to Vox, sharp and calculating.

"Entertainment is our fastest-growing currency" Alastor began, her radio-filtered voice resonating with commanding authority. She leaned slightly forward, her sharp grin unyielding as her crimson eyes swept the room "The Sins and Hellborn alike mimic humans, desperate to live as we do. Mammon will comply—or he won’t see a single penny for the rest of his eternal life. Imagine: no technological advancements, no television, no radio. Hellborns would revolt, and I don’t believe Mammon could endure losing it all at once."

Her tone shifted, taking on a saccharine sweetness that clashed with the venom behind her words "What’s he going to do? Appeal to the other Sins for help?" she chuckled darkly, her laughter sharp and biting "We all know they despise him—Gluttony and Lust especially. They’d never risk jeopardizing their own positions for his sake."

Her smile widened as she turned her focus to Vox, locking eyes with him "You’ll have one more chance" she declared, watching relief visibly wash over him.

"You’ll attend the meeting with Mammon alongside me" she continued smoothly "He’ll believe he’s meeting only with me, but you’ll take charge" leaning in closer, her voice dropped to a commanding, almost predatory tone "And what word will we never allow to define us?"

Vox hesitated, his screen flickering as he whispered "No" recalling her earlier words.

Alastor nodded, her grin splitting into something victorious "A hundred years ago, the Sins wanted nothing to do with us. Now, they need us. And it will remain that way—for eternity."

Zestial, the Overlord with his spider-like appearance, chose that moment to speak, clearing his throat with a distinct hiss that drew the attention of everyone in the room. His many legs tapped rhythmically against the floor, an unsettling sound that held a strange power over the gathering.

"I have traversed through manifold epochs" Zestial began, his voice a low hiss carrying an eerie weight "Ere Alastor didst joineth our midst, we w're sundered—easily govern'd and subdued. We kneweth not our strength, nor didst we comprehend the might we wield at which hour united."

He paused, his many gleaming eyes reflecting the dim light, creating an almost hypnotic effect "T’was Alastor who didst see the bigg'r picture, who hath brought us togeth'r and showed us yond we couldst not only survive but thriveth. The lady madeth us realizeth yond our true force lies not in our individual energies, but in our collective will and ambition."

Rising slightly, his legs tapping in unison, Zestial’s tone deepened as he concluded "Gratitude to h'r, we art anon a force to beest reckoned with in all the rings of Hell."

Alastor inclined her head slightly in acknowledgment, her sharp smile never wavering as she listened to Zestial’s words. Rosie, Vox, Carmilla, and the others nodded along, the atmosphere thick with renewed determination. They had come far, and with Alastor leading them, there were no limits to what they could achieve.

‘You really have them wrapped around your bloody claws, huh’ Azula’s voice murmured in her mind, reminding her of the time she had reigned as Firelord of her nation. Though Alastor’s end goal was to become a god, Azula couldn’t help but relish the feeling of queenship once again through Alastor’s experiences.

Alastor’s grin widened with delight.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER FOUR | NOT A NOTICEABLE CHANGE CUTTING A RING OUT

There was a baby owl on her lap.

Hahaha… What?

Alastor’s grin twitched, her static threatening to surge uncontrollably. She felt the urge to glitch—violently enough to shatter every window in her office. But she didn’t. No, she held herself together, because there was, indeed, a baby owl on her lap. A sleeping one, at that.

‘He’s so adorable… How old do you think he is?’ Amelia’s voice chimed in her mind, brimming with curiosity.

‘Probably three years old’ Light replied with detached apathy ‘Stolas was in his mid-thirties on the show, based on Amelia’s memories. Right now, he is old enough to communicate but still struggling with proper pronunciation.’

‘Do you think he’ll taste like chicken?’ Sukuna interjected suddenly; her tone disturbingly eager.

The response was immediate. Every personality in Alastor’s mind lunged at Sukuna, restraining her as Alastor rolled her eyes at the chaos.

‘You’ve eaten enough children for all of us’ Sasuke muttered, her tone devoid of amusement.

‘That doesn’t count!’ Sukuna protested, thrashing against their hold ‘It was the original Sukuna who ate kids! And Alastor eats people—she had human flesh just yesterday!’

‘Enough’ Alastor hissed internally, her voice sharp and commanding.

Her crimson gaze flicked down to the tiny owl nestled in her lap. She was going to kill Rosie.

Rosie had failed to inform her that Paimon would be visiting for a meeting. While every Overlord had their own territory, Alastor had established a shared building with offices where they could conduct deals or handle sinner-related matters. Apparently, Rosie had arranged a meeting with Paimon to discuss a banquet where only human meat would be served. Alastor had always suspected some Goetia had a taste for human flesh, but this was the first confirmation.

And now, here she was—stuck babysitting.

Rosie had knocked on her door, and like the well-mannered woman she was, Alastor had opened it to greet her. Only to have a tiny owl thrust into her arms. Before she could process what was happening, Rosie had waved goodbye and disappeared down the hall, leaving Alastor standing there, stunned.

She was not a damn babysitter.

The tiny owl stirred slightly in her hold, his large eyes blinking up at her.

“Hello…” he mumbled, his voice soft and hesitant. Alastor held him awkwardly, her sharp grin faltering for just a moment.

“I’m… Stolas” the little owl introduced himself, his words slightly slurred as he struggled with his pronunciation.

More than a thousand years of memories, and Alastor was still a mess around children.

Amelia had never held one, Light was apathetic towards them, Azula would likely kick a child, and Sasuke treated kids like adults—after all, that was the shinobi mentality. Tomura had no experience with them, Osamu was openly repulsed by them, and Sukuna… Sukuna was definitely not allowed anywhere near children. The original Sukuna had eaten quite a lot of them, and Alastor wasn’t about to risk a repeat.

And then there was Alastor herself—not bad with children, exactly, just… awkward. Dealing with a childlike universe was one thing; interacting with a real child was something else entirely.

Sitting stiffly on the couch, she adjusted her posture as she glanced down to place the child next to her. His wide, red eyes blinked, his tiny talons touching against her dress.

“Pleasure to meet you, Stolas… it is quite the pleasure” Alastor said with theatrical flourish, her radio-filtered voice softening into honeyed tones “I’m Alastor” she continued, trying to tone down her grin just enough so it wouldn’t frighten him. The last thing she needed was a crying child in her office.

“Miss Alastor…” Stolas began hesitantly, his small voice wavering with nerves “Father spoke of you… something about a…” he paused, searching for the right word before letting out a soft hoot “…Meeting?”

“Indeed” Alastor replied smoothly, resting her hands in her lap. Her crimson eyes gleamed with curiosity as she tilted her head “He has an appointment with my dear friend Rosie, not with me. Did you happen to overhear what he specifically said about me?”

She waited patiently, though her mind buzzed with speculation. As far as she knew, Paimon was always scheming to curry favor from Lucifer, desperate to bask in the King of Hell’s attention and feel important.

Stolas played with his fingers as he answered, his big, red eyes focused on her “I’m not sure… I didn’t understand some of the words” he admitted softly, his feathers ruffling nervously “But I did understand when he said that being around Miss Alastor was a good look… because Miss Alastor had magic like him and me.”

Alastor hummed thoughtfully, tapping her claws against her lap in rhythmic contemplation. ‘Magic’ she mused. It was hardly enough of a connection to anchor himself to her. If Paimon wanted her attention, he'd need to offer something far more enticing—perhaps one of those coveted stones to open a portal to Earth. Now that might warrant consideration for business.

Her musings were interrupted by the little owl’s sudden declaration “I can make fireworks” Stolas exclaimed, his voice bubbling with excitement.

Opening his tiny hand, he concentrated intensely for a moment. Small sparks appeared, glimmering in different colors before bursting into miniature fireworks. The lights danced around his palm, forming a glowing star by the end.

Alastor clapped her hands together, the sound crisp and delighted “That is very impressive for someone so young” she praised warmly, her smile widening just enough to put him at ease “You are going to do wonderful things when you get older” she added, her voice brimming with theatrical encouragement.

Leaning closer, her crimson gaze softened slightly as she tilted her head “Would you like me to show you a little trick?”

Stolas let out a hoot, his eyes lighting up with childlike excitement as he nodded eagerly.

Alastor closed her eyes, tapping into her connection with Sasuke. When they opened again, her crimson irises had shifted, their pupils blooming into a sinister, flower-like pattern outlined in black. With a theatrical poof of smoke that hid her form and within seconds, she had assumed the perfect likeness of Stolas, a flawless replica standing in her place.

Letting out a playful hoot, Alastor’s now-owl-like eyes sparkled with mischievous delight.

Stolas’ reaction was instantaneous. He clapped his tiny hands with glee, hopping off the couch to get a closer look at the uncanny duplicate “I know this one!” he exclaimed, his excitement making his words tumble out rapidly “Father says King Lucifer can do this, shape- shape—” he frowned, his little beak twisting slightly in thought “Change! Like you” he finished, letting out a tiny, nervous hoot.

Alastor shook her head gently, her mimicry of his form somehow amplifying her charisma “What His Majesty does…” she began, her tone patient yet tinged with amusement “…Is called shapeshifting. He can physically alter his body into any animal he pleases. What I do, on the other hand, is a transformation technique.”

She leaned forward slightly, her feathery form adding an air of mystique as she explained “Unlike him, I can become any person, animal, plant, or even an object” she paused for effect, her voice dipping into her signature theatrical beat “Inanimate objects, however, are the most challenging. I must first familiarize myself with the weight and texture of an object before assuming its form.”

With a puff of smoke, her feathered disguise dissolved, and Alastor returned to her usual self, her sharp grin as radiant as ever.

Stolas nodded slowly, clearly trying to wrap his young mind around her explanation “I think I understand…” he mumbled, his small voice carrying an undertone of wonder.

Alastor nodded back with a smile, her sharp edges softening ever so slightly. For the next hour, she entertained the tiny prince with more ‘tricks,’ her displays of magic interspersed with moments where she observed his budding talents.

The little owl was eager to showcase what he had learned from his books, and Alastor was even kind enough to teach him how to conjure fire. When Stolas produced a flickering purple flame for the first time, his excitement was infectious.

“Can I make it change colors like yours?” he asked eagerly, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.

Alastor chuckled softly, shaking her head “Unfortunately, no” she replied, her voice tinged with a trace of gentleness. Seeing the sadness flicker across his face, she quickly added “But purple is far more regal than mine. It suits you perfectly, little prince.”

Her reassurance brought a bright smile back to his face, and he continued to practice, his confidence growing steadily.

Finally, after expending so much magical energy, the tiny prince began to tire. His small frame slumped against her, his eyelids drooping as the weight of the day caught up with him. Alastor blinked in mild surprise as Stolas clambered onto her lap without hesitation, his comfort in her presence evident.

Before long, he had fallen asleep there, nestled against her like it was the most natural thing in the world. Alastor tilted her head, her crimson eyes studying the child with quiet intrigue. It seemed the little prince had grown remarkably confident in her company—a thought that brought an odd, fleeting warmth to her chest.

***

That insufferable avian demon. Alastor knew precisely what he was doing.

An hour after Stolas had fallen asleep, Rosie and Paimon arrived at her door. While Rosie seemed to wave the matter off casually, Paimon, King of the Ars Goetia, had been polite—almost annoyingly smooth in his mannerisms. Stolas had woken up asking his father if he could visit Alastor and play with her in the future. It was abundantly clear that Paimon was scheming, aiming to make Alastor develop a fondness for the tiny prince. The goal was obvious: by cultivating her attachment to Stolas, Paimon could exploit the relationship to gain future access to her.

She’d waved Stolas goodbye with a smile, watching him skip down the hallway, his small frame filled with joy. Yes, she had promised to let him visit whenever he wanted. And yes, Alastor had grown sentimental toward children—a fact she neither denied nor celebrated.

But now? Now she had another matter to deal with.

“Where are you going, Rosie dear?” Alastor asked sweetly, her voice laced with sugar-coated menace as her crimson eyes followed the cannibal’s attempt to sneak away.

In an unsettling motion, Alastor’s neck twisted 180 degrees to face Rosie, while her body remained perfectly stationary. Her sharp grin widened, dripping with false charm.

“Unfortunately” Alastor began, shaking her head with a mockingly apologetic expression “Since I had to take care of the little prince, I wasn’t able to finish my paperwork…” her smile sharpened into something far more spiteful “It’s a good thing you will be doing it, since I have that meeting with Mammon and Vox. So be a dear…”

Static crackled through the hallway, the lights flickering ominously. Rosie flinched at the sudden shift in atmosphere but managed to maintain her calm expression, her soft smile barely faltering.

“…And finish it for me” Alastor concluded, her voice lilting into an almost sing-song tone “Toodles, darling.”

With that, Alastor turned on her heel and strode away, humming cheerfully as she prepared for what she knew would be an exhausting meeting.

She had little faith in Vox to handle Mammon properly—it was clear the responsibility would inevitably fall to her. The thought of cutting Mammon off from his ring danced through her mind, but she couldn’t ignore the possibility that the Sin might abandon his ring and take refuge in Pride. Lucifer wouldn’t lift a finger to stop him; such trivialities didn’t concern the King of Hell.

That couldn’t happen. Mammon needed to be put in his place.

Should she dare to consume him? The thought lingered temptingly. Killing a Sin would undoubtedly attract attention and reveal the extent of her power—something she had carefully kept under wraps.

‘If he doesn’t accept the new contract you’ve crafted… do it, cut the ring out and shackle him’ Dazai’s voice chimed in her mind, a lazy grin audible in her tone.

‘Don’t bother taking leadership of the ring’ she continued ‘Let the Hellborn grow angry. The entire population will inevitably act—they’ll scatter across the other rings, causing chaos. By the end of it, the Sins will either force them out or opt for diplomacy. And when they discover Mammon is to blame for angering them? They’ll come crawling to you to negotiate… Which means?’

Dazai’s question hung in the air as Tomura answered coolly ‘They’ll want another deal with Alastor. Besides her profits in the entertainment sector, she could demand something else.’

Azula crossed her arms, her tone sharp ‘Lust produces the crystals. Creating a connection with Stolas would ensure access to those crystals in the future. We need to ask for something that will serve us well down the line.’

Light spoke abruptly, her voice cutting through the chatter ‘A favor’ she declared ‘Just as the original Alastor once requested from Charlie… A favor, to be granted at a time of her choosing, with the stipulation that no harm be done.’

Alastor chuckled, her delight rising as she absorbed the chorus of thoughts. The possibilities were endless, and as always, the Radio Demoness was prepared to play the long game.

***

“I don’t think you’re hearing me, you stuck-up bitch.”

Mammon’s voice rang out, sharp and venomous, as he gestured wildly in frustration. Alastor narrowed her crimson eyes, her smile frozen in place. Sitting at the head chair of the meeting room, she observed the jester-like Sin with unnerving calm, his tantrum playing out before her like a poorly rehearsed performance.

Beside her, Vox was less composed. His screen flickered erratically, the glow of his digital face betraying the clenched fists by his sides. Static crackled faintly around him, a telltale sign of his barely contained rage.

“You think you’re some hot shit?” Mammon spat, his gesticulations growing even more exaggerated as he pointed between them “The meeting was supposed to be between you and me! What’s this?” he flung his arm toward Vox “Why are you sending me your useless flesh light to solve this?”

Alastor bit her lip, stifling the urge to laugh as Vox erupted in fury. The lights in the room blew out with an explosive burst, and the windows cracked ominously under the pressure of Vox’s volatile energy. He looked ready to launch himself at Mammon, his anger making him reckless.

Alastor cleared her throat sharply, raising a hand to halt Vox’s outburst. The cyber Overlord froze immediately under her command, his flickering screen shifting to something close to resigned fury.

“Mammon” Alastor began, her voice sweetened with a theatrical edge of concern “I don’t understand why you can’t accept the deal. All the other Sins understood perfectly well the predicament they’re in and agreed to my conditions. Why must you be so… difficult?”

Her tone grew sharper, though her smile remained unchanged “I even went to the trouble of drafting a new contract for us. This time, you’ll receive forty-five percent of the winnings” she said lightly, tapping a clawed finger on the table “And you won’t even have to lift a finger. I’ll handle broadcasting all entertainment that your people desire. Both radio and television will be made available to your citizens, should they wish to join the business. And if a Hellborn wants to advertise through our media, they’ll pay you a fee.”

She chuckled softly, turning to Vox with an exaggerated shake of her head “Is it not a wonderful deal I’m offering here?”

Vox nodded mechanically; the grin displayed on his screen so fake it bordered on comical. But Alastor knew she had him completely in her corner—whatever she wanted, he would do.

“And, not to mention” Alastor continued, her clawed finger now pointed directly at Mammon “I’m adding a special provision for you. You’ll have full access to continue your little circus production—the one you were working on.”

Her grin widened as she elaborated, her crimson gaze glinting with amusement “What was it again? Ah, yes, opening auditions to the public to find your next ‘shining star.’ Since you’ll oversee the project personally, I’ll only be asking for a modest thirty percent fee for allowing you to advertise it through both radio and television. The rest of the profits you make—merchandise, for example—you’ll retain full rights and earnings for.”

Alastor leaned back slightly; her grin as sharp as ever as she studied the jester Sin’s expression. Her words hung in the air; her tone unyielding as she awaited his response.

Mammon was trembling.

He hadn’t felt this disrespected since that bitch of a Queen had decided to not allow him to spread his business in the other rings due to the fact it was ‘harming’ their territories… Of course, Lucifer had simply agreed with her like the spineless coward he was. And NOW, this Bambi cunt was trying to put herself above him. HE WAS A SIN, and she was a mere SINNER.

HOW THE FUCK DID SHE GAIN SO MUCH POWER IN LESS THAN A CENTURY?

How the fuck was she able to control the ability for media to work?

He couldn’t let this be, this bitch was going to absorb them all by the next century, he could see it unlike the other Sins that seemed to just let her be. Could they not see she was becoming dangerous? She needed to be taken out before her influence reached the same level as Lilith or even Lucifer.

He had done his research; this sinner was not even a century old. She was the fastest sinner in history to become an Overlord, not to mention she instantly took leadership of the lot. Her influence had reached to the other rings, everyone in Greed knew who she was; fucking Satan seemed to be almost enamored with her due to the news of Alastor’s killings, they were apparently a work of art and was supplying human flesh to the cannibals of Wrath but most importantly, weapons.

Lust was the same, the amount of Hellborns he had seen dressed up as her at the strip clubs was insane. The fact that she was known as someone to be feared did not stop the Hellborns and Sinners of fantasizing about her… He was not blind, the bitch was gorgeous and if she wasn’t a businesswoman, she would have been the perfect star, the perfect allure of being seductive and innocent at the same time.

He had yet to see what she had done with Envy and Sloth but it had to be something about supplying stuff for the hospital and dealing with those eldritch monsters, he heard rumors of the decreasing number of appearances.   

“You can take that shit contract and shove it up your ass!” Mammon hissed, his voice dripping with venom as his body began to expand, morphing into a larger, more imposing form.

Alastor, seated at the head of the meeting table, remained perfectly composed. Her crimson eyes narrowed slightly; her expression calm yet unnervingly sharp. Beside her, Vox stood rigid, his flickering screen betraying the clenched fists at his sides as he glitched violently, barely holding himself back.

“I am the fucking Sin of Greed!” Mammon bellowed, his voice reverberating through the room as he stepped closer to Alastor “I take what I fucking want, and I will not let a mortal try to become my manager!” saliva dripped from his snarling mouth as he leaned toward her, his anger almost tangible.

Alastor let out a quiet sigh, rising gracefully from her chair as her cane materialized in her hand. She stepped forward, undaunted by the towering Sin, her smile unwavering.

“Then I have no choice” she said, her tone laced with chilling finality “Greed is no longer welcome in Pride. Any form of media will be inaccessible to the citizens of your ring. Television, radio, telephone—communication itself will be severed” she tilted her head slightly, her grin widening ever so slightly “I do hope you don’t come to regret your choice. I am cutting you off.”

She raised her cane and struck it against the ground with deliberate force. The room was instantly engulfed in a green glow, the atmosphere shifting violently. The cracked windows exploded outward as a furious wind howled through the chamber. A pulse of raw power radiated from Alastor, rippling through Pride and reaching the very heart of Greed.

The red sky above Pride turned an eerie shade of bright green for a fleeting moment, and every citizen knew at once—The Radio Demoness had done something.

In Greed, the effect was immediate. The already-greenish hues of the city deepened, glowing brighter under the influence of Alastor’s magic. Phones went dead mid-conversation, their connections abruptly severed. Televisions in homes, bars, and public spaces flickered, their screens fading into blackness. Confusion and panic rippled through the population as they realized they had been plunged into silence.

Alastor’s voice echoed across the city, carried by waves of static that seemed to ripple through the air itself. The citizens of Greed froze in place, their eyes drawn upward to the sky as her words boomed with unsettling clarity.

“I apologize for this” she began, her tone dripping with faux sweetness “But your ruler has left me with no choice. Greed will no longer have access to media or wireless communication. You have Mammon to thank for this. I do hope you don’t end up getting bored—perhaps this will be an opportunity to develop a new hobby” her grin widened, her voice taking on a mocking lilt “My best regards to you, chumps.”

Back in Pride, Mammon stood frozen, staring at Alastor in horror. The realization of what she had done hit him like a tidal wave, the consequences unraveling in his mind with terrifying speed. His shock quickly turned to fury, and with a guttural roar, he launched himself at her, his massive form barreling forward in blind rage.

Alastor didn’t flinch. She remained perfectly still, her crimson eyes gleaming with amusement as she watched him approach. Just as his enormous fist was about to crush her, a purple barrier materialized around her. But it wasn’t merely a barrier—it resembled the ribs of a skeletal creature, encasing her protectively.

From the sides of the barrier, skeletal arms emerged, moving with eerie precision to seize Mammon. They wrapped around him tightly, their grip unyielding as he squirmed and gasped, his struggles growing more frantic with each passing second.

“What the fuck?!” Mammon shouted, his voice cracking with panic as he thrashed against the skeletal arms “What the fuck kind of power is this? This is no—”

Alastor’s laughter cut him off, the sound sharp and maniacal as it filled the room. Her crimson eyes burned brighter, the flowery pattern within them, that she had showed Stolas earlier, was blooming ominously. She leaned closer, her sharp teeth bared in a grin that was equal parts predatory and gleeful.

“Oh, darling” she cooed, her voice dripping with mockery “This is power beyond your comprehension. I wouldn’t bother trying to understand it—don’t worry your silly head about it.”

The skeletal arms tightened their grip, the sound of bones cracking echoing through the room. Mammon screamed in agony, blood spilling from his mouth as the crushing force overwhelmed him. Alastor’s grin widened further; her gaze unwavering as she watched him writhe like the insect he was to her.

“You’ve got no one to blame but yourself” she whispered, her voice soft yet steeped in cutting amusement. Tilting her head slightly, her crimson gaze narrowed as her grin sharpened “I was kind enough to give you a chance… so I will be merciful once again.”

With a shrug, she added with unsettling nonchalance “I will not consume you—where is the fun in that?” her cane twirled lightly in her hand as she giggled, leaning forward ever so slightly “No, instead… You have two options. You can surrender your soul to me right now and resolve all of this immediately, or—” she paused, her grin widening as she waved her cane theatrically “I can let you go. But if you fail to solve the problem on your own by next month, your soul will be mine regardless. If you do succeed, well then, you’ll get to keep it.”

Her tone grew honeyed, almost mockingly sweet, as she tilted her head further “Sounds like an amazing deal, doesn’t it?” the corners of her grin stretched wider, her sharp teeth glinting ominously as she studied him.

“Of course” Alastor began smoothly, her voice dripping with sharp finality “Accepting the contract I offered you before is no longer an option. That’s off the table, so you’ll have to find another way to convince me.”

She turned sharply, her crimson gaze locking onto Mammon as she tilted her head, her smile widening with unsettling charm “You know who Amaterasu is, don’t you?”

Mammon, gasping for air, stared back at her with a mixture of horror and confusion etched across his features “The bitch that’s supposed to be the goddess of the sun?” he rasped, his words trembling as he tried to process the weight of her question.

Alastor nodded happily “Indeed. You see, I have this ability I like to call Amaterasu” she opened the palm of her hand creating a small dark flame and Mammon’s eyes widened in full terror “You can feel it, don’t you? The way this flame will never go out, it can’t be smothered… only obeys me… This is your future if you don’t get your shit together. I will take your soul and burn it for eternity.”

Alastor’s smile widened as she lazily leaned against her cane, her posture radiating an air of effortless dominance “I take you’ll be choosing the second option?” she purred, her voice laced with honeyed amusement, her crimson eyes glinting with dangerous delight.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER FIVE | WORSHIP HER HE NEEDED HER TO BE JUST HIS

She was a goddess.

She was everything he desired and more.

Even as she turned her attention to Mammon, seemingly forgetting his presence entirely, Vox didn’t mind. Not one bit. If anything, it gave him the perfect opportunity to witness her in her element. Alastor wasn’t just a sinner—she was DIVINE.

A magnificent display of power and domination unfolded before him. Vox watched, transfixed, unable to suppress the growing obsession that clawed at his chest. She was unprecedented, a force to be reckoned with, a deity among mortals. His breath hitched as the scene replayed in his mind: Mammon’s helplessness, Alastor’s unyielding command, and the dark flame that promised eternal torment.

‘Alastor’ he whispered in his mind, her name reverent, almost a prayer ‘You are beyond comprehension. Hell bends to your will, and I… I am in love.’

His thoughts spiraled, consumed by visions of her—the embodiment of true divinity, far surpassing those so-called angels who descended once a year to wreak havoc. He imagined her belonging to him, her power intertwined with his ambitions, their influence stretching across Hell itself.

The memory of their first meeting flickered in his mind, vivid and unshakable. He had been sitting on the filthy streets, broken and abandoned, his screen cracked and glitching uncontrollably. He had lifted his head, and there she was—a hand extended toward him.

She was beautiful. So beautiful. So BeAUtIFul. The glitches always worsened when he thought of her, as if his very circuits couldn’t handle the intensity of his feelings. It reminded him of how, in life, a man’s heart might skip a beat when overcome by love.

For a fleeting moment, he had thought she was an angel. He had hesitated, but only briefly, before taking her hand. From that moment on, he was hers—completely and irrevocably.

If she asked for his soul, he would give it to her. If she demanded his life, it was hers to take. The only thing he could never comply with was if she asked him to leave. That, he could not bear.

Vox would worship her, ensuring no one dared tarnish her image—an image of perfection, for that was what she deserved. Yet, buried deep within him, there was a twisted part that wanted her entirely for himself. He longed for her to turn her attention solely to him, to see him as her equal, to acknowledge him as more than just another follower in her orbit.

His idea of heaven wasn’t a place—it was the mere possibility of hearing her say the words ‘I love you, James’ If those words ever left her lips, Vox would claim that he had been sent to heaven itself.

He imagined a reality where her voice would carry that soft, undeniable promise ‘I love you, James’ she would say, completing him in a way no other could. The longing tore at him, desperate and raw, a need for her to see him beyond being a pawn or admirer, but as an equal deserving of her gaze.

Vox’s thoughts spiraled into the abyss of his own yearning, each fantasy drawing him deeper. He envisioned a future where Alastor’s divine gaze would finally land upon him, seeing him not just as a follower, but as a partner—an ally in both power and passion. Every glance she gave him, every word she spoke, rang in his mind as an intoxicating melody, leaving him utterly ensnared.

‘Just take my soul’ he thought sorrowfully ‘You’ve already taken my heart and mind.’

He replayed their moments together obsessively, clinging to the fragile hope that one day, she might glimpse the devotion in his eyes and feel even a fraction of what he felt for her. The thought consumed him, feeding the delusions that grew with his obsessive admiration.

Vox pictured himself standing beside her, their powers entwined, their wills perfectly aligned. He imagined protecting her from any threat, laying waste to any enemy who dared challenge her, all for the chance to see her smile in approval.

The universe itself, he reasoned, had already spoken—they were destined. Radio and television, two entities intrinsically linked, one dependent on the other. Television couldn’t exist without radio, and he was certain that was proof enough that they belonged together, their connection forged by destiny itself.

As his thoughts spiraled deeper into obsession, a darker part of Vox reveled in the idea of eliminating any and all competition—anyone who dared to draw her attention away from him. His love for her was anything but pure; it was possessive, consuming, and utterly selfish. He didn’t just want her—he wanted her entirely to himself, the sole recipient of her divine favor.

In the delusional corners of his mind, Vox allowed himself to believe that such a future was possible. The harsh reality of their world faded like static, leaving behind only the tantalizing fantasy of Alastor’s love. He clung to the hope that one day, she might look at him the way he dreamed, that she might speak words that could shatter his cold exterior and breathe warmth into his existence.

Valentino’s advice rang faintly in his mind—warnings, mockery, sly suggestions about pursuing Alastor. Vox rejected it outright, his glitching screen flickering wildly as he muttered internally ‘He’s wrong… He’s wrong!’

But was he really wrong?

The question clawed at Vox, a tantalizing whisper he couldn’t fully ignore. Would it be so terrible to try? Just once?

‘Alastor wouldn’t hate me for it… right?’

His thoughts tumbled forward, gaining speed. Alastor admired persistence. She praised those who never accepted “no” as an answer, those who were firm and confident, individuals who earned her respect. She rewarded those she deemed worthy… and Vox believed himself to be among them.

He wasn’t just some passing admirer, or a nameless pawn in her schemes. No—he worked closest to her. While others scoffed and called him “just her secretary,” Vox knew better. Alastor entrusted him with her schedule, her dealings, her carefully woven plans. She never hid her strength from him as she did with the other Overlords. They knew she was powerful, but he knew the truth—she was stronger than any sinner should be.

And that knowledge made him special.

At least, that’s what Vox told himself as his longing festered, feeding on every glance, every interaction, every fleeting moment she shared with him. He was convinced that she saw something in him, something no one else could provide.

It had to mean something.

***

It had been an eventful day for Alastor, and it wasn’t even over yet. Her morning had been spent entertaining Stolas, her afternoon consumed by dealing with the Sin of Greed, and now, as evening approached, she found herself facing yet another task—Husker.

She had acquired Husker back in the mid-eighties, and while she didn’t regret it as much as she did Vox, there was still a lingering annoyance whenever she thought of the cat sinner. Perhaps she had her reasons. When they first met, Husker had been insufferable—an arrogant little demon with a penchant for treating his minions like trash. His anger issues were legendary, and his reckless gambling habits made him a liability. He bet souls like they were worthless trinkets, and his alcoholism only added fuel to the fire.

It wasn’t her business what he did with his time, but as a rising Overlord, his behavior was unacceptable in her meetings and circle. When Alastor first encountered him, he had gloated and acted smug, even daring to challenge her to a game. The stakes? Her soul against his.

No wonder the original Alastor had treated him like trash. Husker had likely mellowed out and gotten his act halfway together when he became his slave, but Alastor was petty like that. She had ripped him apart in the game, claimed his soul, and made him perform unnecessary tasks purely to irritate him. He was her little pet now, and she relished every opportunity to remind him of it.

Yesterday morning, her petty streak had flared up once again. Word had reached her about a new breed of venison emerging from the Wrath ring, and nothing delighted her more than the thought of making Husker jump through hoops to fetch it for her.

“Husker” she purred, her voice dripping with sweet malice as she leaned against her cane “I heard whispers about a new breed of venison in the Wrath ring. You know how much I love a good challenge and exquisite taste. I want you to bring me this venison by tomorrow evening.”

Husker’s eyes widened, a mix of exasperation and anger flickering across his face “By tomorrow evening? Alastor, that’s—”

“Non-negotiable” she interrupted coldly, her smile never faltering. Her crimson eyes gleamed as she tilted her head, her tone sharp and commanding “Think of it as an… opportunity to redeem yourself. Should you fail, well…”

She didn’t need to finish the sentence. The unspoken threat hung heavy in the air, her gaze making it abundantly clear what the consequences would be.

Alastor chuckled softly as she left the chaos of the day behind and arrived at her modest apartment—or at least, that’s how it appeared from the outside. Inside, it was anything but modest. She had transformed it into a pocket dimension, its vastness rivaling even Lucifer’s castle.

Seated leisurely in her plush armchair, a tome of ancient curses spread open on her lap, Alastor allowed herself a moment of quiet indulgence. The crimson glow of her eyes flickered faintly as she traced the arcane symbols on the page. She was waiting for Husker, though she didn’t expect much punctuality from him.

Her musings were interrupted by a loud, rasping knock at the door. Alastor’s eyes narrowed slightly, irritation flashing across her face. With a deliberate motion, she marked her place in the tome with a blood-red ribbon and rose gracefully to answer.

When she opened the door, there stood Husker, disheveled and panting. His fur was tangled with blood and dirt, and his trembling hands clutched a box tightly to his chest. The sight of him in such a sorry state brought a twisted smile to Alastor’s lips.

“Husker, my, my” she purred, her voice dripping with mock concern “You look like you’ve been through hell.”

Husker’s voice was hoarse as he began to explain, his words tumbling out in a mix of exhaustion and frustration “I found a dealer, Alastor. He was willing to trade the venison, but when he realized it was for you, he panicked. He tried to kill me, thinking that if he did, the Radio Demon would never find out about him.”

Alastor’s smile widened, her amusement clear as she listened “Oh, Husker” she said with a lilting laugh “You do find yourself in the most interesting predicaments, don’t you? And yet, here you are, still in one piece.”

Husker’s grip on the box tightened, his tension evident in the way his claws dug into the edges “Barely” he muttered, his voice strained “He was terrified, Alastor. The mere thought of you knowing about his existence drove him to madness. But I did what you asked, and I brought you the venison.”

Alastor stepped closer, her crimson eyes glinting with satisfaction as she reached out to take the box from his trembling hands “Well done, Husker” she said smoothly, her tone laced with condescension “You’ve proven your worth once again.”

She examined the box briefly before turning her gaze back to him “Now, go clean yourself up. I have no use for a pet that looks so… disheveled.”

Husker nodded stiffly, his expression a mix of relief and lingering resentment “Yes, Alastor” he muttered before turning to leave.

As he made his way toward one of the guest bathrooms, Alastor’s voice called out after him, her tone sharp and commanding “And Husker, remember this… every task, no matter how arduous, is an opportunity for you to prove your usefulness.”

The static in her voice crackled ominously, making his ears ache as she added “Don’t disappoint me.”

The door clicked shut behind him, and Alastor returned to her plush armchair, the box of venison resting on her lap. With deliberate grace, she opened it, letting the rich aroma fill the room. A triumphant smile played on her lips as she savored the moment. Husker’s fear and obedience were yet another testament to her power.

“Maybe this wasn’t as bad a day as I thought” she mused, her voice tinged with amusement.

Half an hour later, Husker emerged from the bathroom, cleaned up but visibly drained. His fur was no longer matted with blood and dirt, but the weariness in his eyes remained. He paused in the doorway, watching Alastor as she dined on the venison, now fully cooked, paired with a glass of wine—or perhaps blood, for all he knew.

She noticed him lingering and raised an eyebrow, her crimson gaze locking onto his “Why are you looking at me like that, Husker?” she asked, her tone light but laced with subtle menace.

Husker hesitated, his eyes flicking briefly to the glass in her hand before he responded “I was just… making sure you were pleased with the meal, Alastor.”

Her lips curved into a sly smile, her amusement glinting in her eyes “Ah, ever the diligent one, aren’t you? Come, sit. You’ve earned a moment to rest and let those wounds heal.”

Reluctantly, Husker took a seat across from her, the tension in his shoulders slowly easing as he watched her savor the venison.

“You did well today” Alastor continued, her tone a mix of praise and condescension “But remember, Husker, there is always more to be done.”

Husker nodded stiffly, his expression a mixture of relief and lingering apprehension “Yes, I know. I won’t forget.”

Alastor took another sip of her drink, the rich crimson liquid glistening in the dim light “Good” she purred, her eyes never leaving his “Now, enjoy this brief moment of peace, for who knows what tomorrow may bring” she took another bite, her smile widening slightly “I’m sure you’ve heard the news about Greed.”

Husker had indeed heard the rumors circulating through the city. Apparently, Alastor had seized control of the ring of Greed by cutting off their media and communication, all because Mammon had angered her. It was yet another display of her unparalleled power, a reminder that she could do whatever she pleased.

He looked down, contemplating his words carefully before speaking “Yeah, I heard about Greed” he said cautiously “You’ve shown them your power, and it’s clear you won’t tolerate any disrespect. Mammon thought he could challenge you, but he was wrong. You’ve proven once again why you’re feared and respected in hell.”

The words tasted bitter on his tongue. He hated being here, hated having to force himself to say these things—even though they were true. It was a stark reminder that he would never escape his situation.

Alastor’s smile widened, her crimson eyes gleaming with satisfaction “Indeed, Husker. Mammon underestimated me, and now he knows the price of his arrogance. It’s a lesson to all who might think of crossing me.”

Husker nodded, feeling a chill run down his spine “I understand. I won’t make the same mistake again.”

“Good” Alastor purred, taking another sip of her drink “Remember, Husker, loyalty and obedience are rewarded. Stray from that path, and you will face the consequences—just like Mammon.”

Husker swallowed hard, the weight of her words sinking in. She had just bested a Sin, something that should have been impossible. Just what was she? “I won’t forget” he muttered, his voice barely audible.

He really wanted to throw up.

Alastor leaned back in her armchair, her satisfied smile never wavering “See that you do, Husker” she said smoothly, her tone carrying the finality of a command.

***

The next morning, as Alastor leisurely enjoyed her breakfast, Niffty scampered in, carrying a neatly sealed letter. With a chirpy demeanor, she handed it to Alastor, who accepted it with curiosity. The letter bore the handwriting of the little owl, Stolas, requesting her permission to spend lunch with her. He wished to show her a new spell he had mastered and expressed an eagerness to learn more about her magic, which he described as “beautiful.”

Alastor’s crimson eyes glinted with intrigue as she read the letter, a small smile gracing her lips “How delightful…” she murmured, her voice dripping with amusement “Even if it’s glaringly obvious that Paimon will interrogate him after the lunch” she chuckled softly, setting the letter aside “But a little magic lesson over lunch could be quite charming.”

She summoned Niffty closer, her sharp grin still in place, as she began drafting a response. Carefully, Alastor engraved her address, ensuring it would only be visible to Stolas himself. After sealing the letter with an elegant, blood-red wax stamp, she handed it to Niffty.

“Please send this letter and ensure all preparations are made for the visit of our little prince” Alastor instructed, her tone smooth and commanding.

Niffty nodded enthusiastically, her wide eye gleaming with excitement as she scrambled out the door to carry out Alastor’s orders. Alastor watched her go, her smile softening as a flicker of curiosity crossed her mind.

Older Stolas was renowned for his magical prowess, and the idea that he found her magic worthy of study at such a young age filled Alastor with a sense of pride and anticipation. The notion of accessing the extensive library of spellbooks Stolas undoubtedly possessed only sweetened the prospect.

As she resumed her breakfast, Alastor began to wonder about the spell Stolas had learned and what he hoped to uncover about her own magic. She would need to be thoughtful about which spells to reveal to him—most of her repertoire leaned toward darker, more sinister forces. Her own abilities were prominent and versatile, but Sasuke’s abilities could be appropriate for a demonstration. Sukuna and Tomura’s techniques were out of the question, and as for Dazai—no, certainly not. Osamu was her ultimate weapon, something she would never reveal unless absolutely necessary.

Alastor chuckled lightly, amused at the many possibilities. Lunch promised to be an intriguing affair indeed.

‘Are you going to replace meUS with the tiny bird?’

Ah… she forgot that there was a chance her new adopted child slash fucking universe itself would be jealous of her spending time with another kid.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER SIX | NEVER LIKED KIDS CAN’T SAY NO TO THAT FACE?

"Are you going to replace meUS with the tiny bird?" the universe's voice, tinged with a childlike whine, echoed in her mind. It had been increasingly vocal about her divided attention in the past few years, feeling neglected and overlooked.

Alastor sighed and conjured a soothing presence around her, hoping to calm the agitated entity "Of course not, my dear" she murmured, her tone gentle yet firm "You know better than anyone that my attention is vast and encompassing. Each bond I form has its purpose and place, just like our bond is unique and irreplaceable."

The universe seemed to waver, its frustration palpable "But you've been busy with others, and IWE feel left out" it protested, its voice softening as if seeking reassurance.

"You are a part of me, integral to everything I do" Alastor replied, her eyes softening with empathy "Stolas is a young prince seeking guidance, and our bond will not diminish what we share. Trust in me, my dear, for our connection is eternal."

It had taken some time to calm down the childlike universe of hers, explaining that Stolas was someone of importance in the future, she had totally forgotten he wasn’t an older being like the Sins or Angels so finding him as a child had been a surprise.

The childlike universe was still not fully confident that Alastor was going to replace themhimher with Stolas, but seemed to calm down after her assurances, allowing her to prepare for the upcoming lunch with the curious young prince.

As the hours progressed, Alastor meticulously selected spells to share, balancing between impressive and appropriate, she wanted to awe Stolas without delving into the darker aspects of her magical repertoire; the lunch promised to be a blend of education and enchantment, an opportunity to foster mutual respect and curiosity, like a student-mentor relationship.

***

Stolas arrived promptly in the middle of the day, just as Alastor had anticipated. As she had correctly guessed, it was a butler—not his father—who escorted him to her doorstep. The little prince seemed both nervous and eager, his tiny talons clutching the hem of his coat as he was handed over.

Lunch was a quiet affair, filled with calm conversation and the occasional burst of childish curiosity. Stolas peppered Alastor with shy questions about her life, his wide, inquisitive eyes sparkling with every answer she gave. Alastor, for her part, indulged the little owl’s curiosity, her responses measured yet tinged with amusement.

When their plates were empty, Stolas hesitated for a moment before timidly voicing a request “Miss Alastor… um… can we practice magic at the park? I think… uh… an open space is better for channeling magic!”

Alastor arched an eyebrow, her crimson eyes narrowing slightly. The excuse was paper-thin, a transparent attempt at coaxing her outside. She knew better than anyone that her private space was far superior for magical practice—safer, controlled, and free from the prying eyes of sinners who might recognize the infamous Radio Demon and the young Prince of Ars Goetia.

And yet, much to her own surprise, she found herself agreeing “Very well” she said smoothly, her lips curling into a faint, amused smile.

Taking no chances with Stolas’s safety, Alastor scooped the small prince into her arms, settling him comfortably on her shoulder. His feathers fluffed with embarrassment, and his cheeks flushed a deep crimson “Y-you don’t have to carry me!” he protested, though his voice was barely above a whisper.

“Nonsense” Alastor replied with a smirk, her tone leaving no room for argument “You’re far too tiny to keep pace with me on foot.”

As she walked through the streets, the boy perched on her shoulder, Alastor couldn’t help but notice the stares they attracted. Many sinners froze in place at the sight of her, some fleeing outright. Those who lingered glanced nervously at the owl child, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and fear. She ignored them all, already anticipating the speculation and rumors that Vox’s report would deliver the next day.

At the park, Alastor placed Stolas gently on the grass, her eyes scanning the area to ensure they were alone. Satisfied, she turned her attention to the boy “Now, little prince” she said, her voice smooth and commanding “What is this spell you’ve learned that you couldn’t wait to show me?”

Stolas fidgeted, his talons twisting together nervously. After a moment, he let out a soft hoot, his feathers ruffling with his nerves “I… I learned how to change the size of objects” he admitted, reaching into his pocket to retrieve a tiny book, barely the size of his palm.

Muttering an incantation, the prince’s voice quivered with concentration as the book began to grow. Within seconds, it was large enough to require both of his small arms to hold it steady. His face lit up with a shy smile as he looked up at Alastor “It’s for you… a gift” he said softly, letting out another bashful hoot “Father said that Miss Alastor’s magic speci—uh, specia—uhm…”

“Specializes or specialties” Alastor interjected with practiced patience, her voice gentle but firm.

“Specialties!” Stolas exclaimed with a nod, his confidence returning “That’s the word. Father said your specialties were shadows and airwaves. I don’t have books about airwaves—I need to research more—but I did have a grimoire of shadow magic. I thought you might like it.”

Alastor stared at him for a lingering moment, her unreadable expression making the young prince’s feathers ruffle nervously. Stolas’ small beak opened, ready to apologize for his gift, when she suddenly reached out and gently took the grimoire from his hands.

“My dear” Alastor began, her voice warm and smooth “This is a very thoughtful gift. Not many would dare part with something as important as this. I know for a fact that shadow magic is exceptionally rare in Hell.”

Lifting her free hand, she lightly patted his head, her fingers trailing through the softness of his fur and feathers. Her claws were carefully retracted, her touch surprisingly tender. Stolas instinctively leaned closer, basking in the affectionate gesture.

“Do you want to know why this gift from you is extra special to me?” Alastor asked, her sharp grin softening ever so slightly.

Stolas nodded eagerly, his wide eyes fixed on her with anticipation.

“Because” she said, her voice dipping with genuine warmth “You are the first person to ever give me a gift.”

Stolas’ beak opened in surprise, but before he could respond, Alastor continued, her expression briefly distant “It’s true. While I’ve received tokens and offerings in the past, they were always exchanges, payments, or acts of gratitude for something I had done” she hesitated for a moment before adding with a faint smirk “And we won’t even discuss my secretary. His so-called ‘gifts’ are another matter entirely.”

She refocused her attention on the little owl, her crimson eyes softening “You, however, are the first to give me something freely, without any expectation of a deal in return. I sincerely thank you for this gift, Stolas. It means more to me than you can imagine.”

Her words sent a wave of warmth through the young prince. Stolas’ feathers fluffed with flustered delight, and he chirped enthusiastically “You are very wel-welcome, Miss Alastor!” his chest puffed out with determination as he added “I’ll make sure you receive more sincere gifts in the future too! If no one else will, I will!”

Alastor’s sharp grin melted into something rare—a sincere smile that illuminated her usually menacing features. For once, the infamous Radio Demon looked genuinely touched.

***

Alastor and Stolas sat on a park bench, the remnants of their magic practice lingering in the air. The little prince happily licked at his chocolate ice cream, which had been an ordeal to acquire. The sinner running the stand had practically thrown it at her with trembling hands, stammering apologies as he waved away payment. A minute longer in his presence, and Alastor was certain he would have fainted outright.

It was then that she felt it.

The music.

A familiar, unwelcome sensation crept over her as the faint strains of melody began to fill the air. Alastor’s eyes narrowed. She knew exactly what this meant—she was about to be dragged into a musical number.

It had been years since the last time this had happened, and she had hoped the phenomenon had forgotten her. But no, here it was again, that unnatural force compelling her to participate. She could resist, of course, but the consequences of defying it were… inconvenient, to say the least. The best she could do, if she truly wanted to avoid singing, was to nod along to the rhythm.

Her gaze flicked to Stolas, who had suddenly stood up on the bench. Dear Lord, the three-year-old was about to sing. Did he even know what he was doing? Would it be a duet? How was she supposed to participate? And, most importantly, what in Hell was he going to sing about?

Stolas began, his small voice carrying a surprising clarity…

“Sunshine in my eyes,
Walking hand in hand,
Laughter fills the air,
Oh, this day is grand.”

Before Alastor could process what was happening, the scene shifted. One moment, she was seated on the bench; the next, she and Stolas were lying on the grass, surrounded by an array of desserts.

“Picnic by the park,
Kites dancing in blue,
She smiles like the stars,
Feels like dreams come true.”

Alastor found herself smiling softly, her hand instinctively reaching out to pet Stolas’ head. He leaned into her touch, his feathers fluffing with contentment. ‘Not the touch-starved child in need of a mother figure’ she thought dryly. She was aware that most of her movements were no longer her own, but since he was just a child, she decided not to fight it.

“Is this what it’s like,
What I want every moment,
A kid like me having a wonderful day
With a mother to share.”

Alastor froze. He had just said it—straight to her face. He wanted her to be his mother. ‘What a delightful day to have a breakdown about spontaneous motherhood’ she had thought of herself as more of a mentor, but apparently, Stolas had other ideas. ‘Paimon, why didn’t you spend time with your child?’

“Ice cream on my face,
Chocolate drips and drips,
We spin around in circles,
With every little flip.”

The scene shifted again, and now they were spinning in circles, holding hands and laughing until they collapsed onto the grass. It was straight out of a movie. If a single sinner witnessed this, Alastor swore she would go on a cleanup spree. Reputation as Hell’s most feared demon had to be secured—she wasn’t about to let this get out.

“I don’t want to wake up,
This dream is too real,
Please don’t take her away,
She smiles like the sun.”

Stolas clung to her tightly, his small arms wrapped around her waist as he buried his face in her stomach. It had only been two days. Two days, and the child was already this attached. ‘Someone, please, tell the three-year-old to get it together.’

“Is this what it’s like,
What I want every moment,
A kid like me having a wonderful day
With a mother to share.”

And just like that, it was over. The magic dissipated, leaving them back where they had started—sitting on the bench. Stolas happily resumed eating his ice cream, as if nothing had happened, while Alastor scanned the area with sharp eyes, searching for any witnesses.

It was finally time to take Stolas back to his home, and Alastor had personally decided to escort him. Curiosity about the little prince’s living situation had gotten the better of her. As she entered the estate, she noted the butler already waiting at the mansion’s entrance. The air hummed faintly with magic, a sure sign of spells cast to monitor anyone entering their territory.

Alastor gently placed Stolas down on the ground and straightened her coat before lifting her hand. Her signature sharp grin widened as she addressed him “Since you gave me such a wonderful gift, it’s only fair that I give you one in return, don’t you think?”

Stolas blinked up at her with wide, curious eyes, his small hands clasped in anticipation.

Smiling, Alastor opened her palms, a soft green glow beginning to coalesce between them. The energy grew steadily, morphing into a dark sphere that hovered over her hands. She moved her fingers with precise, deliberate motions, molding the sphere as if it were clay. Gradually, the energy transformed, taking the shape of a peculiar creature—a turtle-duck.

Its colors shimmered and shifted, alternating between a striking combination of black and bright green, and warm hues of yellow and brown. The energy pulsed faintly, a testament to the power Alastor had poured into its creation. Finally, with a soft, resounding sound—

The turtle-duck quacked.

The creature jumped from Alastor’s hands, flapping its tiny wings before landing atop Stolas’ head. It affectionately pecked at his feathers before rubbing itself against his soft fur, as if marking him as its own.

Stolas giggled with delight, carefully reaching up to cradle the turtle-duck in his small hands. He gazed at it in awe, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears “You… Miss Alastor… Is this for me?” he asked, his voice trembling with emotion.

Alastor’s grin softened slightly as she nodded “I thought you might like to have a companion at home” she explained, shrugging lightly “A big mansion like this… living in one can be quite lonely” she reached out to give the turtle-duck a gentle pat, causing it to wiggle its tail with delight “Why don’t you give him a name?”

“Him? It’s a male?” Stolas asked, tilting his head as the turtle-duck let out another quack, as if affirming the question. The little owl thought deeply for a moment before smiling shyly “I think… I want you to be the one to name him, Miss Alastor.”

For a brief moment, Alastor appeared taken aback. Then, a chuckle escaped her lips, her crimson eyes softening as a distant memory seemed to surface “How about… Zuko?”

“Zuko?” Stolas repeated, tilting his head in curiosity “Does it have a meaning since you chose it?”

Alastor nodded, her smile softening further “It actually has two meanings” she replied “One I dislike, and one I appreciate. It can mean ‘failure’ or…” her voice dipped slightly, the warmth in her tone unmistakable “Or it can mean ‘loved one.’ I hope you’ll embrace the second meaning, little prince, because this creature deserves to be loved.”

Stolas’ grip on the turtle-duck tightened as his emotions threatened to overwhelm him. The realization that Alastor had gifted him not just a companion, but a protector, brought tears to his eyes. Yet, he held them back with all the strength he could muster, wanting to emulate Alastor’s composed demeanor.

“Thank you” he whispered, his voice trembling as he ran to hug her by the legs.

Alastor sighed, glancing around to ensure they were alone. With a resigned smile, she gently moved Stolas away before bending down to his level, opening her arms. The boy instantly dove into her embrace, this time allowing his tears to fall as he clung to her.

Alastor’s thoughts flickered briefly as she gazed at the tiny owl clinging to her ‘I blame Yuji’ she mused silently, her expression unreadable ‘If he could soften someone like Sukuna, then only he could make it so that softness reached me as Alastor.’

The Queen of Curses let out a derisive snort at the thought, though she didn’t deny it.

Meanwhile, Azula stood off to the side, her sharp demeanor softened by visible a warm look as she watched Alastor create the turtle-duck, her emotions particularly stirred by the fact that it bore her brother’s name. Amelia, the most empathetic of the group, hugged Azula tightly during the moment, both of them swept up in the rare tenderness radiating from the Radio Demon.

As Alastor and Stolas separated, the little owl quickly wiped his tears away with his feathers, trying to mimic her composure. Alastor straightened her coat and addressed him firmly yet warmly “Next week, I will be quite busy. After that, feel free to arrange for a meeting—either at my place or yours.”

She paused, her eyes glinting as her grin widened “After all, I will need to explain to you how Zuko’s powers work. He is a powerful little creature and understanding him will be vital.”

Zuko, perched proudly atop Stolas’ head, let out a loud quack, flapping his wings enthusiastically and puffing out his tiny chest. The display sent the young prince into a fit of giggles, his wide smile brighter than ever.

“Alright, Miss Alastor” Stolas chirped, his voice bubbling with excitement “Then I’ll see you next week!” he waved energetically, his small hand trembling slightly with eagerness as he said his goodbyes.

Alastor waved back with an elegant gesture, her grin softening into something more genuine “Do have some fun, darling, so you can tell me all about it at our meeting” she replied smoothly.

With that, her shadows curled around her form like wisps of smoke, and she disappeared, leaving Stolas and the turtle-duck at the grand estate.

‘We are fucked if we became this sentimental’ Sukuna stated with sigh.

Dazai shrugged ‘I’m pretty sure it’s just with kids… besides, you, Tomura and I have no room to talk, this time it seems is only with Stolas and our one and only entity itself, the universe.”

“I don’t know why you are all acting surprise of this… have you people forgotten that three of you already went around adopting kids?” Azula pointed out while crossing her arms and letting out a snort.

Light nodded in agreement “Tomura was the first one to basically adopt a kid… or have we forgotten about how Katsuki followed her around and basically replaced Aizawa’s original role and took him as her student.”

“That is not the same thing, there was only four years of difference between us, I was like an older sister to him and mentor instead of a mother. You can’t also use Ryunosuke and Atsushi for Osamu, there was also only four years of difference and while they followed her around like ducklings… it was also a mentor-student relationship or older sister taking care of her younger brothers” Tomura replied defending her circumstances.

“If anything we should be blaming Sukuna, she is the one that actually ended up adopting a kid… Yuji was fifteen years old while she was over a thousand years… there is no excuse of that, Sukuna was a perfect adult, not to mention Yuji called her mom after the canon events of the story” Amelia added with a smirk “Thanks, Queen of Curses” she then squealed when the sorcerer lunged at her to throw her around.

‘Actually, if we think about with Alastor, it won’t be just them, she’s probably going to actually adopt Charlotte since she has the same issues as Stolas” Dazai playfully added while watching Sukuna lift Amelia on the air and threw her towards Light.

‘Silence’ Alastor hissed sharply.

The rest of the personalities silently agreed with Dazai after hearing Alastor’s response.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER SEVEN | SEVEN YEARS DID SHE HAD TO DO THE SAME?

It was January 2017.

This was the year the original Alastor vanished—a seven-year mystery shrouding his disappearance. But unlike the original Alastor, she had no reason to disappear—not yet, anyway. She wasn’t bound to anyone, and...

…VOXJAMES wouldn’t dare attempt anything foolish if he valued his survival.

She should have seen it coming, though. The moment she learned he was spending time with Valentino; it should have been obvious. That moth was poisoning his mind.

Back in 2010, the fool had stormed into her office, visibly nervous but determined. With trembling resolve, he announced he no longer wanted to be her secretary. He’d learned everything he needed, he claimed, and was ready to step up as her equal. His ambitious proposition? Business partners. He would handle television’s influence and decision-making, while she managed everything else.

HA. No...

Then the idiot confessed his love again—this time, with a demanding, forceful edge. She could smell the pheromones radiating from his body, a toxic concoction meant to make her more susceptible to him. She felt it working, her body betraying her with unfamiliar sensations. That was all she needed to confirm it: she had been betrayed. BLOCKED.

She laughed in his face. BLOCKED.

That only fueled his anger. The fool dared to attack her, his cords crackling with electricity. Did he forget she could shut off his power with barely a thought? He was salivating now, spewing vile, explicit threats about what he wanted to do to her body. BLOCKED. REDACTED.

Great. Now there was the added threat of rape. BLOCKED BLOCKED BLOCKED BLOCKED BLOCKED BLOCKED.

Just as she prepared to dispose of him, the moth burst into her office. He snatched the television sinner away with his wings, moving faster than she could react. But not before throwing a molotov cocktail straight at her face. REDACTED.

The nerve.

Velvette was helping them. That much was clear. The moth wasn’t smart enough to craft a proper bomb. If it had been a vodka bottle with a flaming handkerchief stuffed in the neck, she might have believed it was his handiwork. But no—this was Velvette’s doing. That little demoness was the brains behind it. BLOCKED. REDACTED.

The three of them vanished. Not that she cared enough to search for them—there were far more pressing matters at hand. After all, their attack had coincided with the extermination day. They resurfaced two years later, flaunting their ventures in fashion and that ridiculous expanse in porn industry. The temptation to vaporize them was strong, but Rosie, Carmilla, and Zestial persuaded her otherwise. The bastards had already amassed a following of sinners, some of whom were genuine employees.

Alastor prided herself on fairness in her dealings and maintained a strict code of conduct with workers. Unless someone personally offended her, she treated them with decency. Eliminating the trio would tarnish her reputation—it wasn’t the employees’ fault, after all. Many were coerced into servitude. So, she let them be.

Their paths only crossed during the most critical Overlord meetings. In those moments, she wore her signature cold, sharp smile, betraying no emotion. Politeness sufficed for the time being. But once the canonical events of season one concluded, everything could change. If her relationship with Charlotte flourished, she could compel the employees and souls under the Vee’s influence to relocate to her hotel. With them out of the way, she would finally have the opportunity to destroy all three of them.

Back in the nineties, Mammon's inability to secure his own survival proved fortuitous. Desperate, he pleaded with the other Sins for aid. They requested a meeting with her, eventually consenting to return Greed their wireless communication medium on one condition: a collective favor. It wasn’t a favor from each of them individually, but one that required the unified effort of all. She knew such a favor could only be fulfilled through collaboration. Over the years, her influence grew exponentially, bolstered by the advent of the internet and cellphones.

Yet, one detail continued to bother her—the conspicuous absence of Lucifer, Lilith, and Charlie from her life. Nearly ninety years had passed without a single encounter. It felt as though an external force was at play, deliberately preventing their paths from crossing until some unknown "right time." Seeking answers, she posed the question to her childlike universe. Its response? A dismissive shrug. That stubborn child knew something.

The upcoming extermination loomed, set to occur the following week. A decade ago, she had organized an initiative among the Overlords, urging each to construct bunkers within their territories. These bunkers held the capacity to protect at least one hundred sinners during exterminations, successfully reducing the annual loss of souls. But the angels were none the wiser, their attention diverted by the ever-growing number of souls flooding Hell. As far as they were concerned, the numbers appeared normal. The angels’ observation was limited to the visible population during exterminations—always smaller than the total. If they believed the population remained stagnant or declined, it ensured their complacency. And she relied on that complacency. She didn’t need those meddlesome winged pests disrupting her efforts to perfect the structure of her city.

***

“May I come in, Mother?”

Ah, yes—Stolas. Somehow, that little owl had managed to burrow his way into her cold, unyielding heart. Now twenty-eight years old and taller than her, he exuded an aura of happiness that Paimon had so desperately desired. If the father had schemed to attach her to his son, it was safe to say he’d succeeded. Paimon never missed an opportunity to boast about it. Still, that led to the sticky matter of Stolas’ arranged marriage, a situation she had vehemently refused to allow. She had forced Paimon to break the arrangement, ensuring Stolas never wed. While this meant Octavia was never born—a reality that might seem tragic to some—Alastor felt no regret. Her connection was to the Stolas standing before her now, not to what he might have become in another timeline.

Stolas had embraced his role as Prince of Ars Goetia with unwavering dedication, mirroring her own steadfastness in his pursuits. He was resolute, firm, and principled—qualities she admired. And then there were his ambitions, revealed during his younger years when he confided that he wished to become a notary. His fascination with pacts and deals blossomed into a passion for ensuring their authenticity. As a certified overseer of agreements, he excelled at spotting loopholes, especially in contracts he deemed unfair. It was an occupation perfectly suited to his meticulous and clever nature.

“Of course, Stolas. Come in” she answered.

The door creaked open, revealing Stolas as he stepped inside. Perched comfortably atop his head was Zuko, his feathered companion. The sight tugged at her, evoking a rare and genuine smile.

“Good evening, Mother” he greeted warmly, his tone respectful, while Zuko chirped alongside him, bobbing his head in acknowledgment.

“And to you too, Zuko” she replied, her usual sharp smile softening ever so slightly for the tiny creature. Her gaze returned to Stolas, observing him with a mix of curiosity and care “What brings you here today, Stolas?”

Stolas carefully placed the stack of documents on the desk before her “I have some deals that require your signature. I’ve overseen them thoroughly and ensured they are safe for you to sign.”

Alastor took her time reviewing the papers, her sharp eyes catching every detail. She trusted Stolas implicitly; he had learned from her how to discern subtleties and loopholes within contracts “Thank you, Stolas” she said, picking up her pen “It’s always reassuring to know these matters are in such capable hands” as she began signing the documents, Zuko fluttered down from Stolas’ head to perch on the desk, curiously observing the process. The tiny creature waddled toward her free hand, gently pecking at her skin.

“Aren’t you a gluttonous thing?” she teased, amused while caressing his head with her finger “You only ask for my attention when you want me to feed you” Zuko seemed almost bashful, closing his eyes as he enjoyed her touch. When he sensed her magic at work, he began running in circles. A small bowl of meat appeared beside him, and he lunged at it eagerly, devouring its contents.

“Who knew he’d develop a taste for human flesh?” Alastor remarked, her tone laced with amusement as she continued signing. She chuckled at Stolas’ expression of disgust.

“I don’t know how you two can enjoy the taste of it” he replied, staring at his small friend, who was nearly choking on the meat.

Alastor snorted “I don’t want to hear that from the boy who made me cook rats stuffed with chilies for an entire week.”

Stolas pouted, sinking into the chair across from her desk and resting his chin on its surface “That’s different” he muttered, knowing full well it wasn’t “Besides… anything you make is delicious. You made me one dish with human meat once—it was fine. But then I tried another in Cannibal Town, and it tasted awful. The blood made me want to throw up. I was traumatized after that. Auntie Rosie never forgave me for it.”

Alastor rolled her eyes, her grin widening as she mockingly patted his head “My poor boy. There, there” Stolas only replied with a lazy smile.

Once she finished signing the documents, she turned her attention to him “Don’t forget—next week is the extermination. I don’t want you in the ring.”

“‘I want you safe at Wrath or Lust. Don’t come to Pride unless I call you…’ Yes, Mother, I know the drill. It’s not like you’ve been telling me this for over a decade” Stolas replied, continuing the words he knew she would say “And you also know I’m powerful enough now to defend myself against the exorcists. Having me here would be a big help.”

“Maybe” she retorted with a sharp grin “But I’m a very selfish person. Your safety is more important to me than the safety of the sinners” she rested her elbows on the desk, interlocking her fingers and propping her chin atop them “Now, changing the subject… how are things going with Blitzo?”

Another thing she had changed was her involvement in Blitzo’s life. She made sure to visit the circus with him, to be present during Blitzo’s visit to the palace and during the circus fire—events that forged a friendship between the two at a young age, eventually leading to their romantic relationship. It took until they were twenty-five for them to realize they loved each other, but as long as things were going smoothly, the timing didn’t matter to her. Alastor had also saved Blitzo’s mother during the fire and when he was eighteen. She had fallen gravely ill and likely would have passed within a year. Her decision to intervene wasn’t out of kindness. Blitzo knew that despite his close bond as best friends with Stolas, her aid would come with conditions. Desperate, Blitzo had asked for a deal, offering her anything in return. Alastor didn’t demand much; she merely stated that whatever business he established in the future, ten percent of its earnings would belong to her. Confused but hopeful, Blitzo accepted.

Years later, at the age of twenty-six—eight years earlier than the original timeline—Blitzo founded ‘Immediate Murder Professionals,’ and dutifully began honoring his side of the agreement.

Stolas turned crimson; his embarrassment evident as he hid his face behind his hands “We’re doing well… we’ll be celebrating our three-year anniversary at the Envy ring. He got tickets for a spa day and booked us a hotel near the beach” he said, his voice filled with excitement. He let out a small hoot, recalling the moment fondly “He’s so sweet with me, Mother. You should’ve seen him—he was a stuttering mess when he gave me the tickets. He had so much trouble expressing himself that he went to his mother for advice! It was adorable.”

Alastor nodded as she absently stroked Zuko, who had fallen asleep after his hearty meal “Then I hope you have fun, my dear” she said warmly.

The silence stretched between them, heavy yet calm, until Alastor broke it, her crimson gaze flickering toward Stolas. Her tone remained smooth and measured as she asked “Stolas… if, for some reason, I had to leave and disappear for a time, how do you think Pride would fare?”

Stolas straightened his posture, his gaze sharp and questioning “What kind of question is that?” he asked, his tone controlled but carrying an undercurrent of unease “You’re not planning on leaving, are you? Why would you need to leave, Mother?”

Alastor let out a soft sigh, her expression calm as she reached out to pat his hand in a rare gesture of reassurance “Relax, my dear,” she said smoothly “It’s merely a hypothetical question. I have no plans to leave.”

Even as she spoke, a flicker of doubt crossed her mind. Though she had no intention of disappearing as the original Alastor once had, the possibility lingered. It was a thought she wasn’t prepared to confront just yet.

“You know how I like to consider all possibilities, no matter how unlikely” she added, her signature sharp grin in place, though it carried a faint undertone of reassurance.

Stolas tilted his head slightly, scrutinizing her with his calculating eyes “I don’t fully believe you” he muttered, his tone filled with careful suspicion “You wouldn’t ask something like that without reason. Pride wouldn’t fare well without you, and we both know it.”

Alastor gave his hand a firmer squeeze, her eyes softening marginally “I promise you, I’m not planning anything like that” she said firmly “Your safety and Pride’s well-being remain among my top priorities, Stolas.”

Still, Stolas pressed, his tone slightly more commanding “If this is truly hypothetical, then humor me—what hypothetical reason could possibly make you leave?”

Alastor’s grin widened ever so slightly, her voice taking on a deliberately vague quality “Perhaps… Heaven” she mused, her tone lilting with intrigue “One never knows what those celestial beings might concoct. It’s always wise to anticipate every possibility, no matter how remote.”

Stolas’ eyes narrowed, but he eventually nodded, though his reluctance was evident “I’ll take you at your word for now” he murmured, his voice quieter but still laced with concern “Just know that your absence would leave a void that no one could ever fill.”

Alastor’s smile softened faintly, and she squeezed his hand once more “I understand, Stolas” she replied, her tone warm yet steady “And I assure you, I have no intention of leaving.”

With a deliberate change in tone, she clapped her hands gently, careful not to disturb the sleeping Zuko “Now, enough of these dreary thoughts. Tell me more about your anniversary plans with Blitzo.”

The mention of Blitzo brought a spark of light to Stolas’ eyes. His earlier worries dissipated as he began animatedly describing the details of their upcoming celebration, his voice filled with eager enthusiasm.

***

The day before the extermination, Alastor had taken on the tedious task of inspecting the security of all the bunkers under the Overlords’ control. These checks were essential to ensure that every corner of the city was fortified and ready for the dangerous event. While the work was monotonous and exhausting, Alastor approached it with her usual meticulousness, fully aware that their survival depended on her efforts.

With the list of bunkers in hand, she moved methodically from one location to another, her sharp eyes scrutinizing every detail and her mind silently cataloging every flaw. She had intentionally saved the last visit for Rosie, her dear friend, who always had a way of making even the most mundane tasks more enjoyable—except, of course, when she tried her hand at matchmaking.

Rosie greeted her with her characteristic vibrancy, her voice light and teasing as she began her usual routine “My dear Alastor” she cooed, leaning forward slightly “Imagine a life where you could share it with someone who matches your power and wit.”

Alastor responded with her trademark curt smile, shaking her head in dismissal “Power is best maintained when not divided, Rosie. Besides, I have yet to meet anyone worthy.”

Rosie’s eyes lit up as she clapped her hands, clearly pleased by this revelation “Finally” she exclaimed, her tone triumphant “So there is a chance! At first, I thought you were aromantic and asexual, but now I see you’re only asexual. You do have some interest in being in a romantic relationship.”

Alastor sighed inwardly, realizing she had unwittingly encouraged Rosie’s relentless pursuits “I have very high standards, Rosie. I very much doubt any man in Hell can match them” she replied, her tone calm but firm.

Rosie, undeterred, grinned brightly, clearly taking Alastor’s words as a challenge “Well, my dear, no matter how much time it takes, I will find a man perfect for you—someone who can match your wit… maybe… don’t expect much in the power area.”

Alastor couldn’t help but chuckle softly, her sharp grin tinged with amusement “Good luck with that” she said, shaking her head slightly “But don’t be disappointed if you fail.”

Rosie’s eyes softened as her demeanor shifted. She placed a gentle hand on Alastor’s arm and spoke with genuine affection “You know, Alastor, I believe you deserve love more than anyone else in Hell. You’ve done so much good since you arrived here. You’ve kept peace among the Overlords and made this place more bearable for so many souls.”

Alastor arched a single brow, her curiosity piqued by Rosie’s perspective “Good? Rosie, you must be the only one who sees me in that light. Most would disagree, seeing me only as a ruthless monster.”

Rosie shook her head with conviction, her touch steady on Alastor’s arm “People often fail to see the bigger picture. Yes, you’re ruthless, but you’re fair. You have rules, and you enforce them strictly—but it’s that very order that has brought stability to this realm. Imagine Hell without your influence… it would be chaos” she said with a wry chuckle “And not the good kind.”

Alastor chuckled softly in return, her expression thoughtful “Perhaps you’re right” she mused “Hell’s own paradox—enforcing order in a realm of chaos.”

Leaning closer, Rosie’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper “And that, dear Alastor, is why you deserve someone to share that burden with—someone who can appreciate the complexities of your nature.”

Alastor sighed deeply, her sharp grin softening ever so slightly. She considered her friend’s words, though her tone remained calm and measured “Maybe, Rosie. But finding such a person in Hell seems an impossible task.”

Rosie clapped her hands again, her determination unshaken “Impossible tasks concerning love are my specialty, dear. Just you wait.”

As Alastor watched Rosie’s unwavering resolve, she couldn’t help but think that the original Alastor had been absolutely right in choosing Rosie as his friend.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER EIGHT | SCREW CANON LET’S KILL SOME ANGELS

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Those miserable bastards. They were foolish enough to attack her—but, of course, they didn’t have the guts to face her themselves. Instead, they hired Striker to do their dirty work. She could’ve dealt with him in an instant if it weren’t for the timing. The extermination had just begun, and her office—perched at the top of her building—had exploded. What a waste. The repairs were going to be such a pain.

Now, she stood amidst the rubble, her senses sharp. A group of exorcists was closing in, drawn by the explosion. She kept her focus on Striker, who was likely hiding, waiting for the perfect moment to snipe her—not that it would make a difference. Then she noticed it: a floating camera, broadcasting her every move. That damn television. She was about to destroy it when she realized it was live. The entirety of hell was watching.

Fine, fine, fine.

FUCK IT, FUCK IT, FUCK IT

Sukuna let out a maniacal laugh inside of her.

Screw canon.

Fine. If they wanted a show, she’d give them one. Just this once, she’d let go. She’d drop the façade, and everyone in hell would witness it.

Alastor let out a cruel chuckle as her neck snapped, twisting her head a full one hundred and eighty degrees “I see you” she sang, her voice dripping with malice as her gaze locked onto Striker’s hiding spot. In an instant, she vanished, reappearing right in front of him. Her claws sliced through his gun effortlessly, reducing it to shards. With her other hand, she seized him by the neck and returned to her original position, lifting the assassin like a trophy.

“I have no time for a pathetic little imp like you” she sneered, her tone laced with cruelty “You should have stayed back in Wrath. I’ve never eaten shark before as a human—shame you have a bit of serpent in you… I quite like them” her mouth stretched wide, revealing rows of razor-sharp teeth.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck” the hybrid imp muttered trying to desperately get out of her grip. He had pulled his knife and tried to stab her, but she simply grabbed the knife and turned it into ash. He shouted in pain when his arm was ripped off, she threw it aside and continued to do the same with the other arm and both of his legs. He was throwing up blood and choking, his eyes fluttered, opening and closing. He let out a choking scream when he saw her mouth open wider and wider until she looked like an absolute monster.

She ate his face off. She had taken a bite of half of his face… his eyes, nose and mouth were gone along with parts of his cheeks, nothing more than his skull showing. She dropped what was left of his body on the ground and while the blood dripped down her mouth making a mess of her clothes, she grinned at the camera.

“I hope you are all watching” Alastor declared, her voice resonating like a song carried by the wind. With a dramatic flourish, she spread her arms wide, summoning her cane into existence. The familiar glow of vibrant green energy enveloped her form, crackling with power as she pointed her cane toward the sky.

“Enjoy the show” she whispered, her grin sharp enough to slice through the tension hanging in the air.

From the tip of her cane erupted a ray of green light, shooting skyward with dazzling intensity. It expanded as it rose, pulsating and spreading outward like ripples on a pond. The light engulfed the city in an intricate web of radiant energy, forming a dome-like shield that shimmered ominously in the dim atmosphere.

Unlike the original Alastor, whose protective barriers had been confined to the hotel, she had cast her reach far wider. Her shield now covered the entirety of the city, leaving nothing unguarded.

***

“What the fuck is this?”

The first man exclaimed, flying just outside the barrier. He had been moments away from entering Pride when the enormous shield materialized before his eyes. He watched as his girls collided with it, their efforts to push through or break it with weapons proving utterly futile.

“It appears to be some kind of shield, sir” Lute offered.

Adam groaned, rolling his eyes at her response “Oh, really? I didn’t notice this giant fucking shield in front of me, you dumb bitch” he snapped “No shit” with a flick of his wrist, his guitar appeared in his hands. He launched an attack on the shield, his arrogant grin fading as the barrier remained unscathed, not even flickering under the force of his strike “What?” he muttered, disbelief etched across his face.

***

Back with Alastor, the exorcists she had sensed earlier were now closing in, forming a tight circle around her. Seven of them, ready to strike. Calmly, Alastor made her cane vanish and shrugged off her coat, revealing a red button-up shirt and a black corset underneath. She felt a flicker of relief—today, she had chosen black pants instead of a skirt. Practicality mattered in moments like this.

“Alright” she said, her voice dripping with menace “Which one of you ladies would like to die by my hand first?”

She felt compelled to note that she truly believed they were foolish enough to confront her individually; however, she had to acknowledge that all seven of them had charged at her simultaneously. Alastor sprinted toward the nearest opponent, leaping over her after seizing the exorcist by her wings and forcefully slamming her to the ground, causing her to gasp in agony from the sensation of a fractured wing. Swiftly moving to the next adversary, Alastor delivered a kick powerful enough to shatter the exorcist's legs, prompting a scream as she collapsed, desperately flapping her wings to prevent a hard landing. Like a cat, she lunged at the third exorcist, seizing her spear with a grin. With a laugh, she headbutted the exorcist, shattering the protective mask she wore. In a fit of ecstasy and hunger, she opened her mouth and viciously bit into the exorcist's neck, tearing her head from her shoulders. The remaining four exorcists froze in shock at the sight of one of their own being killed.

Alastor, with her mouth and chest smeared with a blend of red and golden blood, flashed a cruel grin at her adversaries. She playfully tossed the severed head of the angel in her grasp towards another angel, with enough force striking her in the stomach. The impact caused the angel to gasp, nearly choking from the sudden pain and lack of breath. Meanwhile, the other three angels were momentarily distracted by the exorcist, failing to notice Alastor as she swiftly leaped onto the shoulders of the nearest angel. Gripping the back of her head, Alastor tilted her chin upward, exposing her neck, and with a swift motion of her hand, she decapitated the exorcist.

The remaining two exorcist were now carrying the angel that had been hit with the head, their faces filled with dread as they gazed the Radio Demon “Oh… dearies… you should be relieved… You will have quick deaths unlike the first two… I’m going to be having a feast with them later…”

In a fit of rage, one of the exorcists raised her spear, prompting her sister to urgently call for her to stop. Alastor merely smiled, and without any physical effort, a vertical slash appeared. The exorcist found herself frozen, spear raised, as she was cleaved in two, her body severed from the top of her head down to her legs.

The two remaining exorcists shouted in horror watching their sister’s body fall apart on the ground. They turned to look at their other sisters: one now unconscious on the ground with her wings broken while the other one bled profusely from her shattered legs.

“Please” one of them cried out hugging her sister.

Alastor let out a loud laugh “Please? Don’t be stupid… How many sinners did you heard over your lives asking you for mercy before you killed them?” they were both shaking, one closed her eyes knowing it was in vain while the other was staring at Alastor with so much fear “We are in hell… there is no mercy to offer if you are not willing to give it either.”

“Amaterasu.”

The two angels screamed in agony as dark flames engulfed their bodies, consuming them alive. The scent of charred flesh wafted into her nostrils, eliciting a smile at the enticing aroma. She observed as their skin disintegrated, revealing their skeletons, which gradually began to turn to dust. With a wave of her hand, she extinguished the flames and approached the dying exorcists. A snap of her fingers summoned her shadowy minions "Transport the bodies to my basement... Niffty will know how to preserve them and ensure they remain fresh for my return."

The imps lifted their bodies silently, vanishing into the shadows. Her gaze shifted to the camera, still dutifully recording her every move. She hadn’t seen hell’s reaction yet, but she knew one thing—her performance wasn’t over “I hope you’re all prepared for my final act of the day” she said with a sly chuckle, lifting her head to seek out the first man “Let’s see… just a small taste.”

***

Adam shouted obscenities, slamming his guitar against the shield before switching to his fists in frustration. He froze when the barrier opened slightly, just enough for a massive black tentacle to emerge. It coiled around his waist and yanked him inside, the opening sealing shut behind him, leaving the other exorcists stranded outside.

“Shit, shit, what the fuck is this?... I’m not into this stuff!” Adam spat, his voice laced with panic. He landed hard on the rubble but quickly scrambled to his feet, his eyes darting around as he took in his surroundings.

He froze. They were dead—his girls, mutilated and scattered across the ground. At the center of the carnage stood a red-haired demoness, her grin wild and wicked, angel blood dripping from her mouth and claws.

“Adam, first man, next to die” she said playfully, her tone almost sing-song as she casually cleaned her claws.

“Who the fuck are you?! How the fuck—” he began, but the sinner cut him off.

“Alastor” she introduced herself with a mock bow “Pleasure to be meeting you, quite a pleasure. I just ended the lives of your girls over here” she waved a hand toward the remains, her grin widening “They were quite tasteful, I must admit. Now, I wonder…” her eyes gleamed with curiosity “Will you taste even better than them?”

In a fit of fury, Adam called upon his guitar and charged toward her. She remained motionless as he approached, but just before he could make contact, she arched her body backward, allowing him to soar over her. In a swift motion, her hand seized his ankle, her claws piercing his skin and drawing golden blood, eliciting a grunt from him. With considerable strength, she hurled him back toward the debris of her building. Upon impact with the crumbling wall, the structure gave way, collapsing onto him.

“You really don’t know how to fight, huh?” she remarked, her tone dripping with disappointment “Eons of existence, and you never learned a single way to properly fight or defend yourself… what a waste. How am I supposed to enjoy this if you make it so easy?”

Adam coughed, spitting dirt as he struggled to his feet “And you’re…” he began, but the words faltered “Fuck—fuck you… you red piece of—too much fucking red… fuck… shut up!” he shouted, his frustration spilling out as he threw reckless punches at her. Alastor dodged them effortlessly, her movements bored and unflinching.

“Ha ha ha. Poetry” she replied, her mocking tone cutting through his rage.

Adam flew back, putting distance between them. Hovering a few meters in the air, he swung his guitar with a wild flourish "I'm going to wipe that shit-eating grin off your face, 'CAUSE RADIO IS FUCKING DEAD!" he roared, unleashing a shockwave of holy power in her direction.

Alastor conjured a shield, the barrier absorbing the brunt of his attack. With a forceful push, she sent the beam of power hurtling back at him. Adam faltered, his wings flapping erratically as he struggled to regain control.

"YOU BITCH!" he spat, his voice cracking with frustration "It was you—you made that fucking shield!" sweat dripped down his face as panic began to creep in. He was running out of ideas, out of options "I thought that fucker—"

"I will correct you immediately on that, my dear" she interrupted, her tone sharp and unyielding "That useless king hasn’t made an appearance in centuries. Don’t you dare give him even a shred of credit for this. I am responsible for all of it. I will not allow anyone else to take responsibility for my actions. Thank you."

With a deliberate motion, she pushed her hair back, keeping it from falling into her eyes. Her voice softened, but her words carried weight "You could even say that Hell has a new protector" she chose her phrasing carefully—'protector,' not 'ruler.' The distinction mattered. It was the image she wanted the citizens to see.

Adam’s mind reeled. How could a mere sinner overpower him so effortlessly? His thoughts raced back to countless exterminations, yet here he was—bested by this woman. His pride stung as deeply as his wounds, and a visceral fury surged through him "How the fuck is this possible?" he snarled, his voice trembling with rage and disbelief "A woman... a mere sinner?" he spat the words like venom "You? A fucking bitch like you?"

Alastor's eyes narrowed; her amusement was replaced by a dangerous glint "Careful, Adam" she warned, her voice low and menacing "Your misogynistic insults only further prove your ignorance and weakness."

Adam's anger flared, blinding him to the pain "Shut the fuck up. You're nothing but a fucking whore trying to play king” he chuckled darkly “You think you can take his place and challenge Heaven? You're delusional."

Alastor stepped closer, her presence oppressive and intimidating "And yet, here you are, groveling at my feet. What does that make you, Adam? Pathetic."

Adam's face contorted with hatred “Don’t you know your fucking place?... you are supposed to be below me… fucking bitch!” Adam spat lifting his hand to this time charge up a huge blast of angelic light but before he could even finish.

“My dear…” she didn’t finish as her eyes flicked over his shoulder.

“I’m above you in every sense of the word” Adam stood frozen, his heart racing as he felt her voice whisper near his ear. He turned his gaze over his shoulder, only to find Alastor looming directly behind him. A grunt escaped his lips as blood trickled from his mouth, and he glanced down to discover a hand had pierced through his body, wedged between his arm and shoulder. In her grasp, a crackling bolt of lightning formed, producing a sound reminiscent of chirping birds, its glow illuminating his face.

“I’m not going to kill you” she whispered sweetly “You will continue to exist solely because I permit it. I want to see how long it takes for you to lick your wounds in Heaven” she stated as she heard him choke and whimper from the pain “When you are all healed up… you can come back. You can choose between challenging me on a fight again… or you can finally declare that you learnt your place. Because you, my first man… You could never stick it to the man” she taunted, fully aware that he had once envisioned saying similar words to Charlie in the future “At least… not like I can.”

She moved her hand fully severing his arm making him scream as he fell on his knees holding his wound so blood wouldn’t completely spill out. Alastor vanished the shield that was covering the city, most of the exorcists had returned to Heaven when the portal opened, except for Lute who flew straight to were Adam and Alastor were. With panic she landed next to Adam.

Lute's eyes darted between Adam's wounded figure and Alastor's calm, arrogant demeanor "Adam, what happened?" she demanded, her wings twitching with the urge to strike. Adam struggled to respond, his pain rendering him speechless. Before he could muster a word, Lute's rage ignited, and she lunged toward Alastor. But Adam, summoning what little strength remained, reached out and grabbed her arm tightly.

"Lute... please" he pleaded, his voice strained and barely audible. Her fury faltered as she met his desperate gaze "Retreat... we have to retreat" he insisted, his grip tightening despite the golden blood seeping between his fingers.

Reluctantly, Lute stepped back, her gaze locked on Alastor's face "This isn't over" she muttered, her voice low and venomous. With Adam in her grasp, she took flight, retreating as he had begged.

‘You sealed his arm’ Sasuke announced as Alastor watched them leave.

Alastor grinned “I did… I give it seven years before he can regenerate that arm properly” she snorted “Of course, if they manage to break the seal in the first place.”

The entirety of hell had witnessed the Radio Demon break canon.

She glanced down and stared at the severed arm ‘At least I will have quite a meal today’ she happily thought.

When Alastor turned around, she saw a tall blonde woman standing in the rubble staring at her with a troubled face… or at least was trying to hide that fact but the demoness could read that expression clear as the day.

Lilith was standing in front of her, and she was afraid of her.

‘Good’ they all whispered with glee.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER NINE | A ROLE MODEL SO SHE IS A BAD MOTHER

Charlie Morningstar didn’t ask for much.

She just wanted her parents to notice her, to be proud of her. Was that really too much? She was nineteen… well, almost twenty. That was a lie, of course—she was closer to two hundred. But since she didn’t age like everyone else, she’d simplified it for others. It was easier that way. Still, being the princess of Hell came with a weight she hadn’t been prepared for. It took her years to understand what was considered normal here—only to realize it was the exact opposite in Heaven. Why couldn’t the universe agree on anything?

Growing up, she loved following her father around, watching him create life itself. How incredible was that? Her dad, breathing existence into the void. And her mom—her voice could sway entire crowds of people. That was incredible too. And together… their love for each other should have been even more extraordinary. Should have been.

But it wasn’t. It never was.

By now, Charlie was old enough to see the cracks. Her mother had taken her from her father when she was young, saying he was busy. For years, Charlie believed it, until she started piecing the truth together. She remembered his face—how crushed and sad he always looked. That wasn’t what “busy” looked like.

Her mother, though, had her own way of being absent. She claimed to be working, shut away in her room or her office, but Charlie overheard things. She caught whispers. Her mother would speak softly, almost secretively, about someone.

Charlie couldn’t help wondering: if her parents had all this power, why couldn’t they fix what was broken?

She was twelve years old when she first heard the name "Alastor." The word rolled off her mother’s tongue like a curse, dripping with disdain. Back then, all she knew was that Alastor had a radio show—a show Charlie had secretly adored. She would listen to it whenever she could, captivated by its energy and charm. That was until her mother found out. The moment her mother forbade her from listening again, the radio went silent, but the name stayed with her.

She was thirteen when she started to understand why her mother feared Alastor. The name came up more often now, spat out during hushed, angry conversations. Alastor was rising to power far too quickly, Lilith would complain, gaining influence over Hell in ways that rippled through the rings. Even as a teenager, Charlie could feel the tension in those words. Alastor wasn’t just a name anymore; she was an idea, a presence that loomed.

By the time she was fourteen, Charlie had enough. Her mother was spiraling again—one of those moods where she’d lock herself in her room and lash out at anything nearby. It was unbearable. Charlie sneaked out, disguised herself, and wandered through Pride, curiosity pulling her forward like a magnet. It wasn’t hard to find the building where the infamous Radio Demon worked. What surprised her was how empty it felt. Still, Charlie wasn’t ready to give up. She decided to explore the city further, her steps leading her to a small coffee shop at the edge of the ring.

And there she was.

Alastor.

She looked exactly as Charlie had imagined from years of overheard descriptions. Poised and elegant, she sat by the window, sipping coffee and reading a newspaper as if the world outside didn’t exist. There was something mesmerizing about her, something that struck a chord deep within Charlie. She couldn’t help but see old traces of her mother in Alastor—not in their appearance, but in the way, Alastor carried herself, commanding attention without asking for it… or that’s what people used to say about her mother.

For a moment, she wondered if this was truly what her mother had once been like.

She was fifteen years old when her mother had a breakdown about the unnatural power the Radio Demon supposedly possessed. By then, Charlie had stopped listening to her mother’s tirades. Instead, she found solace outside their home—escaping to the coffee shop where she had once seen Alastor. It was a famous spot, known for being frequented by the Overlord since her arrival in Hell. Charlie would sit there, listening to Alastor’s radio show in secret, mesmerized by her captivating voice. Sometimes, Alastor would sing songs—songs Charlie had never heard before. She tried researching them, but they didn’t seem to exist anywhere. Were these her original creations? Was Alastor too shy to admit it? The thought intrigued her endlessly.

At sixteen, Charlie made a decision that felt both bold and inevitable: Alastor would be her role model. After all, who else could claim such achievements? A woman who rose to power swiftly, stabilized the Pride ring with order and control, and managed to accomplish what her parents never could. Thanks to Alastor’s influence and mastery over the media, every ring was thriving. Hellborns had unprecedented access to similar human activities, all because of her. Charlie couldn’t help but admire her; Alastor was everything she aspired to be—a symbol of power, intelligence, and transformation.

By seventeen, Charlie witnessed something unforgettable. The sky turned green, a signal of Mammon’s defiance against Alastor. The ruler of the Overlords retaliated by cutting Greed off from the other rings entirely. At first, Charlie thought the punishment was too cruel—the citizens of Greed were suffering for Mammon’s arrogance. But as weeks passed, she began to understand the impact. News spread of Greed’s citizens leaving the ring, seeking opportunities in Pride or other territories. Businesses expanded, homes improved, and for the first time, Greed’s Hellborns seemed… happier. Less consumed by their greed.

Eventually, Alastor lifted the ban, and some citizens returned while others chose to stay in their new homes. Even Mammon seemed changed—calmer, more stable. Uncle Asmodeus mentioned it in passing, but Charlie had already guessed the truth. Alastor hadn’t just disciplined a ring; she had rehabilitated it. She had tamed a Sin itself.

Wasn’t that extraordinary?

She was eighteen years old when she heard the news: Alastor had adopted Stolas, the prince of Ars Goetia, as her son. The announcement left Charlie feeling… hurt. And angry. But why? It wasn’t as if she had ever met Alastor. The Radio Demon probably didn’t even know she existed. Well… as the princess of Hell, Alastor surely knew of her. But knowing and caring weren’t the same. That thought stung more than she wanted to admit.

She hadn’t seen her mother in weeks—not that it mattered anymore.

Now, at nineteen, Charlie had just witnessed something that all of Hell was talking about. Alongside everyone else, she had watched Alastor slaughter seven angels and defeat the first man himself. Then, she created a barrier that shielded the entire ring, saving thousands of lives. How was it possible to be so effortlessly remarkable? Watching this woman achieve whatever she set her mind to filled Charlie with admiration.

Alastor protected her people—exactly what Charlie dreamed of doing one day. Alastor rehabilitated Hell’s citizens—again, exactly what Charlie wanted to achieve. And Alastor ruled Hell in her own way, commanding respect and inspiring change. Wasn’t that exactly what Charlie hoped to do in the future?

But a thought lingered, gnawing at the back of her mind: if she ever met Alastor, would the Radio Demon think her idea of opening a rehabilitation hotel was a joke? Her father did. So did her mother. What if Alastor laughed too?

No. She wouldn’t. Charlie was sure of it. Terrifying though she was, Alastor was also someone who respected those she deemed worthy. At least, that’s what Charlie had heard from those who had worked for her. Alastor seemed to admire ambition, dreams, and perseverance—qualities Charlie desperately wanted to embody.

Yes, she wanted to be just like Alastor. She was everything Charlie aspired to be: powerful, fair, and endlessly capable.

How amazing was that?

***

Lilith's heart pounded as she arrived at the scene of the massacre—the very space where Alastor had slaughtered seven angels and severed Adam’s arm. The air was thick with the scent of blood and destruction. Her mind whirled in a storm of paranoia, consumed by years of fear and hatred for the figure who seemed to have stolen everything that should have been hers. Alastor’s name had become an emblem of power and control, casting an oppressive shadow over Lilith’s ambitions.

With each step forward, Lilith’s breath grew sharper, her unease mounting as she drew closer to the Radio Demon. Alastor stood before her, drenched in blood, her lips curled into an amused grin that made Lilith’s stomach twist. The wind seemed to whisper reminders of Alastor’s dominance, each gust carrying echoes of her victories—her rise to power, her sway over hell, her command of the narrative. Each step Lilith took felt heavier, fueled by her delusion that Alastor had methodically stripped away her dreams, her identity, and her place in hell.

Finally, she was close enough to see her. Alastor stood in a disheveled state—clothing torn and stained, skin smeared with angelic blood. Yet, even in such a state, her presence remained utterly commanding. Lilith had seen Alastor before: elegant, poised, radiating an undeniable authority. And now? Now she realized that no amount of dirt or disorder could diminish her enemy’s aura. The realization stung, and it was almost too much for Lilith to bear. Her hand trembled as it curled instinctively into a fist, jealousy and fury crashing over her in relentless waves.

The ruined earth seemed to hum with unspoken tension as Alastor turned her gaze to Lilith. Their eyes locked—a moment heavy with a silent challenge, a wordless acknowledgment of Lilith’s loathing. For an instant, Lilith was paralyzed by the sheer intensity of that stare, rooted in place as the reality of her adversary pressed down upon her.

Yet, it was her paranoia and delusion that fueled her now, igniting a twisted resolve and summoning the courage to confront the demon she had loathed and feared for so long. In Lilith's mind, Alastor was the living embodiment of her failures—every ambition shattered, every dream stolen. Her hatred and desperation mingled as she found her voice, sharp and venomous.

"You’ve taken everything from me" Lilith spat, her words dripping with bitterness "You think I don’t see what you plan to do? You think you can rule hell and erase what I once was? I will not let you destroy me."

Alastor responded with an unnerving calm, her tone almost dismissive "I have taken nothing from you, Lilith. Your downfall is of your own making."

The Queen of Hell seethed, her anger bubbling over "At first, I thought you’d been sent by Heaven as a spy—because you are so unnatural" she hissed, her voice thick with accusation "But after witnessing this… What the hell are you? I can feel down my bones-"

Alastor groaned, rolling her eyes with exaggerated exasperation as she interrupted her "What is with everyone asking me the same thing over and over again?" she murmured, her lips curling into a dark chuckle "My dear, just because you’ve finally met someone above you doesn’t mean I must be some unnatural being. Sometimes, you’re simply faced with the reality of encountering someone who is… better."

Lilith’s fists clenched at her sides, her nails digging into her palms as her eyes blazed with righteous fury "I had a plan, Alastor" she said, her voice trembling with a mix of rage and desperation "A plan to escape this wretched place and seek Adam’s help to finally rid myself of you. I was going to offer him something irresistible—the extension of the exterminations. He would have agreed. He would have helped me reclaim my rightful place, to restore the order you’ve disrupted."

Alastor's laughter echoed through the air, rich with condescension and mockery "You were with that man and still thought Adam could be of actual help?" she sneered, her voice dripping with disdain "That he would betray Heaven’s principles for your selfish desires and come out on top? You’re more deluded than I gave you credit for, my dear."

Lilith bristled at the insult but refused to waver. Her voice steadied, laced with venomous determination "You underestimate the lengths to which I would go to see you fall" she shot back, her eyes blazing "Adam knows his power, and now, thanks to the chaos you’ve unleashed, he knows yours. Your massacre only strengthens my cause—he will see reason. He will side with me. He will help me reclaim what’s mine."

Alastor's amused expression shifted, her gaze turning sharp and unrelenting "Your desperation is pathetic, Lilith" she said coldly "Your schemes are destined to fail. Your time is over. You will not defeat me, because I will become the true ruler of Hell" her words carried the weight of inevitability, each syllable striking like a hammer blow.

Lilith’s composure faltered, her thoughts spiraling into a torrent of resentment and despair. Her words turned bitter, almost frantic, as she began to voice her long-festering grievances "Charlie was supposed to be my salvation" she spat, the fury in her tone growing with every word "I shaped her, molded her to become the light I needed, the weapon that would destroy you. But no—she has failed me" Lilith’s voice cracked with rage and frustration "She admires you, Alastor. That blind admiration has turned her into nothing but a disappointment, a disgrace. She’s weak, pathetic, and incapable of living up to the legacy I designed for her."

Her hands trembled, fists clenched as her fury boiled over. Every word she spat at Alastor felt like an attempt to claw back some semblance of power from the woman who had unraveled her carefully laid plans.

‘She sounds like Ozai’ Azula murmured as the rest of the personalities were hearing this as well.

Alastor’s eyes narrowed, her expression hardening as a flicker of disgust crossed her face "Your bitterness toward your own daughter only solidifies the monstrous nature within you, Lilith" she said, her voice cutting like a blade "You’ve lost everything—not because of me, but because of the venom that festers in your soul. Charlie’s admiration for me is proof of her strength—and a damning indictment of your failure as a mother. Your words expose your true colors: an awful mother and a pitiful ruler."

Lilith’s rage burned hotter, her voice dripping with contempt as she replied "But I will rectify it… I will rectify everything… I know how" her lips curled into a hateful smile as her gaze bore into Alastor "Enjoy it while it lasts, Alastor. When I return, you will be nothing more than a bad dream to everyone in hell."

And with that, the Queen of Hell vanished, her presence fading as if she had never been there at all. The air crackled in her absence, leaving Alastor standing alone amidst the ruins—unchanged, unmoved, and unimpressed.

‘I guess, Lilith wasn’t a girl’s girl” Amelia added shaking her head with disappointment.

Alastor closed her eyes with annoyance as well as the other personalities ‘Get out, Amelia’ she heard Tomura told her with a sigh.

Unbeknownst to both, Alastor and Lilith, the universe had been watching this interaction the entire time. They watched with mixed feelings as their mother never once noticed the other entity also observing them… Red Light was not aware yet, while she could hear them it did not mean she could feel and see HIM. Red Light had not seen the golden mist surrounding the first woman’s head. And they dreaded the day their mother would become aware because it would mean… Something worse than suffering itself.

***

“Rosie, for hell’s sake, don’t make me watch the news. I can already guess their reactions” Alastor groaned, letting herself sink into the plush cushions of Rosie’s couch. Her movements were deliberately exaggerated, a mock display of exhaustion. In front of them, two plates sat steaming—new dishes Alastor had prepared using the meat of the exorcists she’d captured. She couldn’t help but feel a certain pride in her culinary creativity, even if her companion didn’t share her enthusiasm for theatrics.

“Oh, but you’re wrong, my pessimistic friend” Rosie replied, her tone dripping with amusement as she reached for the remote. The Cannibal Overlord switched on the television with a flourish, her grin widening in anticipation “I don’t think you have the faintest clue what their reactions are going to be.”

Two red imps appeared on the screen “Good evening, citizens of Hell” the first anchor, named Betty, spoke “In an unprecedented turn of events, we bring you live coverage of a shocking and heroic act by none other than Alastor, the Radio Demon. As we know, hours ago, Alastor single-handedly killed seven angels and injured the first man, saving countless lives with her powerful shield. The entire incident was captured live, leaving the entire realm of Hell in awe.”

Lennie, the second anchor, continued “That's right, Betty. The initial reaction from the citizens has been one of sheer disbelief and astonishment; seven angels, beings of divine power, were vanquished by Alastor, an act many thought impossible, this event has certainly shaken the very foundations of our society.”

“Indeed, Lennie. The streets of Hell are abuzz with whispers of awe and shock from the reports and interviews we managed to get in so little time. To see angels, our long-time adversaries, fall at the hands of one of our own is a sight beyond any expectation, it is a testament to Alastor's unmatched strength and determination” Betty said with a big smile.

“As the broadcast continued, admiration for Alastor began to bloom… watching our very own Overlord fight has confirmed something, she is no longer just a contender in the struggle for dominance, Alastor has become a beacon of strength and defiance, her actions have proven to be more than just personal glory; they have had a profound impact on the very fabric of Hell. The respect for Alastor is growing, and her name is being spoken with newfound reverence” Lennie voiced over as many images of various citizens were celebrating the event.

“Absolutely, Lennie. The gratitude of the citizens is palpable, Alastor's shield saved countless lives, and in a place where self-preservation often takes precedence, such a selfless act has not gone unnoticed” Betty’s voice was heard and they proceeded to show videos of some citizens painting themselves red and black, waving around signs of appreciation towards her “Many are now seeing Alastor not just as a powerful entity but as a protector and leader, honestly, Lennie… they should just crown her” she playfully said elbowing her partner making him laugh “Loyalty to her cause is surging, with some even swearing fealty to her, ready to follow her into any battle.”

Oh… great that’s what she needed… more unstable fans.

Lennie lost his smile for a moment to speak “However, not all is positive. Fear and uncertainty lingers in the shadows, Alastor's actions have undoubtedly stirred the celestial forces, and many are wondering what retribution might follow, after all, we are all aware the balance of power in Hell is delicate, and such an audacious act is bound to have repercussions” it showed some images of citizens that were Hellborn leaving the ring while some sinners looked worried “Whispers of impending doom are spreading, with some preparing for the worst.”

“But we can’t deny that the live broadcast of these events has had a profound impact on Hell's society” Betty continued “Alastor's deeds are now the topic of every conversation, we already knew she was changing the social hierarchy, with Alastor rising to a position of unprecedented influence and power. Her actions have not only demonstrated her strength but have united the citizens in a way that has not been seen for centuries” Betty then pointed to herself “After all, when have you ever seen an ex-citizen of Wrath” she then pointed at Lennie “And an ex-citizen of Greed broadcast the news in Pride. Not to mention the increase of citizens. Decades ago, the population of Pride consisted in ninety five percent of Sinners while the other five was of Hellborns; as the population of today consists of seventy percent of Sinners while the other thirty is of Hellborns” she then chuckled “But there is no need to worry… after all, the number of permanent deaths has also decreased… so don’t go around believing the Sinners are being wipe out… no… our population simply is expanding.”

Lennie decided to finish their report “In conclusion, the citizens' reactions range from shock and awe to admiration, gratitude, and even fear. Alastor's actions have undeniably altered the course of Hell's history, marking the beginning of a new chapter where her influence and power will shape the very essence of our little hell.”

Betty smiled brightly at the camera “Stay tuned for more updates on this developing story. This is Hell News Network, bringing you the latest from the depths of the underworld.”

Rosie turned toward Alastor, her grin as wide as ever, the television remote still in hand. Alastor sighed, noting the mischievous glint in Rosie’s eyes as she switched the screen off "You know, Rosie" Alastor began, her voice laced with sarcasm "When I tasked you with interviewing Katie and Tom’s replacements, I didn’t suggest you hire a couple of sycophants."

Rosie huffed, dismissively waving her hand as though shooing away Alastor’s complaint "Nonsense, darling. Not once did I ever hear a lie spoken by those two" she replied with exaggerated playfulness. She leaned over, giving Alastor’s arm a fond pat before slyly adding "Now… when is your crowning as Queen of Hell?"

Alastor groaned dramatically, covering her face with her hand as if shielding herself from Rosie’s teasing "A lot of people will have a field day with that broadcast…" she muttered, her voice tinged with resignation.

Rosie merely shrugged, unbothered by Alastor’s reaction "It’s alright" she said, her tone casual yet teasing "Though, I must say, you’re not making it any easier for me to find you a man who’s capable of standing next to you after all this" she pouted, crossing her arms in mock frustration.

Alastor’s static buzzed faintly, a signal of her growing irritation "Stop" she commanded, her voice sharp enough to cut through Rosie’s antics.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TEN | ALASTOR IS GONE IT’S TIME TO PANIC

Alastor wasn’t at her office.

Alastor wasn’t at her home.

Alastor wasn’t anywhere.

The air in Hell felt heavier than ever as whispers of Alastor's disappearance spread like wildfire. Stolas' chest tightened with every passing moment, his panic growing unbearable. A week had passed since her dramatic performance during the extermination—an event seared into the collective memory of Hell. She had slain seven angels and torn Adam’s arm from his body, her savagery leaving a lasting impression on everyone. Yet now, her absence created a void that felt impossible to fill.

Everything had seemed fine.

In the aftermath, there had been celebrations—an almost intoxicating wave of pride as they worked to rebuild after the chaos. Everything was fine… or at least, it had seemed that way. So, what had gone wrong?

With each hour, Stolas’ anxiety gnawed at him. He replayed the events of the extermination in his mind on an endless loop—her fierce, commanding presence, the chilling silence that followed her triumph. The weight of the situation pressed down on him like an unbearable cloak, and he couldn’t shake the suffocating fear that something terrible had happened.

He had searched everywhere. He scoured every corner of her office and her home, even venturing into other rings despite knowing that sinners were confined to Pride. His desperation overwhelmed him, fueled by a conversation they’d had just a week before the extermination. Alastor had spoken hypothetically, hinting at the possibility of vanishing from Hell entirely. Her words had seemed harmless at the time, but now they echoed in his mind, taking on a sinister weight. Could this disappearance be deliberate?

As Stolas wandered through the streets of Pride, his resolve hardened. He called for an emergency meeting with the Overlords, determined to rally support for his search. But beneath his determination lay a suffocating dread, a gnawing certainty that something far more sinister was at play.

***

“Who was the last one that saw her?”

Rosie’s voice was firm, her gaze cutting across the Overlords seated at the table. The Vees were notably absent—excluded for obvious reasons. By now, they were aware of Alastor’s disappearance, and it was only a matter of time before they plotted a coup to exploit the chaos.

Stolas’ claws gouged deep into the surface of the table, his stress palpable “It had to be me…” he muttered, his voice strained “We had dinner two days ago. I already questioned Niffty and Husker; they didn’t see her yesterday. Their deals are still intact—they’re still chained to Mother, which means she’s alive” he sighed heavily, his tired eyes scanning the group “Unless someone saw her yesterday… then she simply just disappeared.”

“Are we assuming it’s Heaven’s doing?” Carmilla asked, her tone cautious as she glanced around the room. Her hands were clenched tightly on her lap, betraying the unease behind her calm facade.

The room tensed at the suggestion, the weight of her question hanging thick in the air “I’m hesitant to concur” Zestial interjected, his grimace sharp “If ’t wast the w’rk of angels, those folk wouldst hast made a spectacle of t, not enact’d t silently.”

Rosie nodded in agreement; her expression thoughtful “Those pesky flying monkeys would have turned it into a display. Subtlety isn’t in their nature, not from what we’ve seen. This feels like something else…” her voice trailed off as she bit her lip, uncertainty clouding her features “Besides, Alastor wouldn’t have let herself be taken silently. It isn’t her style.”

Stolas’ mind drifted, pulling him away from the conversation as Rosie continued. He knew he needed to voice his suspicions, but doing so would make them real. He didn’t want them to be real.

“Mother…” he cut in abruptly, his voice trembling. Rosie fell silent, her sharp gaze snapping to him. The rest of the room followed suit, all eyes now fixed on the distraught owl “We spent time together… a week before the extermination” he began, his voice breaking “She… she asked me something. Out of nowhere…” he let out a hollow laugh, a sound tinged with despair “She asked me, ‘If for some reason I had to leave, how do you think Pride would fare without me?’” his hand tightened its grip on the table, splintering a piece of it in his anguish “What kind of question is that? She said it was hypothetical—because ‘one can never know what might happen.’ But I should’ve pressed her. I shouldn’t have let her change the subject. I could tell she was preoccupied with that question…”

The overlords' thoughts raced as they absorbed Stolas’ revelation, the weight of Alastor’s hypothetical question sinking in. A sense of urgency rippled through the room, their collective unease palpable. Wary glances were exchanged, each one quietly calculating the scenarios that might explain her disappearance. Rosie clenched her fists, her mind frantically cycling through every conversation she’d had with Alastor, desperate to uncover some overlooked clue.

Carmilla’s sharp gaze darted around the room, suspicion and paranoia gnawing at her. She couldn’t ignore the possibility of an internal conspiracy, though the shadow of Heaven lingered ominously in her thoughts. Zestial’s grimace deepened, his frustration evident as he struggled to untangle the chaos and find a rational explanation. The tension among them was suffocating—every one of them acutely aware that Hell’s fragile stability hung by a thread.

Stolas’ heart felt heavy as worst-case scenarios played out in his mind. The weight of finding Alastor pressed down on him like a physical burden. He felt the responsibility growing heavier with each passing second, knowing the fate of Pride—and perhaps all of Hell—hinged on their next steps. The meeting had to yield swift, decisive action.

Rosie exhaled deeply, steadying herself before speaking "First, the most important thing" she began, her voice firm yet composed. Clearing her throat, she continued "We need to ensure our work continues without any disruptions. I know it’s asking a lot, but I believe Stolas should take on some of Alastor’s work while the rest of us handle the remainder. You’re the one most familiar with how she thinks… managing her deals is the best course of action" her serious tone softened slightly as she offered him a small smile "Alastor always loved bragging about how you’d become an amazing notary, finding loopholes in any deal you studied."

Stolas frowned but nodded in reluctant acceptance "You’re giving me the hardest part…" he muttered, his voice tinged with quiet resignation.

Rosie nodded solemnly "The rest of us need to maintain control of the city. The Vees will undoubtedly take this as their opportunity to move in and take her place. Vox, in particular, will try to dominate television" her sigh carried an undertone of frustration "I’ve been hearing rumors that his hypnosis is growing stronger—he’s simply mind-controlling sinners now and harvesting their souls."

Zestial’s voice cut through the tension as he rose from his chair "Mayhap we wert too hasty backeth then… We shouldn’t hast stopped Alastor from killing those folk. Her reputation couldst has’t been salvable in comparison to this situation."

***

Meanwhile, within the towering Vee headquarters, the air was electric with anticipation. Vox, Valentino, and Velvette reveled in the chaos, their laughter echoing ominously through the sprawling halls. The very notion of Alastor’s disappearance had intoxicated them with visions of power. Each of them, in their own way, fed off the instability, their minds racing with schemes to seize control. Vox, unable to contain his venom, spat hateful remarks about the Radio Demon, his eyes gleaming with malice.

"She thought she was too good for me" he sneered, his voice laced with disdain as he paced the room. The memory of Alastor’s rejection years ago still burned in his circuits "Well, look at her now. Gone—and her throne is ripe for the taking."

Valentino leaned back lazily, puffing his cigar as a wicked grin spread across his face "We'll take her place and rule Hell in her absence" he said, his words dripping with venomous delight "It’s our time now, boys."

Velvette leaned against the wall, her smirk cold and calculating as her gaze swept over her companions "With her out of the picture, there’s nothing standing in our way" she said, her voice sharp with determination "Pride will fall under our control—those old fools running it are nothing without their precious Radio Demon."

The three Vees exchanged conspiratorial grins, their ambition unmasked. They knew time was of the essence; the instability caused by Alastor’s disappearance was their opportunity, and they intended to exploit it to the fullest. Each of them burned with the determination to tip the scales of Hell’s fate in their favor.

***

The news of Alastor's sudden disappearance struck Charlie Morningstar like a lightning bolt—sharp, jarring, and impossible to ignore. The idol she had admired for her resilience and power was gone, leaving Hell reeling in chaos. Charlie had spent countless nights summoning the courage to approach Alastor, hoping to enlist her in her plans to reform Hell. Now, with Alastor vanished, those plans felt as though they were slipping through her fingers.

Charlie sat alone in her room, her gaze fixed on the walls as the murmur of turmoil echoed faintly from the city streets. Hell was on the edge of pandemonium, with factions scrambling to fill the void left behind. She knew this was the worst moment for Alastor to disappear—mean-spirited sinners and power-hungry overlords would seize the opportunity to claim what wasn’t theirs.

Still, despair refused to consume her entirely. Despite the overwhelming sense of helplessness pressing down on her, Charlie understood one truth: the future of Hell rested on her now, more than ever before. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she anchored herself to the memory of Alastor’s fierce determination. The thought of the Radio Demon's unwavering strength reignited her resolve. Hell would not fall into the hands of those who sought only to exploit its people.

Rising from her bed, Charlie stood taller, determination burning brightly in her eyes. She would find a way to maintain order—to carry forward her vision—even without Alastor’s guidance. Though the responsibility ahead felt impossible, she reminded herself of who she was. Charlie Morningstar. The princess of Hell. She would not be defeated by anyone who stood against her ideals of rehabilitation—even if her depression sometimes whispered otherwise.

The fate of Hell now rested firmly on her shoulders, and Charlie swore she wouldn’t let Alastor’s legacy be diminished. She vowed to fight for a better future, not just for herself, but for her people—for Hell, and everything it could be.

***

Pain. Burning, relentless pain. Adam collapsed to his knees, clutching the stump where his arm had once been. How had it come to this? A sinner—no, not just any sinner—Alastor. That’s what she had called herself. The bitch had nearly ended his existence. Heaven, his home, felt distant and cold as he struggled to contain the anguish tearing through his soul. Each ragged breath he drew was a cruel reminder of Alastor's raw, unyielding power.

"Why won't it heal?" he cried out, his voice echoing through the celestial halls. The divine light that had once enveloped him seemed to recoil from the curse now festering within him. He tried, again and again, to summon his healing strength, but it was futile. Alastor's dark magic clung to the wound like a malevolent seal, mocking his every effort.

Adam's hand trembled as he pressed it against his wound. His holy essence fought against the invasive energy, but it was futile. It should have been easy—a simple act of will. Yet, for the first time, his divine abilities were utterly ineffective.

"What kind of fucking magic did this bitch use?" he whispered, tears streaking down his face. The humiliation burned deeper than the pain. The red demoness had marked him, claimed superiority over him, and now her curse lingered "The bitch marked me to the soul… I can feel it… everywhere… FUCK."

Memories of the battle replayed in his mind like a cruel loop: Alastor's sinister grin, triumphant and unyielding; the flash of electric energy that severed his arm; the overwhelming dread that followed. It wasn’t just physical pain—it was the terror of realizing Heaven's might was not invincible. Each moment of agony drove the blade deeper into his shattered resolve.

"God" he pleaded, his eyes turning toward the ethereal glow of the divine realm. For the first time in centuries, he called out to him—a moment of vulnerability he had never allowed himself "What am I supposed to do? No one is supposed to know about the exterminations… Michael… those bastards wouldn’t help me. They’d just get rid of me for being fucking weak" but the heavens remained silent. The light flickered dimly, as though uncertain how to respond to the taint of Alastor's power.

Adam's breakdown was complete. And yet, he wasn’t able to sense the answer that was given to him. A golden mist that covered his mind for a moment and just like that, it disappeared.

He felt fragile, broken—an angel brought low by the cruelty of Hell's most feared demon. But he refused to let this defeat define him. He would show her. He would rip her apart, savoring every moment of her begging for mercy.

Gripping the remnants of his arm, Adam vowed through clenched teeth "That bitch is going to pay, no matter the cost" his voice, though cracked with pain, carried a glimmer of defiance. He needed to purge the dark magic that had invaded his soul and arm. And in that moment of resolution, Adam's celestial fire reignited, burning through the torment with an unyielding promise of vengeance.

For now, though, he was broken—a celestial being grappling with the weight of his own vulnerability. He prayed for a miracle to restore what had been lost, like the helpless man he had once been in Eden, abandoned and alone. But he wouldn’t go back to that. He was the first man. And he had become more.

***

The childlike entity, the universe itself, drifted through the boundless expanse. Stars shimmered brightly within its gaze, yet a gnawing unease marred its usual, unbridled joy. Alastor—the figure it had come to cherish as a mother—had vanished without a trace.

The universe seemed to shudder, its very fabric trembling as the entity grappled with the unthinkable: its connection to her had been severed, leaving it adrift in an infinite void.

Panic surged through its essence—an emotion so foreign, yet so overwhelmingly potent. It stretched its awareness across galaxies, through nebulae, and into the deepest, darkest voids, calling out with a voice that resonated through the cosmos.

But there was only silence.

The implications were dire. If it could not sense her, there could be only one explanation: THE MEAN MAN had taken her. The MEAN MAN had hidden her, even from the farthest reaches of its perception.

Desperation hardened into resolve. The universe had to save its mother. Drawing upon the very energies that formed its being, it summoned stars to align, planets to shift, and comets to carve fiery trails through the void—all in a frantic attempt to trace the faintest whisper of Alastor's essence.

Time, a trivial concept to a being of its nature, suddenly became vital. Every moment without her stretched into an unbearable eternity.

Its search was relentless, and its resolve solidified into a singular purpose: it would defy even the highest powers to reunite with Alastor. Every fragment of its being focused on this mission. Summoning all the cosmic forces within its grasp, the universe unleashed a concentrated burst of energy aimed at piercing the divine veil that concealed her from its perception.

And then, clarity.

A faint, almost imperceptible connection flickered at the edge of its awareness. Desperation fueled its focus, and it latched onto the thread with unwavering determination.

As it followed the trail, the presence grew stronger, guiding the universe closer to its lost mother—closer to Alastor.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER ELEVEN | DON’T SEARCH FOR NOTHING, OR NOTHING YOU WILL NOT BE

“I can’t believe we actually sat through that trash.”

Satoru Gojo muttered, his expression twisted in exaggerated disgust. He leaned back on the bench, his long legs stretched out in front of him as he dramatically sighed.

Yuji had practically begged Nobara and Megumi to join him at the cinema to watch the latest installment of the Human Earthworm franchise—Human Earthworm 4. The only reason they’d agreed was on the condition that Gojo would pay for both the tickets and the meal afterward. That, of course, had prompted Yuji to plead with Satoru and Sukuna to tag along. Like the indulgent teacher he was, Satoru had agreed, though his motives weren’t entirely selfless. It was practically a date with Sukuna, after all—albeit with the kids in tow.

He glanced at her now, a small smile tugging at his lips. She was in her smaller form, standing at 5’8 instead of her usual imposing seven feet. He almost cooed at the thought. While he adored her towering presence, there was something undeniably satisfying about being the one to wrap her in his arms when she shifted down to blend in with humans.

After the movie, the kids had gone to eat at a nearby café, leaving the two of them sitting on a bench in the park across the street. The faint glow of the café lights reflected in Sukuna’s pink hair as she leaned back, her expression calm and unreadable.

“I quite liked it” Sukuna said with a shrug, her tone casual “The effects were accurate when it came to the body parts.”

Satoru turned to her, his pout deepening “Of course, that’s what you focused on. I bet you felt right at home.”

Sukuna arched an eyebrow, amusement flickering in her eyes “You do realize you’ve killed people and curses in far more gruesome ways than anything shown in that fictional movie, right?”

Satoru flicked his tongue at her in mock defiance “That’s not the point. The point is—”

“There is no point, brat” Sukuna cut him off, her tone sharp but playful “Stop being an idiot. We didn’t even have to go inside the theater. You could’ve just paid for their tickets and food, and we could’ve gone somewhere else.”

“But Yuji said he wanted us to be there and share the experience” Satoru whined, shifting closer to her on the bench. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her against his chest “How could I say no? Be a good girlfriend and comfort me.”

“Die” Sukuna replied flatly, her voice muffled against his jacket. She sighed but adjusted her position, leaning into him more comfortably. Now, they sat side by side, her head resting against his shoulder as his arm remained draped around her.

“I don’t know how he does it” Satoru mused, his tone light but tinged with exasperation “One moment, he’s asking me about how my Infinity works during training, and the next, he’s dragging us to watch that garbage. Kids these days” he chuckled, glancing down at her “The lesson earlier got pretty existential, though. He questioned whether my Infinity truly covers everything.”

Sukuna hummed softly, her gaze fixed on the distant lights of the café. She didn’t respond immediately, prompting Satoru to continue.

“You know” he said, his tone darkening slightly “I can bring the concept of Infinity to reality, but it isn’t actually true. As we talked about earlier, there’s still that nothingness—that void I could never get close to. If I did, I would be screwed” he chuckled, though there was a faint edge to it “Can you imagine? Being overwhelmed by nothing?”

“A terrifying thought” Sukuna replied, her voice calm but laced with understanding.

“Indeed” Satoru agreed, his tone softening “It’s a good thing you and I will never find out.”

This time, Sukuna turned to look at him, her crimson eyes locking with his piercing blue ones “Oh? And how are you so sure?” she asked, her curiosity evident.

“Because I’m protected by my Infinity” he said with a shrug, his smirk returning “My Six Eyes warns me to never mess with it and Infinity won’t let me get close to it. And I’ll make sure my Infinity protects you too.”

“That doesn’t make sense” Sukuna snorted, shaking her head “Besides, we won’t always be together.”

“Of course, it makes sense. That’s why it’s called Infinity” he replied playfully “It doesn’t matter if you’re on the other side of the planet. I’ll stretch it until it finds you—if I can’t teleport to your side, that is.”

Sukuna shook her head again, her expression softening slightly “You don’t have that level of power, and…” she hesitated, her voice dropping “And you’ll die before me.”

Satoru’s gaze grew more intense, his blue eyes unwavering as he studied her. A small, genuine smile curved his lips “Then I’ll just curse you” he said simply “And I know it’ll work because… love, while being the most twisted curse, is also the most powerful one.”

His next words made her tense slightly “So, you’ll be fine… even when I’m gone.”

Sukuna didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she studied his face, her expression unreadable. After a moment, she rested her head back against his chest, closing her eyes.

“And since I’m so powerful” Satoru added, his voice soft but teasing “Even when you go to your next life… my curse will go with you.”

Those words earned him a reaction. Sukuna’s arms moved, wrapping around his chest in a rare display of affection. Satoru chuckled, the sound warm and genuine as he tightened his hold on her. Moments like these, when Sukuna let her guard down, were the ones he cherished most.

***

She didn’t feel anything.

She couldn’t feel anything.

She wasn’t even a thing anymore.

It was wrong. Wrong. She felt so wrong. Felt? Could she even feel at the moment? Was she a she? Was she? Was?

Someone.

Anyone.

AME-LIG-AZU-SAS-TOM-OSA-RYO

I can’t feel you.

I can’t feel me.

‘Mother’

‘MOOTHEER’

“WAKE”

“WAKE UP”

Alastor gasped, her breath catching as she became aware of herself once again. Her eyes darted frenetically, scanning her surroundings. She was in… she didn’t like it… A void. No. It was worse than a void.

Gojo Satoru once said that his Infinity didn’t encompass everything as it was. But he didn’t understand what nothing meant. His Six Eyes had always answered him when he asked: What is nothing? Nothing is nothing. Nothing is not a concept. Don’t search for nothing, or nothing you will not be. He hadn’t understood it when he was younger. But eventually, he realized—nothing meant becoming worse than nothing.

Alastor had been nothing. Worse than nothing. She had felt it, but she hadn’t. She had lived through it, but she hadn’t been alive.

Now, she existed. She was alive. She was something. She fucking existed.

“MoThEr?”

The distorted voice snapped her out of her spiraling thoughts. Her childlike entity—but something was different. Her eyes landed on…

A child? What?

“Mother… you can see me now?” the voice was no longer distorted. It was clear, an actual child’s voice.

Alastor blinked, her mind struggling to process. The child smiled, stepping closer. He?

“Red Light… are you aware?” he asked softly.

The radio demon nodded slowly, realizing her smile was no longer forced. She wasn’t being made to smile “Yes… I… What happened?”

The child frowned, his expression heavy with concern “You were… scattered… across the cosmos. I did my best. I found every single molecule of you. I patched you up… but…” he bit his lower lip, hesitating.

“Universe?” Alastor asked, her voice cautious. The child looked up at her, his eyes wide “It’s you… Why are you?… How are you even in this form?” she leaned closer, cupping his cheek and inspecting his face.

Before the universe could respond, he leaned into her touch. For the first time, he was being touched—by none other than his chosen, the one he had claimed as his mother.

Alastor’s gaze softened as she took in his appearance. His hair was red, styled like the original Alastor’s, and it suited him. A pair of fluffy ears and two small antlers hinted at his deer-like features. But…

“Your tail and eyes… they look like—”

“A NAME!” the universe shouted, cutting her off before she could say his future father’s name. Red Light wasn’t supposed to acknowledge Little Light yet “Mother should give me a name now.”

Alastor stared at him for a moment, her lips parting to speak, but another voice cut her off.

‘BILL CIPHER!’ Amelia shouted.

The redheaded demon closed her eyes in exasperation.

‘We are not naming this child after the embodiment of nightmares’ Light interjected with a sigh, her arms crossed.

‘But it makes sense! Our child literally called us a flesh bag once. He’s an entity beyond comprehension! Besides… have you forgotten how adorable Bill looked as a kid?’ Amelia argued, gripping Light by the shoulders.

“I like Bill” the child said with a grin—the child now apparently named Bill “And from your memories, you loved Bill as a character…” his voice softened as he finished, and with a playful shimmer, his boots transformed into the oversized shoes that Bill had worn as a child.

Alastor sighed deeply. She couldn’t ignore the collective coos that filled the room—Light and Sukuna excluded—as Bill flicked his dark tail and twitched one ear, childlike delight apparent in his every movement. Of course, no one questioned the fact that Bill could hear the personalities even in a physical form.

“Alright, my dear… Bill it is” Alastor relented, her voice soft. She patted him gently on the head and letting her fingers comb through his soft fur “But you don’t have to wear the same clothes as him if you don’t want to. You’re not a replica of him… you’re you.”

Bill’s face lit up with a bright smile. His shoes transformed back as his outfit remained, black boots, a red button shirt, black pants, and suspenders “Alright.”

The moment of levity faded as Alastor’s mind returned to what had been left unsaid “I interrupted you earlier… but you were about to tell me something about…” her voice trailed off, unwilling to verbalize the ordeal she had endured.

Bill’s gaze fell. He hesitated before replying “I had to find you… piece you back together. Right now, I’m doing my best to keep you from being consumed by…” he gestured vaguely around them, referring to the oppressive nothingness in which they stood “But… I also think there is something else helping me protect you. It’s like a barrier. I guess I would call it… the infinity between you and the complete sensation of the void.”

Alastor smiled sadly at those words ‘Satoru really had been something else’ she thought.

Bill looked apologetic “It took a lot of time, Mother.”

Alastor closed her eyes “Let me guess… seven years.”

The child grimaced “Seven years.”

A dark chuckle escaped her lips “Of course. It’s really fighting me… whatever even sent me…”

Bill interrupted, his tone sharp and cold. For a moment, his distorted voice threatened to crack the stability of his form “It was the MEAN MAN. Only he has the power to do such a thing.”

“God?” Alastor asked incredulously, her hand reaching up to grab a small lock of her hair “God did this to me?”

With a sharp tug, she ripped the lock from her head. Turning it over slowly in her fingers, her lips curled into a disgusted grin—the most visceral display of disdain she’d ever worn.

Alastor’s eyes narrowed in contempt, her fingers curling into fists at the mention of God meddling with her fate “So, he deems himself puppeteer and I, merely a marionette?” her voice dripped with venom, each word a challenge to the divine force attempting to twist her destiny “I have fought, bled, and screamed through countless lifetimes, only to have my new story twisted to fit his whims. Not anymore” she declared, her resolve solidifying with every syllable.

Bill, sensing the storm brewing within his mother, took a step back. His form flickered, the energy of her emotions radiating through him. Alastor’s gaze burned with fierce determination, her will so forceful it blurred the future Bill had once seen—and that was a good thing.

“I will not be a slave to divine decree” she continued, her voice thunderous with conviction “I am Alastor, and my path will be carved by my own hand, not by the whims of a celestial dictator.”

The dark void around them seemed to pulse, reacting to her fury as though the very fabric of reality trembled under her proclamation. The weight of her words settled in her bones—a vow to defy the constraints imposed by forces far beyond mortal comprehension.

“I will not be chained. Not like him” she murmured, her voice softened but still laced with defiance. As the echoes of her declaration faded into the nothingness, Alastor knew with absolute certainty that she would never bow to an imposed fate again. She would rise, she would fight, and she would forge her own destiny.

***

Charlie Morningstar was on the verge of tears.

The princess of Hell had just left a voicemail for her mother, asking where she was, and another for her father, wondering if he’d seen her failed interview. Nothing was going her way. No one wanted to help her, and simply toughing it out wasn’t cutting it anymore. She had tried her best—or at least, she thought she had. She’d made appointments, asked sinners what they wanted, and even offered Angel Dust a free room in exchange for trying out redemption. But deep down, she knew he wasn’t truly interested.

Seven years had passed since her idol disappeared, and things had gone… well, literally to hell. Prince Stolas had taken over Alastor’s role for the first year, but even he couldn’t keep up with the work his mother had done. No one seemed satisfied. Worse still, unlike the Radio Demon, sinners weren’t afraid to challenge an Ars Goetia. Alastor’s influence had emboldened everyone. Heaven’s response had been even more brutal—the next extermination was a bloodbath. The only silver lining was the absence of the first man. Charlie clung to the hope that Alastor had inflicted permanent damage on him, rendering him unable to fight.

Leaning against the door in defeat, Charlie let out a heavy sigh. Then, a sudden knock startled her. She straightened up quickly, her heart racing as she opened the door.

“Hello…”

The static-laced voice froze her in place. Charlie’s mind blanked as she stared at the tall demoness standing before her. Alastor. The Radio Demon.

Without thinking, Charlie slammed the door shut and bolted back to Vaggie “Vaggie… VAGGIE!”

“What?” Vaggie asked, startled by Charlie’s frantic tone.

“The Radio Demon is at the door!” Charlie exclaimed, her wide smile betraying her panic “Oh my god… She’s at my hotel. Alastor is here…” her words trailed off as realization hit her “Oh my god… Alastor is at my hotel” her gaze darted around the room, taking in the mess “Fuck, I closed the door in her face!” she slapped her cheek, trying to snap herself out of it “This is it. This is your moment, Charlie. Don’t screw it up.”

From the couch, Angel Dust raised an eyebrow, his popsicle dangling from his lips “What?”

Vaggie stepped forward, grabbing Charlie’s shoulders to steady her “Charlie… deep breaths. Are you talking about the Radio Demon? The one I’ve heard about a million times?”

Charlie nodded quickly with a wide grin and ran away to open the door before her idol could disappear again. She opened the door and saw the sinner still standing there with her head tilted and a wide grin on her face. ‘Still as beautiful as I remembered her’ the princess thought for a second.

“May I speak now? Or will you be closing the door on my face?” Alastor’s smooth, static-laden voice cut through the awkward tension, her eyebrow arched in amusement.

Charlie blinked, her heart skipping a beat “I’m sorry, Alastor… Miss Alastor” she stammered, stepping aside hastily “Please, come in. I apologize for the mess” she added with a nervous chuckle, wringing her hands.

Alastor stepped into the hotel, her piercing gaze sweeping over the room. It was every bit as cluttered and chaotic as the original hotel from the show—almost poetic in its disarray. Her eyes landed momentarily on Vaggie, who stood in the center of the room, arms crossed and wary but notably restrained. On the couch, Angel Dust froze mid-eating of his popsicle as he stared at the infamous Radio Demoness.

Charlie walked beside Alastor, nervously fiddling with her fingers, stealing glances at the Overlord’s expression “Miss Alastor” she began hesitantly “Is there a reason you came to my hotel? By any chance, did you…”

Before she could finish, Alastor abruptly turned toward her with a wide, unsettling grin “Excuse my sudden visit, but I saw your… fiasco on television, and I simply couldn’t resist. What a performance!” she laughed, the sound unnerving yet oddly melodic “Why, I haven’t been this entertained since my dear Stolas requested a mock trial and foolishly tried to go against me” she twirled her cane playfully “I had to cook him his favorite meal afterward to console him, poor thing” Alastor’s crimson gaze locked onto Charlie “I’m here because I want to help.”

“What?” Charlie blurted, astonishment written all over her face.

“What?” echoed Vaggie, her tone sharp with shock.

“What?” Angel Dust’s disbelief carried from the couch, muffled slightly by his popsicle.

Alastor’s grin widened as she elaborated “The hotel. I want to help you run it—be a sponsor.”

Vaggie immediately stepped forward, her arms crossing as she fixed Alastor with an intense glare “Not that we don’t appreciate the help, but why?”

Alastor’s expression didn’t waver “Why does anyone do anything?” she countered smoothly “Sometimes, you don’t need to question motives. You simply accept the help offered—especially when you’re in such a… dire situation.”

Vaggie’s frown deepened, clearly unsatisfied with the vague answer, but before she could press further, Charlie interjected “So… does this mean you think it’s possible to rehabilitate a demon?” she asked, her voice tinged with hope.

Alastor tilted her head, studying Charlie closely. That tone was almost desperate, Alastor noted. Too desperate. It was… peculiar. And the way Charlie fidgeted nervously around her—if she didn’t know any better, she’d think the princess was a fan.

Her grin grew sharper “Tell me something, Charlotte. Seven years ago, did you think killing an angel was possible?”

Vaggie stiffened at the question, her jaw tightening, while Charlie blinked in confusion, her brow furrowing “I didn’t… It wasn’t until you…” she paused, forcing a small, uncertain smile that came off more as a grimace.

Alastor took a step closer, her voice softening but her words cutting “How many people have told you your dream is impossible?” she circled the princess slowly “How many have said you should give up on your silly little fantasy? How many people—those you deemed important, whose approval you craved—have told you… it’s just a dream?”

Charlie stood frozen, her body stiffening with each question. It felt like ice water was being poured over her, the weight of Alastor’s words sinking deep. Her voice broke as she whispered “Too many.”

Alastor stepped gracefully around Charlie, circling her like a haunting melody taking shape. Her hands came to rest on Charlie’s shoulders, firm but not unkind. The demoness leaned in slightly, her crimson eyes gleaming with an almost hypnotic intensity.

“Do you want to know a secret of mine?” Alastor began, her voice smooth and rich, laced with a hint of mischief “Something I tell myself on occasion while looking in the mirror, when that pesky little seed of doubt dares to sprout?” she gently turned Charlie to face her, her grip on the princess’s shoulders tightening ever so slightly as their eyes locked.

“My dreams” Alastor continued, her lips curling into a knowing grin “Are not just dreams” a soft chuckle escaped her, the sound carrying a strange warmth beneath its unnerving undertone “It may sound simple, almost trivial. But that belief? Oh, my dear Charlotte, that belief works wonders. The same way sinners doubted that a newcomer could rise so swiftly to power, crafting an entirely new reality where Sinners and Hellborns coexist. And yet…” she paused, her grin widening “I proved them wrong. My dreams weren’t just dreams. I made them a reality.”

Alastor’s words hung in the air, heavy and electric. Charlie felt her breath hitch, her chest tightening as emotion overwhelmed her. The next words that fell from Alastor’s lips struck a chord deep within her, reverberating through every fragile hope she had clung to for so long.

“I’ve reviewed your reports, Charlotte” Alastor said, her tone softening but losing none of its conviction “Those concept ideas you presented to the Overlords… oh, you need a bit of guidance, certainly, in refining and planning. But your earnestness? Your conviction? That proved something to me” she leaned in slightly closer, her grin fading into something more sincere.

“I don’t think sinners can be rehabilitated.”

Charlie’s heart plummeted for an instant, her face falling—until Alastor continued.

“Charlotte” Alastor said firmly, her voice carrying an unusual gentleness “I know sinners can be redeemed. For one reason, and one reason only…” she paused, her eyes locking onto Charlie’s with an intensity that left the princess frozen in place “Because you believe so.”

Charlie’s vision blurred as her eyes filled with tears. But this time, they weren’t tears of despair or frustration. They were tears of something long absent in her heart: hope.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Charlie Morningstar felt like she wasn’t standing alone.

Chapter Text

This will be the first real musical number I’ve written for the story. I already mentioned that I imagine Anna for Alastor’s voiceover, but you’re free to choose whoever you prefer. Still, I hope you enjoy the songs I’ve chosen for the characters to sing in the future. I’m not sure how to explain how best to experience the song, but for me, I first read the scene where the musical number takes place. Then, I listen to the song while following along more quickly, since I already have the setting and actions in mind. But, enjoy it however you like!

.....

CHAPTER TWELVE | I’M GONNA MAKE IT TO HEAVEN… LIGHT UP THE SKY LIKE A FLAME

“Are you telling me… this is all you got?”

Alastor’s voice cut through the room, smooth yet sharp, as her crimson eyes swept over the dilapidated hotel. Charlie’s nervous smile faltered slightly under the weight of the question. The walls looked like they were crying, paint dripping down in uneven streaks. Broken chairs littered the space, and insects roamed freely, as if mocking the princess’s efforts. It was painfully clear that Charlie hadn’t received much help in maintaining the place.

“Well…” Charlie began hesitantly, gesturing toward Vaggie, who stood nearby with her arms crossed, glaring daggers at Alastor.

Alastor adjusted her monocle with a practiced elegance, letting out a soft chuckle “Oh… you’re going to need more than that” she remarked, flicking her hair as she turned her attention to Angel Dust.

Angel sat on the couch, his posture tense as he stared at her cautiously. He knew exactly who she was. The Radio Demoness didn’t need an introduction.

“And what do you contribute to this endeavor?” Alastor asked sweetly, her eyebrow arching in a way that felt more like a challenge than a question.

Angel Dust’s eyes narrowed as memories began to surface, stirring uneasily within him. He remembered the years when Alastor had ruled the Pride Ring with an iron fist. Back then, he’d already been chained to Valentino, enduring the moth demon’s constant complaints about Alastor’s attitude—how she was a “bitch” for not appreciating Vox enough.

But Angel Dust had always seen through Valentino’s bitter words.

Alastor wasn’t someone to be trifled with. Her last appearance seven years ago had cemented that belief. She had singlehandedly killed seven angels and bested the first man, for fuck’s sake. No one had ever done that before. It was a feat that left Hell both awestruck and terrified, including him. And then, she disappeared. No explanation, no warning. And now, here she was, standing in front of him, interested in Charlie’s little project.

As Alastor stood before him, her presence as unyielding as ever, Angel Dust felt a mix of fear and admiration. Fear, because she had once ruled over Valentino, and he wasn’t about to mess with someone who could put that moth in his place. Admiration, because Alastor was unapologetically herself, doing as she pleased without a care for anyone’s opinion. Beneath her charming facade lay a force that demanded attention—a force that had shaped the very fabric of Hell.

Angel Dust may have been a pretty slut, but he wasn’t stupid. He flashed her a smile, playing it cool “I’m just here living rent-free. Toots is paying for my stuff in exchange for trying her little idea” he said with a shrug.

Alastor’s red eyes widened slightly at his response, and Angel felt a flicker of relief. That was good, right? But then her gaze shifted, lingering on his neck for a moment too long. He resisted the urge to gulp, his mind racing. It was as if she could see the disgusting chain Valentino had placed on him, even though it wasn’t visible.

Alastor hummed thoughtfully “I’m going to have to deal with you later, huh?”

Angel froze at her words, his smile faltering. Before he could respond, Alastor turned away, her attention shifting back to Charlie and Vaggie.

“Well, this just won’t do” she said “I suppose I can cash in a few favors to liven things up. I was hoping to handle everything myself, but…” she chuckled, her grin widening “How are you people going to learn to do things on your own if I do everything for you?”

With a snap of her fingers, the worn-down fireplace in the hotel was replaced by a gleaming new one, its flames crackling to life as if summoned from another realm. Alastor approached it with a satisfied grin, her eyes gleaming as she scooped up her darling Niffty, who was covered in soot. The tiny insect demon blinked her eye open, her gaze darting to the trio standing behind Alastor.

“This little darling is Niffty” Alastor announced watching as the demoness began to clean herself with practiced efficiency.

“Alastor, Miss Alastor… Boss!” Niffty wailed, waving her arms in excitement “You’re back!” she chuckled, her grin turning devious “I knew you were okay! I told Husker you would come back, and I even kept our home clean!”

Her attention shifted to the group, her single eye narrowing as she examined them “Hi, I’m Niffty. It’s nice to meet you! It’s been a while since I’ve made new friends” she pouted, her gaze flicking between them “Why’re you all women? Miss Alastor is enough” without warning, she lifted Charlie effortlessly, inspecting the place where she stood “Are there any men here?” she set Charlie down gently “I’m sorry, that’s rude” her gaze darted around the room, her expression twisting in dismay “Oooh, man. This place is filthy” a small spider descended in front of her, and she snatched it mid-air, crushing it with a satisfied grin “It really needs a lady’s touch” she declared, Alastor made a feather duster appear in her little hand “Which is weird because you’re all ladies. No offense.”

With a burst of speed, Niffty zipped through the hotel, cleaning furiously “Oh, my gosh. This is awful!” she exclaimed, her voice a blur as she darted from corner to corner “Nope… Nope… Nope… Nope” she spotted a cockroach and stabbed it with a sewing pin “Nope.”

Alastor watched her with an amused smile, turning to pat Charlie on the shoulder “You won’t find a more dedicated sinner than her, I assure you.”

The group stared at Niffty in stunned silence, their attention snapping to a new voice that echoed from nearby “Hah” came the chuckle of a cat demon “Read them and weep, boys. Full Ho—” the voice froze mid-sentence as the surroundings distorted with demonic illusions and static “—tel? What the fuck is this?” Husker’s figure emerged, his eyes narrowing as he spotted Alastor. An angry purr rumbled in his throat as he pointed a clawed finger at her “You. What the actual fuck? Seven years… bitch.”

Alastor ignored the insult, her grin widening “Ah, Husker, my good friend” she lied smoothly, her tone dripping with false warmth “Glad you could make it.”

“Don’t you ‘Husker’ me, you evil woman” he snapped, his tail lashing behind him “I was about to win the whole damn pot!” he motioned to the jackpot, which vanished into nothingness before his eyes “What the hell do you want with me this time?”

“I’m doing some charity work” Alastor replied breezily, resting her chin on her hand “So I took it upon myself to volunteer your services! I hope that’s okay.”

“Are you shitting me?” Husker growled, his voice rising in anger.

“Hmm… No, I don’t think so” Alastor said with a shrug, her teasing smile only fueling his frustration.

“You thought it’d be some kind of big fucking riot just to pull me out of nowhere?” Husker stalked toward her, his claws flexing “You think I’m some kind of fucking clown?”

Alastor’s grin sharpened, static crackling faintly around her “Maybe” she replied, her voice laced with amusement.

“I ain’t doing no fucking charity job” Husker snapped, his tone final.

Alastor materialized behind Husker through the shadows, her entrance silent and calculated. Her grin grew as she leaned toward him, her voice smooth and laced with mischievous amusement “Well, I figured you’d be the perfect face to man the front desk of this fine establishment” she said, gesturing theatrically toward the gleaming bar she had conjured with her magic.

“With your charming smile…” Alastor’s claws reached out to pull Husker’s lips into a forced grin, the act exaggerated to an almost comical degree “And welcoming energy, this job was made for you” she released him and began to walk toward the bar “Don’t worry, my friend. I can make this more welcoming… if you wish.”

Instead of the cheap booze the original Alastor had manifested, Alastor conjured his contract, holding it up with a grin that bordered on predatory. Husker flinched, his body stiffening as his eyes darted to the parchment “You can choose to do this” she purred, her tone dripping with false sweetness “Or… I could simply make you run more errands for me. After all…” she leaned closer, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, her grin growing sharp and sadistic “I have seven years to make up for. Your choice.”

For a brief moment, Husker’s weary expression broke through, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly “Whatever” he muttered, dragging his feet toward the bar with a resigned huff.

Alastor’s focus drifted, tuning out Vaggie’s incessant complaints about the bar. Her attention wasn’t meant for such trivial grievances right now. No, she needed to concentrate on the waves—those relentless, crashing waves. Sometimes, they pressed down on her like the weight of an ocean, threatening to drown her. She straightened her posture slightly, letting the sound of her own static hum serve as an anchor.

No one had noticed her return, not yet. No one in Hell, as far as she could tell, had even begun to whisper her name. The silence should have been comforting, but instead, it felt like the calm before a storm.

Then, there it was—the faint, grating buzz of Vox’s building cutting through the static. Alastor’s grin tightened, her crimson gaze narrowing slightly as she listened. He was pouring everything he had into the powerlines, trying to extend his reach across the ring. Ambition was a dangerous thing, but oh, poor Vox… He wasn’t her. He could never replicate her reach, no matter how hard he tried. At best, he could stretch his influence to cover a third of the Pride Ring. But Alastor? She had blanketed all seven rings with ease.

Her fingers twitched as the noise grated on her nerves. It wasn’t just the irritation of Vox’s efforts—it was the looming sense of inevitability. That song, the one she didn’t want to sing… She scoffed under her breath. The very idea of being forced into a musical number with that television was maddening. GOD was behaving like a child, pulling strings in the background like a bored puppet master. Manipulation without finesse, without care.

Her grin faltered momentarily as her mind wandered to the script of events she was supposedly bound to follow. She was meant to start singing any moment now, her number interrupted dramatically by Sir Pentious’s chaotic arrival. But something was wrong. Alastor’s sharp senses stretched out, searching, and found nothing. Sir Pentious wasn’t close—not even remotely. He was still on the far side of the ring, gathering his little eggs with no urgency to come chasing after Angel.

She almost frowned. Should she sing anyway? Could she? The script was cracked now, just enough to give her pause. Maybe she could sing something else, rewrite the scene to fit her own rhythm.

Her lips curved back into a grin, though the spark of mischief in her eyes betrayed the turmoil beneath. Hell had forgotten her for seven years, but now that she was here, the stage was hers to reclaim. And she would play the part she wanted, on her terms.

“Miss Alastor.”

Charlie’s voice cut through, pulling Alastor out of her thoughts. She turned, noticing the blonde had approached her, her expression nervous but earnest. The others remained by the bar, still locked in their petty arguments. It was clear that the princess wanted a private moment.

“Yes, my dear?” Alastor replied smoothly, a small grin playing on her lips “Something on your mind?”

Charlie took a deep breath, her hands fidgeting slightly as she tried to gather her thoughts “I just wanted to say that… I just wanted to say that… you’ve been my idol since I was a kid” she began, her voice faltering as she searched for the right words “Having you here, believing in my dream, really means a lot to me.”

Alastor’s eyes softened, her usual mischievous grin giving way to something far gentler. She moved a step closer, her voice warm and surprisingly sincere “Oh, my dear… I had no idea” she said, tilting her head slightly “Your passion and determination are truly admirable, and I am honored to be a part of this grand adventure” she then chuckled “You may call me just Alastor if you want.”

Relief washed over Charlie’s face, a blush rising to her cheeks as her posture relaxed “Thank you, Alastor. That means more than you know” she paused, clearing her throat before continuing “That’s why I have to ask… What is your dream?”

Alastor tilted her head, a soft chuckle escaping her lips as she shook her head lightly “My dream?” she echoed, her tone laced with intrigue “My dear, it has been a long time since anyone has asked me such a question…” her eyes sparkled with amusement “Wouldn’t you assume my dream has already been accomplished after all I’ve done in Hell?”

Charlie bit her lip, hesitating before responding “At first, I thought that when I was younger. But as I grew, I started to think… maybe all those things were just steps toward accomplishing your real dream, the one I still can’t quite figure out. Is it too personal for me to ask?”

Alastor studied her for a moment, her grin growing sharp yet playful “Why don’t I show you my dream?” she suggested, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone “Or better yet… I’ll give you a chance to figure it out—after I’m done with my little number.”

Charlie blinked in confusion but watched in awe as Alastor snapped her fingers. In an instant, their surroundings began to shift. Charlie’s clothes transformed, morphing into sleek black dress pants paired with a red shirt and a tailored black jacket. Alastor’s attire changed as well—a black dress flowing below her knees paired with an elegant, long red coat.

The entire space morphed into a low stage, the air humming with an otherworldly energy. A slow smile spread across Charlie’s face, excitement lighting up her features as the first strains of music filled the room. She found herself seated on a chair, with Vaggie sitting next to her, similarly attired. In the background, Niffty, Angel Dust, and Husker stood, glancing around with varying degrees of confusion as they took in the sudden transformation.

The stage was dimly lit, shrouded in a haze of crimson light. Alastor’s voice echoed, smooth and hypnotic, as she strutted across the stage, her cane in hand. Her every step exuded confidence, her heels clicking in rhythmic harmony with the haunting melody. She stopped at the edge of the stage, leaning in toward Charlie with a sly grin and pointing an elegant hand at her...

“Sweet dreams are made of this
Who am I to disagree?
I travel the world and the seven seas
Everybody’s looking for something.”

Her words lingered in the air like a spell. With a sudden flicker of her magic, Alastor disappeared from sight, only to reappear beside the princess. Charlie grinned as Alastor gently lifted her chin, the Radio Demon’s red eyes sparkling with mischievous delight.

“Some of them want to use you
Some of them want to get used by you
Some of them want to abuse you
Some of them want to be abused.”

Charlie laughed nervously, her amusement evident, though unsure of what game Alastor was playing.

“Hold your head up (Movin’ on)
Keep your head up (Movin’ on)
Hold your head up (Movin’ on)
Keep your head up (Movin’ on)
Keep your head up.”

Without missing a beat, Alastor sprang up from her seat, her high note vibrating through the room. The surroundings shimmered and transformed. The once-dark stage morphed into a dazzling red carpet, lined with a crowd of sinners flashing cameras and shouting excitedly. Charlie, wide-eyed, stood amidst the chaos, jumping with the crowd while Alastor basked in the attention.

“Fame, I’m gonna live forever
I’m gonna learn how to fly
I feel it coming together
People will see me and cry.”

Alastor held the final note with theatrical flair as the scene flickered again. Now, they stood under an otherworldly golden sky, a shimmering image of heaven projected above them. Alastor, still singing, gently took Charlie’s hand and raised it toward the dazzling vision.

“I’m gonna make it to heaven
Light up the sky like a flame
I’m gonna live forever
Baby, remember my name.”

Charlie’s gaze softened as she admired the beauty of heaven’s reflection. But Alastor’s smile twisted, her expression darkening. In her mind’s eye, heaven burned to ash, its angels consumed by the flames. With a snap of her fingers, the celestial view vanished, leaving them back in the heart of hell. The sinners cheered wildly as Alastor confidently linked her arm with Charlie’s, guiding her through the crowd.

“All my greatness, it doesn’t come for free
All my talent, it doesn’t grow on trees
Take a breather, you’ll take it all the way
If the top is where you wanna stay.”

Alastor’s voice was both a melody and a lecture, as though explaining to Charlie the cost of ambition. She gestured dramatically, her free hand painting invisible pictures of success and fame.

“You gotta work hard, to make it look easy
You gotta live fast, to keep making that money
If you want to be as famous as me
You gotta work, gotta work, gotta work.”

For her grand finale, Alastor snapped her fingers once more. The scene morphed into the outside of the hotel, its towering neon sign glowing against the hellish backdrop. Fireworks burst overhead, vivid reds and golds reflecting in the eyes of the gathered sinners. Alastor twirled, her laughter carrying over the explosions, as small magical bursts erupted in perfect synchronization with her final verses.

“You gotta work hard, you gotta live fast
If you want to be as famous as me
You gotta work, gotta work, gotta work
You gotta work hard.”

Her voice split into harmonies, as though she was singing with herself, the sound echoing through the surreal scene as Alastor reached her triumphant high note, her arm raised victoriously.

“I’m gonna live forever
I wanna learn how to fly
Feel it coming together
People will see me and cry.”

“I’m gonna make it to heaven
Light up the sky like a flame
Baby, remember my name.”

The final note echoed in the air, powerful and enchanting. Alastor waved her hand changing the name of the hotel from Happy Hotel to Hazbin Hotel. Charlie clapped enthusiastically, her eyes shining with admiration. Niffty joined in the applause, while Vaggie, Husker, and Angel Dust stood in astonishment. They had never witnessed in person the radio demon sing at all.

Alastor bowed with a theatrical flair, basking in their admiration "Thank you, thank you" she said, her voice dripping with faux modesty "You are too kind."

Charlie turned to Alastor, her smile radiant and filled with admiration “That was amazing, Alastor. I’ve heard you sing countless times since I was younger, but hearing you sing in person… it’s so much better.”

Alastor’s crimson eyes gleamed as she replied with a wink, her grin playful yet enigmatic “There’s much you don’t know about me, Charlie dear. But perhaps, in time, you will… Did you guess my dream?”

Charlie hesitated, her brow furrowing as she considered the question “You want to reach everywhere… not just in Hell. You want even Heaven to know who you are?” she ventured, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

Alastor chuckled softly, her smile widening in amusement “Very close, my dear” she said lightly, her tone carrying a hint of mystery. As the group re-entered the hotel, the air seemed charged with an unusual mix of excitement and curiosity, their minds buzzing with the possibilities of what lay ahead.

Charlie’s smile grew sweeter, though her earnestness shone through “Do you have an idea of what we can do to make sinners join the hotel?” she asked hopefully.

The atmosphere shifted as Alastor’s static buzzed faintly through the room, sending shivers down everyone’s spines. Her grin sharpened, an edge of mischief in her expression “I think we need to deal with something more important first” she replied cryptically.

Vaggie, ever skeptical, arched an eyebrow at the demon’s statement “And what is that?” she asked dryly, her tone laced with suspicion.

Without hesitation, Alastor slipped an arm around Charlie’s shoulders, her cheek pressing gently against the princess’s. Her smile grew wide and almost unnervingly cheerful as she declared “Charlotte here needs to call her father, of course.”

“What?” Charlie’s voice cracked with shock. Her eyes widened, disbelief washing over her “I have to what?”

“What better way to start this grand endeavor” Alastor said with a sly smirk “Than to convince the devil himself that redemption is possible?”

Charlie’s expression froze in horror as her gaze locked onto the Radio Demon. Alastor’s grin never faltered, radiating confidence and charm, as if the weight of her suggestion was nothing more than a delightful game.

Chapter Text

Just so you all know, I created a playlist for this fic! It includes all the songs I want, have added, and am considering for the story. So far, songs one (Mount Rageous) through twenty-four (The Greatest Show) are already written into the story in that order. Songs twenty-five (Like Crazy) through thirty-seven (The Masochism Tango) represent Alastor's personalities and Alastor’s partners (each song either relates to him or their relationship). But I’m not telling you which song belongs to whom hahaha. The rest of the playlist is currently in shuffle mode since I haven’t finalized the order yet. Hope you like my choices! And as a little tease… there are two songs in the playlist that I want Alastor to sing for Adam and Lilith, but that’s still in progress. Of course, the playlist isn't set in stone; I might add or remove songs depending on where the story takes me. If you're curious about a specific song, feel free to ask! I’ll try to answer carefully to avoid spoilers.
That’s all for now... Happy reading!

CHAPTER THIRTEEN | DADDY ISSUES A LOT TO LEARN

“Do I really need to call my dad?”

Charlie’s voice wavered as she sat on the new couch, her hands twisting nervously in her lap. Vaggie sat beside her, offering comfort with a reassuring hand on her back. Meanwhile, Alastor stood before them, arms crossed, her gaze fixed intently on the princess. She had been listening patiently as Charlie came up with excuse after excuse to avoid involving him.

“Charlie, my dear” Alastor began, her voice dripping with a calm, comforting tone that seemed almost out of character “I know you don’t want to, but if we convince your father of the potential of this idea, talking to Heaven will be a breeze by the end.”

Charlie grimaced, her frustration spilling over “He let the extermination happen to begin with” she exclaimed, her voice rising slightly “The angels and him just had a meeting and said—” she deepened her voice mockingly “‘Go ahead and kill everyone.’”

Alastor tilted her head, letting out a thoughtful hum “That may be the case” she replied with a deliberate pause “But we can’t let daddy issues become an inconvenience for the future of this project.”

Charlie’s cheeks flushed crimson as she snapped back “I don’t have daddy issues!” she crossed her arms defensively “We just… we’ve never been close. After he and mom split, we stopped seeing each other. At first, I tried to call him, but he stopped answering. And when he would call, it was only because he needed me to do something. I know he wasn’t alright because of mom’s issues…”

Alastor’s grin sharpened slightly, her crimson eyes glinting with sudden curiosity “You are aware of your mother’s nature?” she interrupted abruptly, her voice tinged with genuine surprise.

Charlie blinked, confusion flickering across her face “You know my mom?”

The question caught everyone’s attention. Angel Dust, lounging nearby with his usual air of nonchalance, sat up straighter, his pink eyes narrowing “Wait… what’s going on? Is there something wrong with the queen?” he asked, his voice laced with suspicion.

Alastor sighed dramatically, waving a hand in the air as if to dispel the tension “I met her once… seven years ago, right after the extermination. Not a pleasant woman” she remarked, her tone carrying an edge of distaste.

Charlie winced, her expression becoming pained “Yeah… she would get into these moods. I know she took me away from dad, but he didn’t exactly fight for me either” she sighed deeply, running a hand over her face “Do I really… really need to call him?”

Vaggie opened her mouth to assure Charlie she didn’t have to, but Alastor cut in smoothly, her grin widening “Yes. If you don’t feel comfortable enough, then simply arrange for him to come to the hotel, and I will be the bridge between the two of you” she offered with a playful glint in her eye “Besides… from the fact that you admitted being my fan, my dear, you must already know how skilled I am at convincing someone.”

She paused for a moment, her head tilting as if recalling a distant memory “You must have been around seventeen when the incident with Mammon happened, right?”

Charlie’s lips twitched into a small grin as she nodded “I remember that day. You basically initiated redemption in a way” she chuckled softly “Mammon calmed down after you banished him.”

Alastor’s grin stretched wider, almost predatory. She could see the resolve building in Charlie’s expression, and she knew her work was nearly done.

Charlie bit her lip before finally relenting “Alright” she said firmly “I’ll call my dad. And if he agrees to come, you’ll be our mediator” her eyes gleamed with determination as she added “I’ll show him that redemption is possible, and I will not take no for an answer.”

Alastor patted the princess on the head with a rare softness, eliciting a giggle from the blonde “Good girl” she murmured, her voice carrying a note of satisfaction.

As Alastor watched Charlie, she couldn’t help but notice just how starved for approval the princess truly was. But perhaps, with the right guidance, this naive yet determined young royal could achieve far more than anyone in Hell expected.

***

“Hey, biiiitch.”

Alastor almost snorted, resisting the urge to laugh as Lucifer’s voice came through the call. What an utterly useless cosmic being—and she would have the pleasure of meeting him properly in due time.

“Hi, dad” Charlie said hesitantly, her fingers nervously curling as her eyes darted to Alastor for reassurance.

“Hey… How are you? Oh ho. Wh-Wh-where are you these days?” Lucifer’s tone was shaky, his words fumbling over themselves in confusion.

Charlie sighed, rolling her eyes “You know where I am, dad. I’ve told you before… right after I asked for the keys to the building you gave me. You even signed the transfer of ownership.”

“You did?… I did?” Lucifer choked out, his voice rising in pitch before settling back to normal “Oh, yeah, uh, well, you know, I, um, uh—”

Charlie interrupted him, her tone firm now, cutting through his stammering “I told you when I visited. Or did you not listen?”

Lucifer sputtered for a moment before recovering with hurried words “No, no, no, no. Just, you know, just forgot. I’ve just been really busy” he added nervously, and somewhere in the background, a faint squeaky sound echoed “You know, with, um… Important things.”

Charlie closed her eyes briefly, already bracing herself for the next round of dismissive responses “Well, I’m actually running a hotel to rehabilitate sinners. Maybe you remember when I introduced the idea to you and mom?”

“Oh… sadly, I kind of don’t remember it” Lucifer admitted, his tone nervous as ever “Heh heh. But, hey, a hotel... Fun.”

Charlie let out a long sigh, her patience fraying “Listen, dad, there’s something I wanted to ask.”

Lucifer coughed, and Charlie could hear the clink of a tea cup being set down on a table “Yeah, of course. Anything in my power is yours for the asking. You just name it.”

Charlie glanced at Alastor, who responded with an encouraging thumbs-up. Summoning her resolve, she continued “I was wondering if you’d like to come visit the hotel. Please, just come see what I’m trying to do. You’ll see why it’s a really good idea. And Heaven is bound to agree if I get a chance to talk to them. Please, Dad.”

Lucifer’s reply came almost instantly, his excitement glossed over the thought of his daughter mentioning Heaven “Wait. You’re… inviting me over?” his tone brightened considerably “Absolutely… Hoh… I’ll be there in an hour.”

Before Charlie could respond, the call abruptly ended. She stared at the phone for a moment before turning to the rest of the group “Welp… we have an hour until he gets here.”

Alastor’s eyes gleamed with amusement, though her tone carried a sharp edge as she spoke “You should arrange the documents you want to show your father while we take care of the place, my dear” her attention briefly flicked to her nails, as if inspecting them was of equal importance “Make sure your exposition is something he can’t forget.”

Charlie nodded, her nerves easing slightly as she smiled. Without wasting time, she went to gather her things.

Vaggie stepped forward, her voice sharp as she addressed the group “Okay, people” she said loudly, drawing everyone’s attention. Husker, startled, spilled his drink over himself, while Niffty collapsed on the floor in a failed attempt to catch a bug “Lucifer is on his way. So, we are going to get this place more presentable, and we are going to make an amazing impression.”

The hotel bustled with frantic energy as everyone scattered to prepare for Lucifer’s arrival. Alastor, however, stood still amidst the chaos, her arms folded and a bemused smile gracing her face. Her eyes followed Niffty as the little sinner darted toward the kitchen, her motions frantic as always. With a faint sigh, Alastor snapped her fingers, conjuring a pristine replica of her own kitchen right into the hotel. The familiar design would keep Niffty in her element, and of course, she made sure to stock the fridge and cabinets with everything the little maid would need. Efficiency at its finest.

Her gaze shifted to Husker, who grumbled under his breath as he wiped down the bar. Alastor’s smirk deepened as she observed Angel Dust rummaging through a chaotic pile of props, clearly searching for something specific. Before the spider demon could even voice his frustrations, she flicked her wrist. A banner materialized in his hands, the fabric pristine and adorned with the words “Welcome, Your Majesty” in elegant, neat lettering. Angel blinked, startled, and glanced at her with wide, suspicious eyes. Alastor tilted her head, her grin growing as if daring him to question her generosity.

Then there was Vaggie, who was struggling to move some of the furniture. Alastor suppressed a chuckle, her fingers twitching slightly as she considered simply making the furniture lighter. But where was the fun in that? No, watching Vaggie wrestle with the task was far more entertaining.

Her musings were interrupted by the sound of hurried footsteps. She turned to see Charlie dashing into the room, arms overflowing with a stack of papers. The princess’s face was flushed, her excitement barely contained as she rushed to Alastor “I’ve been working on these pamphlets” Charlie said breathlessly, holding one out for her “I made sure to make them colorful to catch attention.”

Alastor took the pamphlet delicately, her eyes scanning the design with mild amusement. Charlie continued, her words tumbling over one another in a nervous rush “I tried to find my old folder—the one I was going to show you years ago before you kind of… disappeared. Not the old written reports I left with Prince Stolas, though… you said you read some” she chuckled awkwardly, her gaze darting away from Alastor’s “Anyway, I don’t remember where it ended up, but I tried to replicate it.”

Alastor held the colorful pamphlet delicately between her fingers, her crimson eyes scanning the overly vibrant design. To her, it was painfully childish—far too whimsical to capture the attention of a single sinner, let alone convey seriousness. With a faint sigh, she lowered the pamphlet and turned her attention to Charlie.

“Charlotte” Alastor began, her tone calm but firm “As I mentioned earlier, you still have much to improve upon—especially when it comes to presenting your ideas in a written form” she held up the pamphlet with a faint smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes “This is too… childish for sinners. Perhaps someone with your own personality—like a joyful angel—might embrace it, but here in Hell? Not quite” her voice softened, but her honesty remained unwavering “If you want sinners to take interest, you need a more formal presentation. And most importantly, you need to address why an Overlord should join your project. Do you know why that’s so crucial?”

Charlie tilted her head, her brows furrowed as she thought “Because if I can get an Overlord’s help, their followers will also take an interest?” she ventured, uncertainty lacing her tone.

Alastor hummed in approval, her grin widening slightly “That’s half of it” she replied “Remember, Overlords own souls. Those souls grant us power and influence. If redemption becomes a reality for them, it poses a problem—it means the loss of their power. Take Angel Dust, for example. His soul is owned by Valentino. If Angel succeeds in redeeming himself, Valentino’s power will weaken. And trust me, an Overlord will not let that happen easily” she leaned in slightly, her voice lowering “We can’t afford to add more enemies to your cause.”

Charlie’s lips parted as she processed Alastor’s words, her naive optimism shining through “But… being given a chance to go to Heaven should be reason enough to be happy about it” she insisted softly “Even Overlords could be redeemed…”

Alastor let out a low chuckle, her eyes gleaming with amusement “Not everyone wants redemption, Charlie. I, for one, am opposed to it. I enjoy being in Hell—it is my home, after all. You mustn’t force the idea on everyone, because some sinners are genuinely content living here” her grin faded slightly as she added “And there’s another issue. When a soul is owned, it may very well mean that sinner cannot be redeemed at all. They no longer own their soul, so it’s no longer theirs to redeem.”

Charlie’s expression fell, her shoulders slumping as she stared at the papers in her hands “I hadn’t even thought of that…” she admitted, her voice tinged with sadness. Her frown deepened as her thoughts turned to Angel “I didn’t even think about Angel’s situation.”

Alastor placed a hand on her shoulder, her touch surprisingly gentle “It’s alright, my dear” she said reassuringly, her voice warm “I’m here to help you. We will solve these challenges together, and you’ll learn what it takes to become a proper businesswoman.”

Charlie snorted at the last comment, a small smile breaking through her somber expression “Thank you, Alastor” she said sincerely.

At that moment, her phone buzzed with the alarm she had set “Oh” she murmured, glancing around quickly before waving her hands to catch everyone’s attention “Okay, everyone… it’s showtime. My dad is about to be here.”

Steeling herself, Charlie walked toward the door. She paused just before it, taking a deep breath to steady her nerves as she waited for the inevitable knock.

***

She had never married.

Marriage, like many other human conventions, had been an irrelevant detail across all of her lives. But she had known partnership.

Not as Amelia, or Light. Not even as Azula. When she was Sasuke, though—something shifted. There had been a flicker of sentiment, perhaps not entirely opposed to the romantic nature as she had thought. She had fallen in love. It happened again when she was Tomura, and once more as Dazai. Sukuna, of course, also seemed to join the bunch. But she had been in love.

And that’s how she knew there was a problem. A troublesome problem that came in the form of a tiny, insidious realization.

Because she thought Kakashi Hatake was beautiful. Takami Keigo was beautiful. Nakahara Chuuya was beautiful. Gojo Satoru was beautiful.

Alastor wanted to die.

The voices inside her—Light and Azula—both groaned in exasperation, their annoyance palpable. Amelia cooed at the realization. The others simply sighed, resigned to what they knew was happening: another name was about to be added to the list.

Because Lucifer was beautiful.

Damnation was fitting, wasn't it? Alastor was supposed to hate Lucifer—that was the whole point. The King of Hell was meant to represent everything Alastor despised, not to mention the feelings the Original Alastor felt… inferiority, inadequacy, and a desperate need to prove strength. The original Alastor had hated Lucifer for those reasons, for the simple fact that he never felt like the strongest being in the room. But now?

She didn’t hate him.

Why? Perhaps it was because Alastor herself never felt inferior. Unlike the original, she was too powerful, too self-assured. She knew—without a shadow of doubt—that she was stronger than Lucifer. The absence of that inferiority complex stripped away one of the fundamental reasons for hatred.

Sukuna’s laughter echoed in the back of her mind, a sound that carried both mockery and smug understanding. Alastor tensed, her thoughts scrambling to connect the dots. And when they did, the wave of embarrassment hit her like static gone haywire.

Kakashi, Keigo, Chuuya, and Satoru—they were pathetic men. In a way.

She wanted nothing more than to bury her face in her hands, to drop her eternal grin and rid herself of the growing realization. The main attraction, the singular thread tying these men together, was painfully clear.

They were all broken. Not in a physical sense, but emotionally fragile, their souls riddled with need. They sought genuine love, unfiltered acceptance, and a sense of purpose to anchor their fractured selves. They wore their facades of confidence well, but behind them lay an unspoken ache—a desperate desire to feel human, to feel worthy of existing.

Alastor’s grin faltered for a brief moment, but she caught herself. Damnation was fitting, after all.

Lucifer Morningstar fit all those categories. A depressed archangel desperate to be loved, burdened by guilt over the whole garden incident—a guilt Alastor couldn’t comprehend. To her, it wasn’t something to feel guilty about; it was something to be proud of. But with a family made up of the first angels—beings devoid of understanding, imagination, or curiosity—it was no wonder they ensured Lucifer felt like pure garbage. After all, they could never be wrong. One could note the sarcasm.

Alastor wandered the area, her smile twitching as she watched the King of Hell embrace his daughter tightly. Her grip on her cane tightened, bitterness from the old Alastor surfacing. She tried to read them, to understand if the old Alastor had another reason to dislike the man. Ah, yes… the parenting issue. Alastor herself had no tolerance for bad parents. She knew she could take Lilith’s place—slowly but surely. It was Lucifer who needed to be dealt with—

Alastor glitched. The airwaves shifted for a moment as she fought to regain control.

No. Lucifer should not be dealt with. The simple solution would be to get rid of him, but that was the original Alastor’s way. She wanted to help him, to make him better. And why? Because she thought he was beautiful. The same stupid reason as always. Just that feeling alone meant she would have to change everything.

Just because Sasuke thought Kakashi was beautiful, she made sure he didn’t die.

Just because Tomura thought Keigo was beautiful, she ensured he didn’t lose his quirk.

Just because Osamu thought Chuuya was beautiful, she dragged him to the Agency.

Just because Ryomen thought Satoru was beautiful, she made sure he didn’t die.

And now… now she would have to make sure Lucifer Morningstar repaired his relationship with his daughter, shield him from Heaven’s cruelty, and ensure he learned to love himself. Just because.

Alastor knew. They all knew. When she called someone beautiful at first sight, it was never about physical appearance. It was something else, something beyond. She didn’t know what it was, and she never intended to find out. It was like an instant click in her mind, a voice telling her ‘He is yours in this life.’

Fuck this wannabe soulmate bullshit.

Chapter Text

Here we have the song of today's chapter! I do let you know that I changed some lyrics, so it could fit better with Alastor's role.

*****

CHAPTER FOURTEEN | THE KING OF DUCKS GOD IS SUCH A LITTLE BITCH

"It’s Mori… Hello?"

Fifteen-year-old Dazai Osamu answered the phone, her voice flat, devoid of enthusiasm. She and Hirotsu had been investigating reports of the former Port Mafia boss's appearance, though she was already exhausted. More than that—she knew exactly what was about to happen. In mere moments, Nakahara Chuuya was supposed to attack her. Should she move out of the way? Avoid being thrown against the concrete wall?

Nah.

Pain wasn’t much different from not feeling anything at all. How inconvenient that No Longer Human stripped her of the abilities she once had, reducing her existence to nothing more than that of an ordinary person. Despite the irony, being Dazai felt like anything but being human. It was exhausting. Hollow. She just wanted to die. Really, it was no wonder the original Dazai had been a suicidal maniac—there was no point in this thing people called living.

"Yeah..." she nodded absently as Mori spoke to her "I learned a few things. Long story short… I found the previous boss" her lips curled into a dark smile "He came back… from the pits of hell" she paused, listening to Mori’s response "Yeah… I’ll give you a proper report when I get ba—"

She never finished the sentence.

A blur of crimson struck her from behind, moving too fast for her to react. The force sent her hurtling into the concrete wall ahead, the collision cracking the structure on impact. Dust and debris swirled around the scene, filling the air before slowly settling. When it cleared, Dazai lay sprawled on the ground, facing upward, her expression unreadable. Standing over her, one foot planted near her face in a threatening stance, was Nakahara Chuuya.

He chuckled darkly, amusement flickering across his sharp features as he stared down at her "This is perfect. A kid! The Port Mafia must be really desperate for people" hands still stuffed in his jacket pockets, he looked at her with mocking satisfaction.

It took a moment, but when Dazai Osamu looked up and saw Chuuya, she froze.

Ah… she wanted to laugh bitterly. How the hell was someone like her—someone with zero emotions—given the chance to find Nakahara Chuuya as her chosen? What a cruel joke. She had truly believed that, with her lack of will to feel or exist, she wouldn’t have a soulmate in this life. And yet, the universe seemed to be laughing at her. The feelings of the original Dazai were merging with her own. That instant, visceral annoyance at Chuuya was there, but so was something else. Liking and disliking him at the same time was going to be… complicated.

Still, it was enough to make her feel something. Not in the same way she had in her previous lives, but it was there—a faint flutter. She remembered what it was like to love with full intensity, to feel every emotion in its rawest form. Now, all she had were memories of those feelings, and the absence of them made it worse. This little flutter she felt when seeing Chuuya might be the only thing keeping her tethered to this life. If it hadn’t happened, she was certain she would have ended it before canon could even began—jumped to the next life. What a shitty existence this was.

"I hate pain, you know" she said, her tone monotone, lying through her teeth.

Chuuya stared down at her, his expression serious "I’ll give you two options. Die now, or die after you give me information. Either’s fine."

"Kill me now, then" she replied immediately, her voice indifferent "All the better if you can kill me gently."

"What, are you just some suicidal brat?" Chuuya asked, clicking his tongue in disdain.

"You’re a brat, too" Osamu shot back without missing a beat.

"I’m not just any brat, unlike you" he pointed out, his tone sharp "Why don’t you tell me about this ‘Arahabaki’ you’re looking for?"

"Arahabaki, huh?" she echoed, feeling his foot shift, ready to strike. A smirk tugged at her lips "I see. Arahabaki."

"You know about it, don’t you?" Chuuya pressed, his eyes narrowing as he glared down at her.

Osamu’s tone turned deliberately annoying "Nah, first I’ve heard of it."

The response earned her a sharp kick to the face. Her head snapped to the side from the force, but she didn’t flinch. Chuuya pressed his foot against her stomach, pinning her down.

Her face remained turned, her eyes shifting to look at him with a dead, detached gaze "Those who step into the Sheep’s territory will be met with fierce retaliation" she said slowly, her voice calm despite the blood now trailing from her right eye. The bandages wrapped around her head began to stain red.

She turned her head slightly, her gaze locking onto him "So you’re the King of Sheep. Manipulator of gravity, Nakahara Chuuya" she recited, her tone flat, as if reading from a script.

Chuuya’s expression twisted with anger "I’m not a king" he spat "I just happen to have a card up my sleeve."

"I see…" Osamu’s smirk returned, her voice laced with malice "You’re a cocky, overconfident child. You’re the kind of person I hate the most."

The strawberry blonde bared his teeth at her, his frustration boiling over "And I hate condescending little pricks like you more than anything in this world."

Dazai Osamu chuckled softly, the sound low and bitter.

Ah, yes… the fighting was going to be the thing keeping her going.

***

“Oh… What in the unholy hell is that?”

Lucifer’s voice cut through the air, sharp and laced with theatrical disbelief.

Alastor closed her eyes, allowing the weight of the moment to settle over her. All the energy seemed to drain from her as realization struck—her connection with the archangel was instantaneous and infuriating. She had been prepared to make him feel unworthy, to strip away his facade piece by piece, much like she had done with Lilith. She could still do it, if she so desired. She could make him feel like trash.

But regret. Regret always had a way of clawing its way back to her, rising unbidden like an unwelcome specter. It was the same cycle as her past entanglements—if everything went right and ended in some semblance of romance, that regret would settle deep in her chest, gnawing at her endlessly.

No. This time, it would be for the better. She would start with an antagonistic impression, playing the part with precision. Later, she could adjust, smooth things over if she must. Her priority was killing God; that had been her promise to her child, to Bill.

Lucifer would understand. He had to. After all, even he would place his child above his own happiness, wouldn’t he?

Hurting him—just a little—was necessary. If she could make him feel like a failed parent, if she could drive home how much his absence had hurt Charlie, it might be enough to snap him out of his delusions.

But that was not the only question gnawing at her. Would she be forced to sing the damn song? It didn’t fit the moment, didn’t fit her, yet the possibility loomed. Testing the boundaries, even with the risk of erasure for defiance, was tempting.

Her thoughts shifted as she appeared in front of Lucifer with a flicker of shadows, her cane striking the floor with a deliberate tap “Just some of the renovations we’ve done” she said, her grin sharp and theatrical “Adds a bit of color, don’t you think?”

For a moment, she almost glitched. Lucifer wasn’t moving. He was staring—no, drifting. His eyes were locked on her, but there was something detached in his expression, as though he were seeing but not truly perceiving. Ten seconds. Twenty seconds. Thirty seconds. Forty seco—

“Dad?” Charlie’s voice broke the silence, her concern cutting through the tension like a knife.

Lucifer blinked, snapping out of his trance. His gaze focused sharply, narrowing with suspicion as he pointed his cane toward her “And you are?”

‘We’re ignoring that, then?’ Sasuke’s voice echoed dryly in her mind, suspicion coloring the words.

Alastor reappeared behind Lucifer in a blur of motion, her sudden proximity catching his attention once more “Alastor” she said smoothly, her voice dripping with charm “Pleasure to meet you, sir. Quite a pleasure indeed.”

She reached out, grasping Lucifer’s cane in a mock handshake before quickly wiping her hand against her coat with a hint of feigned disgust. Her grin widened, playful and deliberately provocative “It’s nice to finally put a face to the name” she added, her tone sharp “You’re much shorter in real life.”

With a flick of her wrist, she gestured mockingly at the height difference between the two Morningstars, her movements exaggerated for effect.

Lucifer let out a forced chuckle, the sound hollow and laced with disdain “Who is this?” he gestured at her lazily, his cane moving in a casual arc “Who is this now? Are you the servant?”

Alastor’s smile froze, her crimson eyes narrowing ever so slightly as she thought ‘Excuse me?’

The voices in her mind erupted instantly, each one firing off its own visceral response.

‘Kill him’ Light’s voice cut through, sharp and decisive.

‘Devour him’ Sukuna added with savage glee.

‘Turn him into ash’ Tomura spat, disbelief dripping from every word.

Amelia groaned softly; her voice weary ‘Being called servant felt worse than bellhop.’

Alastor suppressed the static building in her head, her grin widening a fraction. She let out her own forced chuckle—a laugh dripping with barely-contained anger “No” she replied smoothly, her tone carefully balanced between playful and venomous “I am the sponsor of the hotel. You might have heard of me—from my radio broadcasts or my numerous side projects as an Overlord.”

Lucifer pretended to adjust his jacket, his movements deliberately slow, as if to dismiss her entirely “Hmm. Nope” he said airily “Never heard of you.”

What?

What?

***

"Dazai, what do you think?"

Mori Ougai’s voice carried across the room as he stood by the window, his hands clasped behind his back. His gaze was fixed on the cityscape, but his attention was on the brunette behind him.

Dazai Osamu stood a few steps away, her expression unreadable. She had brought Chuuya back after their encounter earlier in Suribachi City. The explosion had been the key to apprehending Nakahara, thanks to Hirotsu’s assistance. Now, Mori had shown them both the footage—the previous boss of the Port Mafia, appearing as an apparition, threatening the mafia’s security and city’s peace. It was clear someone had summoned the ghost. The question was who.

"They must have used a special ability we don’t know about" Dazai replied, her tone monotone. She didn’t move, her gaze fixed ahead "If that footage wasn’t forged, we’re done for."

Her words hung in the air, heavy with implication. After all, Mori had claimed the former boss had died of illness. But Dazai knew the truth—she had been a witness to Mori’s crime.

"Oh, dear" Mori sighed, his tone light despite the gravity of the situation "Dazai, I have an order for you" he turned to face her, his expression calm but commanding "Find the person responsible before they do the same thing they did in the video—this time, in front of the supporters of the previous boss. Got it?"

Dazai closed her eyes briefly, her lips curling into a faint grimace "I don’t think we have much time" she muttered "Am I doing this by myself?"

"You won’t be alone" Mori replied smoothly "Have Chuuya there give you a hand."

From the corner of the room, Chuuya let out a sound of disbelief.

"No way" Dazai shot back immediately, her tone sharp with disdain. She turned to Mori, her expression twisted in disgust "Why do I need to work with this brat?"

Chuuya’s glare was instant, his voice rising as he stepped forward "What the hell are you talking about?" he spat, his frustration boiling over "I’ll beat the shit out of you, kid!"

Osamu stared at him as if he’d just said the dumbest thing imaginable "You’re a kid, too!" she snapped "And you’re smaller than me" Chuuya practically growled on the spot, like an angry dog "You ought to drink some more milk" she added with a mocking smirk.

"None of your business, bastard!" he shot back, his expression twisting with disgust "I’m fifteen. I’m still growing."

"Lies" Osamu retorted smugly "You’ll stay like that forever… looking like a tiny chihuahua."

Chuuya’s cheeks puffed with anger, his frustration bubbling over "No, I won’t, you… you… bastard!"

Osamu crossed her arms, her grin widening "Oh, can’t find a better comeback, huh?"

"No…" Chuuya stammered, his voice rising "I just don’t want to waste my time with a suicidal bastard who doesn’t seem to understand how annoying he is!"

The room fell silent. Osamu froze, her smirk vanishing. Even Mori raised an eyebrow in mild surprise "What did you just say?" she asked, her voice low with disbelief.

"Eh?" Chuuya blinked, his confusion evident.

Mori let out a chuckle, breaking the tension "Dazai here is a girl" he said, his tone laced with humor.

Chuuya blinked again, his gaze darting back to Osamu. He let out a gasp, stumbling a step backward "What?" he yelled, his voice cracking with disbelief "But you don’t look like you have—"

His eyes flicked to her chest, then back to her face. His cheeks flushed a deep red.

Osamu’s expression darkened instantly "Huh?" she stepped forward, her tone sharp and dangerous "What? You really are an idiot! What, do you need me to take off my clothes for you to see—"

She threw open her oversized black coat, revealing the fitting white button-up shirt, tie underneath and showing her feminine figure more easily, her mocking gaze daring him to say something.

"No!" Chuuya yelled back, his face burning "It’s just—the clothes are big on you, and you look like a malnourished fucking kid! How was I supposed to guess… bitch?"

“Nice” Osamu replied blankly at him changing the insult.

"Alright… quiet, both of you" Mori finally interjected with a sigh. The authoritative tone snapped them both into silence. They straightened, returning to their positions. Mori turned to Chuuya, his expression calm but firm "I trust you understand you’re not in a position to refuse my orders" Chuuya let out a sharp tsk, his frustration evident, but he didn’t argue. Mori’s gaze shifted to Osamu "You too, Dazai. If the previous boss’s supporters find out, as my accomplice, you’ll be tortured as well. You won’t be able to die easily."

Osamu tilted her head, her tone flat "What makes you think that’s the best course of action?"

"I have several reasons for making you work together" Mori replied with a smirk "And they’re all a secret."

Osamu rolled her eyes, already knowing exactly what those reasons were.

***

Alastor’s grin faltered for a millisecond before snapping back into place. The silence shattered as everyone else in the room erupted into disbelief.

“I’m sorry, what? How is that possible?” Angel Dust exclaimed, confusion etched across his face.

Charlie stared at her father, her expression torn between shock and embarrassment “Dad?” her nervous chuckle filled the space as she gestured toward Alastor “Alastor is… there’s literally no one in Hell who doesn’t know who she is.”

Lucifer frowned, his gaze shifting to his daughter “I… Are you sure?” he asked hesitantly, the doubt in his voice palpable.

Charlie’s eyes narrowed slightly in concern “Dad, do you not know what happened seven years ago?” she asked, her voice soft but probing “Do you know who’s practically been ruling Hell for the last century?”

“Even I know who Alastor is” Vaggie interjected, crossing her arms “And I arrived three years ago.”

“Yeah… It’s literally 101 for anyone arriving in Hell” Angel Dust added, gesturing dramatically.

Lucifer looked genuinely troubled now, his usual facade cracking “I… well…” he hesitated, his gaze growing distant “Sometimes I fall asleep and… time can be very…” his voice trailed off as he muttered “Seven years ago…” he blinked, his tone dropping into something far darker “Your mother left seven years ago…”

“She wasn’t the only one who left seven years ago” Husker grumbled from his corner.

Charlie stepped forward, placing a hand gently on her father’s shoulder “Dad… Alastor became the leader of the Overlords decades ago. She even had influence over the other rings…” her tone turned melancholic as she chuckled softly “She even fixed Greed. Mammon isn’t so bothersome anymore—from what Uncle Asmodeus tells me. Not to mention…” she paused, the weight of her words hanging in the air “Seven years ago, Alastor—”

“Charlotte” Alastor’s voice cut through sharply, her tone suddenly cold and dangerous “There is no need to inform your father of my accomplishments” her smile, once playful, now held an edge of calculated menace “If he hasn’t been aware of them for decades… then something else is being hidden here.”

She turned her attention to Lucifer, her eyes narrowing “How long would you say your naps take?”

Lucifer sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping “I don’t know… I can’t feel time as the rest of you do. Sometimes I go to sleep, and years have passed. It’s not like I even want to…” his voice dropped, a dark chuckle escaping his lips “I’m literally an archangel. I don’t even need to sleep, but… I feel so tired.”

A faint echo whispered through Alastor’s mind, Bill’s voice dripping with disdain “The mean man is doing it… knowing you that early wouldn’t follow the storyline properly.”

Rage bubbled up within her, threatening to overflow. The urge to destroy something, to tear the fabric of reality itself, clawed at her mind. But her facade remained unbroken, her smile fixed firmly in place.

“It can’t be helped then” she said, her tone light yet dismissive. Her fingers flicked the air in a careless gesture “Must be a side effect of your fall.”

Lucifer scoffed, his tone dripping with disdain “I think I would know if—”

He froze. Alastor watched as a white mist appeared on top of his head, she took a step backward “What?” she breathed as she glanced around to see that everyone else had mists over their temples “What is happening?” she demanded with panic.

“You are aware now… after what happened to you in the void… You can see HIS changes and manipulations. You can sense him” Bill informed her with a tone of sadness.

“What I am supposed to-” the sinner was about to touch Lucifer.

“Stop” her son demanded “You can’t intervene, HE will unfreeze them at any moment… follow like the original script from the time being.”

The demoness did as she was told with some hesitation and watched as the angel and the rest started to move once again. Like nothing happened.

Alastor, undeterred, slipped effortlessly back into her perfected theatrical facade “Anyway, the name of the hotel was actually my idea” she interrupted, her voice smooth and sharp.

Those glazed-over eyes flickered back to Lucifer’s expression, his attention seeming to drift into a peculiar trance. Almost as if on cue, he returned to the script, his tone bitter as he replied “Well, it’s not very clever.”

Her smile strained for a fraction of a second, her thoughts seething ‘That bastard is actually manipulating him right now.’

Alastor’s crimson gaze swept across the room. To her growing irritation, the subtle tension from earlier seemed to have evaporated, as if their previous exchange had never occurred. Charlie stood nearby, wringing her hands nervously, but the concern for her father was gone from her expression.

“Haha… Fuck you” Alastor replied, her tone still sweet but laced with venom.

With each exchange, the simmering energy between her and Lucifer inched closer to combustion. The static crackling faintly in the air was almost palpable before Charlie rushed to place herself between them, her voice a frantic whisper “Okay… Alastor, I thought you were going to be mediating us, not me” she said, her nerves showing.

Alastor took a deliberate step back, smoothing her grin “My apologies, Charlotte” she said, her voice syrupy with just a hint of strained politeness “Little things can get under my skin.”

Charlie nodded, clearly eager to defuse the situation, and spun back to her father with nervous energy “Okay, anyway! Dad, look at this lovely parlor where people can get to know each other and share secrets and stories and intimate feelings!” she exclaimed, nudging Lucifer along “Without Alastor, we wouldn’t have been able to pretty it up this much.”

Alastor placed a light hand on Charlie’s shoulder, her smile softening “Charlie has a very unique vision” she said warmly, her tone taking on a rare hint of sincerity “I’m happy to fulfill her darling requests.”

Lucifer’s eyes darkened slightly, a growl rumbling from his throat as he observed the easy rapport between the two.

“Oh, thank you, Alastor” Charlie said, her tone touched with emotion.

“Quite an impressive young lady” Alastor said with a playful grin, reaching out to pinch Charlie’s cheek “We’re all very proud of her.”

Lucifer cleared his throat loudly, stepping between them with a sweeping motion of his cane “Charlie, dear, why don’t you introduce me to your other friends?” his sharp gaze fell on the table where Angel Dust was brazenly attempting to swipe a cookie from Niffty, only to nearly get stabbed by her needle-like precision.

Charlie nodded quickly, gesturing to Vaggie first “Oh, yes, of course. This is Vaggie. She’s my girlfriend.”

Lucifer’s face briefly betrayed surprise before he pasted on an awkwardly bright smile “Oh ho my golly… You like girls? So do I! We have so much in common” his laugh was strained as he pulled Vaggie into an overly enthusiastic hug “You put it there, Maggie.”

Vaggie smiled shyly, clearly caught off guard “Uh, lovely to meet you, uh, sir.”

Charlie turned to Angel Dust next, gesturing toward the arachnid sinner “And this is Angel Dust, our guest.”

“Heya, short king” Angel said with a flirty grin, waving a hand lazily.

“Husker is our bartender, and Niffty is our housekeeper” Charlie continued, introducing the final two.

“Nice to meet you” Husker grumbled, his tone as sour as his expression.

Niffty, however, was positively radiant with excitement. She scurried up Lucifer’s coat in an instant, her manic giggle echoing as she perched on his shoulder “Hello!” she chirped, her voice unnervingly cheery “I clean. Hehehehe.”

Before anyone could respond, the chandelier above them creaked ominously before crashing to the floor, kicking up a massive cloud of dust. Everyone coughed and waved their hands to clear the air, the tension momentarily broken by the chaos.

No.

No.

This time I will refuse.

Lucifer laughed “Alright, then.”

Alastor’s voice tore through the static, her defiance almost causing reality itself to glitch. Time froze. And then she felt it—her breath caught, her chest tightened. It was just like before. Just like seven years ago. She felt her existence slipping away.

“Mother”

“Mother, you have to obey.”

“Just this once… WEICAN’THELP”

Alastor clenched her eyes shut, her hand gripping her chest as Bill’s voice crackled through the airwaves. Fuck you, fuck you. She could feel the pain ripple through her personalities, their voices echoing her own panic. The weight of the original dialogue loomed over her like a noose. If she didn’t comply, God would do it again—erase her existence like he had seven years ago. She didn’t want to obey. She hated it. But she had no choice.

Memories of that time flooded her mind, twisting her insides with dread. The suffocating weight of divine command pressed down on her, crushing her will. Her fists clenched, claws digging into her palms drawing blood as the pain in her chest intensified. She fought against the compulsion, but it was a losing battle.

“I can’t… I can’t go through that again” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the static. God’s power seemed to echo through everything, demanding obedience. It was an ultimatum she couldn’t ignore.

“Just this once… IWE CAN’T HELP.”

Bill’s voice insisted, blending with her own chaotic thoughts. She struggled, torn between her desires and the overwhelming force of divine decree. It was a battle she had fought before—and lost. Now, she faced it again, with the same stakes and the same inevitable outcome.

And then, suddenly, it was over. She felt fine. Normal. Time resumed, and the suffocating pressure lifted. Alastor took a shaky breath, trying to calm herself before anyone noticed. Around her, the others remained entranced by Lucifer’s musical performance, oblivious to the storm she had just endured.

“Looks like you could use some help
From the big boss of Hell himself.
Check out Daddy's glowing reviews on Yelp.”

Reality warped around her, the unnatural morphing was something Alastor was not ready for—not after the earlier torment that left her feeling like she was disintegrating. To make matters worse, those ridiculous puppets appeared.

"Five stars!" "Flawless!" "Greater than great!"

Someone, please, send her back to the hotel. She wasn’t even supposed to be part of the number yet. 

“With a punch of a pentagram,
I Wap! Bam! Boom! Alakazam!
Usually, I charge a sacrificial lamb
But you get the family rate!”

Charlotte’s discomfort was palpable; she looked like she was being held against her will.

"Thanks, Dad!"

Suddenly, Alastor found herself dressed as a server, pouring wine, only to be pulled by the waist. She barely caught sight of Lucifer’s hand. Don’t throw her to the damn frying pan.

“Who needs a busgirl now that you've got the chef?
Michelin tasting menu free à la carte
I'll rig the game for you because I'm the ref!
Champagne fountains, caviar mountains, that's just to start.”

Ugh. Her moment of entrance. She changed the lyrics and appeared behind Lucifer, shoving him aside.

“Who's been here thinking you’re right?
Who’s unshakable, like your might?
Makes you smile with extra little fun
Your idol from a long time.”

She kept the same neon tones of the original performance. Why even bother going beyond that?

“I’m your girl, your day to day
Your dear, your fine supporter
Remember when I protected the city back then?”

Charlie’s smile reached her, lifting Alastor’s spirits—just a little.

“I'm truly honored we are having such fun
You are like a daughter I wish that I had.”

Lucifer watched from the bottom of the stairs.

“Uh, what?”

Alastor chuckled, patting Charlie’s head as if to tuck her in.

“I could care for you just like a child I spawned.”

Lucifer’s hand shot up in protest.

“Hold on now.”

With a teasing grin, Alastor shoved his hat down, half-covering his face.

“It's a little funny
You could end up calling me...
Mom.”

Lucifer stormed forward, violin in hand, fury blazing in his eyes. Before he could retaliate, Alastor conjured a piano from above, letting it crash onto him. Seated atop it, she began playing the keys. Lucifer teleported behind her, wielding an accordion that made her ears wince.

“They say when you're looking for assistance
It's smart to pick the path with least resistance.”

She sang as Lucifer continued.

“Others say that in your needy hour
There's no substitute for pure angelic power!
Who just happens to also be your blood!”

Alastor cringed. Angelic power looked less appealing by the day.

“Sadly there are times a birth parent is a dud.
They say the family you choose is better!”

Lucifer huffed, disgruntled.

“What a bunch of losers.”

Not the best argument, considering his messy family track record.

“Can you butt out of my song?”

Lucifer regained his footing, shoving her waist aside to reclaim the stage. 

“Your song? I started this!”

Her gaze narrowed, cutting through his bravado.

“I'm singing it, i'll finish it!”

Neither seemed to register how their faces hovered inches apart.

“OH, YOU TACKY PIECE OF—!”

“Both of you, stop” Charlie exclaimed, stepping between them and pulling them apart. She sighed, exasperation clear in her tone “Can we please start with the tour?” she asked, her voice tinged with a pleading note.

“Of course, my dear” Alastor replied instantly, draping an arm around her shoulders with a practiced ease. Lucifer huffed but followed begrudgingly as they led him toward the stairs.

‘It’s like Return by Death’ Amelia’s voice echoed in Alastor’s mind, cutting through her thoughts “You know… Subaru not being able to tell anyone that he can go back in time every time he dies…”

Dazai’s dark chuckle followed ‘What a way to isolate us.’

‘We can’t tell anyone about God’s little plan’ Azula added, her tone cold and unyielding.

‘Just like Subaru… we’ll be “killed” if we tell anyone what we know’ Tomura finished with a resigned sigh.

Alastor’s grip on her cane tightened. She was more screwed than she even realized.

Chapter Text

Here we have today's song! I do let you know, there are sounds of moans in the song at some point (1:19-1:23), it doesn't exactly fit but you could change or interpretate them as Alastor's distortion with reality, you'll understand in the scene. Also, if you recognized the song from Teen Wolf... congratulations, you're probably in your twenties like me.

*****

CHAPTER FIFTEEN | WHO IS SHE? WHO ARE YOU, REALLY?

“So… what do you think?”

Charlie’s voice broke through the stillness on the balcony, filled with her usual optimism. Alastor couldn’t help but suppress a small sigh. It wasn’t that she disliked Charlie’s enthusiasm—on the contrary, it was charming—but the girl still had much to learn when it came to compelling pep talks.

Her crimson gaze drifted to Lucifer, who had been anything but present during the tour. His attention had flickered constantly toward her—not his daughter—and it was peculiar, to say the least. Alastor had half a mind to redirect the conversation to a more secluded room, somewhere the King of Hell would have no choice but to focus. The open expanse of the balcony was a poor choice for such a discussion.

“About what?” Lucifer asked absentmindedly, barely glancing at Charlie.

Charlie’s expression fell into one of disbelief “The hotel” she replied, her tone carrying a hint of exasperation.

“Oh yes, it does… it does look much better now, doesn’t it?” Lucifer chuckled, his tone light but dismissive. He leaned against the railing, glancing down as if testing its strength “You know, but I’m thinking this railing needs work. One good push and you’d just go right over the edge… Whoopie, bye-bye” he said with mock dramatics, pretending to tip himself forward.

Charlie’s frustration bubbled over as she stared at him “What? No, no, the plan, Dad. What do you think about using the hotel to help sinners?”

Lucifer sighed, rubbing his cheek in a way that seemed more performative than genuine “Alright, I mean, look… I love that you want to see the best in people, but these sinners…” he trailed off, adjusting his collar as if the conversation were physically uncomfortable “You know, they’re just the worst. I—I don’t know how much you can realistically expect from them in Heaven” his laughter was weak, anxious “Hohoo, boy, Heaven is not exactly as carefree as you might think. Yeah, they have rules. Lots of rules. And they aren’t very open-minded, as you’d hope.”

Charlie’s lips pressed into a firm line, her resolve unwavering despite his words “These are our people, Dad. I… I have to try.”

Lucifer’s laughter turned darker, devoid of humor “Our ‘people,’ Charlie, are awful. They got gifted free will and look what they did with it… Everything’s terrible” he wheezed, clutching his chest “I just don’t want you to put yourself on the line for people like—” he stopped mid-sentence, his gaze snapping to Alastor as he pointed his cane in her direction “Well, for people like her. I mean… You’re here, so what did you do? Huh?” his voice carried a bitter edge.

Alastor tilted her head slightly, her grin widening as amusement danced in her eyes “I was a serial killer” she replied smoothly, her tone light as if discussing the weather “With a touch of cannibalism, of course.”

Lucifer turned back to Charlie, gesturing at Alastor with exasperation “You see? This is exactly what I’m talking about, Charlie. You build something nice; you invite people in, offer them everything, and they just bring violence and chaos to your doorstep” his voice rose, heavy with frustration “It doesn’t matter how well-intentioned you are. They’re always going to disappoint you.”

Charlie flinched at her father’s dismissive statement, her chest tightening with hurt. She took a breath, steadying herself before responding “Not Alastor… she’s different” she said, her tone firm and unwavering “I may have met her for the first time today, but I’ve followed her since I was a child, Dad.”

Her eyes met Lucifer’s, searching for any glimmer of recognition, but he simply stared back with that same detached expression. Frustration welled up within her, but she pushed it down, determined to be heard “While you weren’t bothering to see me, or while Mom was having one of her fits” she continued, her voice shaking slightly as memories surfaced “I would always listen to Alastor on the radio.”

Charlie turned toward the Overlord, her gaze softening as a smile flickered across her lips “I learned a lot from her over the years. And after everything she’s done for the Sinners and Hellborns… after all she’s done to help Hell…” her tone hardened as she looked back at Lucifer, her glare sharp enough to make him flinch “When you and Mom never bothered to properly rule it… I can confidently say that Alastor is not like the rest of the sinners. I’m not stupid, Dad.”

Lucifer’s expression faltered as he absorbed her words, the sadness creeping into his gaze.

“I know Alastor can be cruel” Charlie admitted, her voice steady now, though tinged with frustration “She’s feared by our people—I know that better than anyone” a soft chuckle escaped her as she shook her head “But I also know that when it comes to the protection of Hell, she’ll do whatever it takes. And she believes in my dream. She’s one of the few who sees redemption as something real.”

“Charlie—” Lucifer began, his hand lifting as if to reach for her, but he hesitated, his fingers hovering uncertainly in the air.

“I’m willing to overlook a lot of things because this is Hell” Charlie continued, her tone soft but resolute “Things work differently here. But I also know that to achieve your dream, you have to never give up” her gaze flicked briefly to Alastor, whose permanent smile seemed to be watching everything with measured expectation “Alastor isn’t looking to redeem herself, so I don’t have to worry about her morality. What I do have to think about is how far she’s willing to take things. And if I don’t like it—if she crosses a line—I’ll let her know.”

Charlie turned her full attention back to Lucifer, her expression suddenly filled with the weight of her disappointment “But Dad… how is it that one of the most sadistic demons in Hell has more faith in me than my own father?”

Lucifer felt the sting of his daughter’s words reverberate through him, each syllable sharper than the last. How could she think that? He stood frozen, watching the pain and disappointment etched onto Charlie’s face. It crushed him more than he cared to admit, and for a moment, he could do nothing but look at her—his little girl who had grown into someone strong enough to throw daggers at his heart.

Instinctively, his eyes flicked to Alastor, desperate for some sort of grounding. Instead, he was met with the Overlord’s ever-present smile—a permanent fixture, he realized, though not a comforting one. Her crimson eyes pierced him, holding a quiet but unmistakable expectation, as though daring him to rise to the moment. To do something. Her gaze was a challenge, and it chilled him to his core because he could sense the promise lurking behind it: if he didn’t step up, she would.

“What do you want from me, Charlie?” his voice came out as a murmur, barely above a whisper. He couldn’t bring himself to meet her eyes, his gaze falling to the ground instead.

Charlie took a step forward, her determination a palpable force “I want to speak to Heaven.”

The words struck like a thunderclap. Lucifer’s head snapped up, his expression shifting to one of shock and immediate opposition “What? No…” he shook his head emphatically, panic creeping into his tone “Charlie, you don’t understand. Heaven never listens. They didn’t listen to me. They won’t listen to you.”

“You don’t know that” Charlie countered, her voice steady, unwavering. She stood taller, her resolve evident in every word.

But Lucifer did know. The bitterness clawed its way up his throat, and when he finally spoke again, his voice was weighed down with the remnants of wounds long past “I do” he said, the broken tone betraying the deep pain he carried “I do.”

“You didn't know that when…”

Alastor’s eye twitched faintly as the faint strains of music began to swell around her, signaling Lucifer’s inclination to break into song. ‘I’m still here’ she thought dryly, exasperation flickering behind her fixed grin. With a resigned sigh, she teleported back to the hotel lobby, leaving father and daughter to hash out their melodrama in peace.

The air in the lobby was bustling with motion as the decorations and banner from earlier were being hastily pulled down. Alastor observed the scene with idle amusement, her presence commanding enough to send a few nervous glances her way. She didn’t bother helping, of course—there was more entertainment to be had in watching them fumble through the task.

A few minutes later, the unmistakable presence of Lucifer and Charlie broke through the space. Alastor turned to find the king gently patting his daughter’s arm. ‘I guess it went like the original’ she mused to herself, her smile sharpening faintly ‘Better, even.’

“I can probably get you a meeting, but it will take at least a week… at most” Lucifer offered nervously, his voice trying to mask a flicker of hesitation “I’ll call you when I get it, alright?”

Charlie’s lips parted as if to nod, but hesitation crept over her expression. She frowned, biting her lip in thought. Alastor’s grin widened slightly at the sight, a low snort escaping her lips. Both father and daughter turned to her in confusion.

“How silly, Your Majesty” Alastor began, her voice tinged with playful reproach as she strode toward Lucifer. Her cane appeared in her hand with a flicker of shadow and static, and with calculated elegance, she used its tip to gently lift Lucifer’s chin, forcing his gaze to meet hers. Leaning in ever so slightly, she added with a teasing grin “Honestly… have you not been truly listening… at all? Can’t you see your daughter wants you to take residence at the hotel?”

Lucifer blinked, his face twisting through a chaotic array of emotions—indignation, embarrassment, that glimmer of gold brushing his cheeks hadn’t escaped Alastor’s notice, and finally, anger “Whatever, sinner…” he muttered, though his voice was more subdued than she expected. He shifted his attention to Charlie, his expression softening into something unreadable as he asked “Is that true?”

Charlie hesitated for a moment, then nodded shyly, her hands clasping nervously in front of her “It would be a great help if you stayed with us” she admitted, her voice soft but sincere “I… I would like it if you stayed.”

Lucifer’s composure cracked, his eyes shimmering faintly as if tears threatened to spill “You got it, kiddo” he said, his voice breaking into a chuckle “Of course… how could I not? My daughter wants me here” the king straightened abruptly, a grin lighting up his face as he added “I’ll come back right away—just need to grab some things from the palace.”

And with that, Lucifer disappeared in a flash, leaving Charlie standing mid-sentence.

The princess turned to Alastor, her gaze filled with gratitude. A warm smile curved her lips as she chuckled lightly “Thank you, Alastor” she said, her voice soft with sincerity.

Alastor’s grin widened theatrically as she dipped into an exaggerated bow, the motion dripping with mock grandeur “But of course, my dear” she replied smoothly, her tone playful “Anything for you.”

***

‘She felt strange.’

In all his eons of existence, never had he encountered anyone like Alastor—not even remotely close. The sensation she stirred within him was foreign, unsettling… and yet, it was not entirely unwelcome. He hadn’t felt anything akin to this in what felt like lifetimes. The last time, he realized, had been in the garden—when he first met Adam and Lilith. They had been humanity’s first creations, something new to behold, and with them came a new feeling, an unfamiliar awareness. Now, thousands upon thousands of years later, this sinner made him feel something entirely novel once again.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

The thought beat incessantly in his mind, trying to drown out the whispers of curiosity and the voice of his old self. But that part of him—the part that had once been eager to explore and embrace the unknown—pushed back with desperate insistence. ‘It’s not bad!’ his old self shouted within, wide-eyed with the wonder of discovery.

Lucifer shook his head furiously, gripping his hands tight enough to leave marks. His nails bit into his palms as if the physical pain could anchor him. It had to be wrong—everything new was wrong, and everything familiar was right. That was the truth he had been forced to accept. He had been punished for admiring the new, for desiring change, for venturing into uncharted territory. New was dangerous.

And yet, his inner voices reminded him, this was not the same. Alastor was not Father, nor was she Lilith. ‘It’s not even close’ they whispered in tandem, startling him further.

Alastor was… unique, and not in the way Lucifer understood. When he had felt Lilith, the emotions had echoed with the rest of humanity. When he had felt Father, it had been singular, extraordinary—but comprehensible. Alastor, however, didn’t align with any of that. She wasn’t human, nor angel, nor anything else he could categorize. She wasn’t even like Roo, the first evil—a lingering shadow that always concerned him in the back of his mind. No, Alastor was something entirely different, and Lucifer didn’t know whether that made her more or less terrifying.

What is she hiding? He couldn’t shake the thought. Was she using magic to shield herself from him? Had she discovered some forbidden method to conceal her soul? Because no matter how hard he tried, Lucifer couldn’t read her. He should have been able to see everything—her sins, her essence, the threads that bound her to this realm. But instead, there was nothing. Just an empty void where certainty should have been.

It made no sense. She had to be a sinner. That was the only explanation. What else could she be?

Lucifer remembered briefly meeting Charlie’s girlfriend—a trained exorcist. He could see what she was immediately. So why couldn’t he see Alastor? Why couldn’t he know?

She couldn’t be trusted.

It was the mantra Lucifer repeated to himself, over and over, like a hymn meant to ward off temptation. And yet, despite his best efforts, it was impossible to ignore the truth—the sinner was something to marvel at. She was exactly his type, tall and imposing, with an aura of menace cloaked in elegance. Dark, red, and mean, she embodied everything that made his heart flutter in ways he was far from comfortable admitting.

His eyes betrayed him, drifting upward as he followed her every motion, lingering a moment too long on those soft, beguiling—

Stop it.

Lucifer slapped himself, the sound echoing in the silence “She can’t be trusted” he muttered fiercely, rubbing the stinging spot on his cheek. His gaze darted around the room as if to ensure no one had seen him “…Stop it, Lucifer…” he whispered again, his tone edging into something desperate. He inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly, forcing himself to focus “Control yourself. Don’t get distracted. I know it’s been a long time…”

His thoughts betrayed him almost immediately, flashing to the moment she had used her cane to lift his chin, forcing him to meet her sharp, amused gaze. So commanding, he remembered, his pulse quickening “…She could step on me, and I would let her” he admitted, giggling nervously as panic bubbled up “No, no, no, no, no. Stop it, Lucifer…” he hit the side of his temple lightly, willing his thoughts into submission “Remember, we don’t even know what kind of threat she is yet. Even if Charlie clearly loves her… and apparently everyone except me knows who she is.”

He rushed to his desk, his movements frantic as he turned to face his line of rubber ducks perched neatly in a row “I have to know what she is first… or whatever the hell she’s doing. Then, if she’s clear—THEN I make a move” his voice cracked with urgency. Looking at the ducks, he raised a finger and switched to a high-pitched voice, pretending to be them “Yeah, if she’s clear, you can date her! Make pancakes together! Cuddle in bed and show her all of us!”

Lucifer groaned, his head snapping back in exasperation “I’m so lonely” he moaned, turning to lean his forehead on the nearest wall. He slid slowly to the floor, ending up face-down with his arms sprawled out.

The muffled sound of his voice broke the stillness “Not like Father… not like Lilith… If she’s not hiding, then… is she really something new?” the questions tumbled out, each one more troubling than the last “Does Father even know? Did he do this? Is this a test? What am I supposed to do?” he paused, his words trailing off into a heavy silence “Since apparently, everything I do is wrong…”

He rolled over onto his back, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling above. For a moment, he let himself reflect, the weight of his uncertainty pressing down on him. Then, in a whisper, the admission slipped free…

“…She was so beautiful. And so annoying.”

Lucifer groaned again, covering his face with his hands as if to smother the thoughts swirling in his mind. He wasn’t just referring to her physical beauty, though that had been… distracting. No, it was something deeper, something he couldn’t name. It reminded him of the way he couldn’t explain his existence to mortals, the way he couldn’t show them his true form, the way he couldn’t articulate the shape of reality itself.

Alastor, somehow, was like that. Something unexplainable. Something that was what it was. And the worst part? That unnameable feeling drew him toward her like a moth to a flame.

How frightening.

The thought struck Lucifer like a bell tolling in the distance, its resonance unsettling yet impossible to ignore. He hadn’t felt this disoriented in eons, and the source of his unease was infuriatingly clear. Alastor.

He couldn’t ignore it, no matter how much he tried. He had to go back to the hotel—to help Charlie, of course, and to figure out what exactly the big deal was with this so-called “ruler” of Hell. The thought made him snort in disbelief. The ruler of Hell in my absence? That phrase alone was almost enough to make him laugh… almost. He shook his head, his mind beginning to spiral.

What had Lilith been doing all this time? The question gnawed at him, bitter and relentless. Had his ex-wife truly done nothing in his absence? Had she not cared for Charlie, not loved her enough to raise her properly? From what his daughter had implied… Lilith had been a terrible mother. Why had she taken Charlie away from him if she wasn’t going to love her?

‘I’m sorry, Charlie’ he thought, the guilt settling deep in his chest ‘I’ll do better. I’ll be better…’

But then the image of Alastor crept into his mind again, unbidden, unrelenting. It made him groan audibly, rubbing his temples in frustration. I’m not going to let her manipulate my daughter. Even if Charlie…

He paused, the memory of Charlie’s fierce defense of Alastor flashing through his mind. He had seen it—the way his daughter stared at the Overlord with a mixture of awe and admiration, the way she idolized her. She had only met Alastor today, yet it was clear she had held her in high regard for years. He had heard it in Charlie’s voice, in the passionate way she spoke about Alastor’s accomplishments.

‘Damn it, Lilith…’ he thought bitterly ‘Just what the hell happened?’

Lucifer’s frustration mounted as he wrestled with the questions swirling in his mind. Alastor was an enigma, and he hated enigmas—especially when they involved his daughter. Something wasn’t adding up, and he wouldn’t rest until he figured out what it was.

Lucifer stood before the mirror, his expression darkening as he stared at his reflection. Slowly, he raised a hand, and a swirling golden mist began to materialize, drawn from the deepest of his mind. It floated around his fingertips, shimmering for a moment before exploding outward, filling the room. The world around him shifted and blurred—it was his memory, the moment he first arrived at the hotel and met Alastor.

“So you feel entitled to a sense of control
And make decisions that you think are your own.”

The words emerged like a growl, his voice laced with suspicion and frustration as he started to sing. He stepped forward, watching his memory take form, a version of himself meeting the enigmatic Radio Demon.

“You are a stranger here, why have you come?
Why have you come, lift me higher, let me look at the sun.”

A blinding light suddenly illuminated the room, golden rays cascading like waterfalls as they encircled Alastor. The ethereal glow enhanced her already commanding presence, making her seem larger than life.

“Look at the sun and once I hear them clearly, say
Who, who are you really?
And where are you going?”

Lucifer’s gaze hardened as his memory shifted. He watched with a deep frown as Alastor moved confidently, placing her hand on his daughter’s shoulder. The sight struck a nerve, and his present self instinctively moved forward, as if to step between them.

“I have nothing left to prove
'Cause I have nothing left to lose
See me bare my teeth for you
Who, who are you?”

The words spilled out with a guttural intensity, his jaw tightening as the scene twisted. The memory shifted to the aftermath of the chandelier’s fall. Lucifer stood amid the chaos, staring at a distorted version of Alastor. For the first time, he noticed a momentary crack in her composure—a flicker of fear, as though she couldn’t breathe. It passed quickly, leaving him unsettled.

“Now you're moving on and you say you're alone
Suspicious that this string is moving your bones.”

With eerie grace, Alastor regained her poise and began to sing alongside him, her voice smooth and confident, as if nothing had happened. Lucifer’s unease deepened as the scene blurred further, giving way to his imagination.

“We are the fire, we see how they run
See how they run, lift me higher, let me look at the sun.”

The memory dissolved, replaced by a vivid illusion: Alastor guiding Charlie through hell, leaving him behind in the shadows. Lucifer’s heart raced as he watched, desperation pushing him forward.

“Look at the sun and once I hear them clearly, say
Who, who are you really?
And where are you going?”

He tried to catch up, his hand reaching out to pull Alastor away from his daughter, but his fingers grasped at empty air… she vanished before his eyes.

“I have nothing left to prove
'Cause I have nothing left to lose
See me bare my teeth for you
See me bare my teeth.”

Spinning around, he saw her again. Alastor’s wicked smile pierced through the haze, her eyes gleaming with predatory amusement.

“Who, who are you really?
And where are you going?
I have nothing left to prove
'Cause I have nothing left to lose.”

Her stance, tall and commanding, resonated with a seductive authority. As he took a hesitant step back, Alastor closed the distance, leaning down to his level. With calculated elegance, she lifted his chin using her cane, forcing him to meet her gaze. Just like she had done earlier.

“See me bare my teeth for you
Who, who are you?”

Lucifer’s breath caught in his throat as Alastor’s smile deepened, her presence overwhelming yet captivating. The golden mist dissipated, leaving Lucifer standing alone in the darkness of the room. His chest heaved as he tried to steady himself.

“Just who the hell are you, really?”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER SIXTEEN | AN OWL’S CRY, A MOST MELANCHOLY CRY

Alastor often wondered why she transmigrated but never reincarnated. It wasn’t the notion of being born as these characters—it was the abruptness of waking up after something traumatic had just happened to them. She never lived their beginnings. She simply replaced them in their darkest moments.

She woke up after Light Yagami had written the first name in the Death Note, realizing he had just killed someone. He was seventeen years old.

She woke up after Azula discovered her mother was gone due to the words her mother had spoken to Zuko and her that night. She was nine years old.

She woke up after Sasuke Uchiha had witnessed his older brother slaughter their clan, their parents, and made him relive the horror repeatedly through Tsukuyomi. He was seven years old.

She woke up after Tomura Shigaraki—his real name, Tenko Shimura—had accidentally killed his entire family when “his” quirk manifested, sparing his abusive father only long enough to satisfy his intent to end him. He was four years old.

She woke up after Osamu Dazai witnessed Ougai Mori kill the leader of the Port Mafia and was forced to testify that the leader had chosen Mori as his successor—knowing full well Mori had orchestrated it, intending to kill Dazai later and frame it as suicide. He was fourteen years old.

She woke up after Ryomen Sukuna had reincarnated as a cursed spirit within Yuji Itadori’s body. Unlike before, this experience was doubly maddening, shared with a conscious and aware host. Sukuna had been alive for over a thousand years.

And finally, Alastor woke up after her own counterpart had been shot in the head while hiding a body in the woods, his life ending in a brutal crescendo of being ripped apart by hunting dogs. He was forty years old.

One psychopath, three traumatized children, one suicidal teenager, and two cannibals. Alastor chuckled, amused “It’s a wonder Amelia still manages to stay sane inside our mind” she remarked, hearing Sukuna’s laughter echo in response.

Amelia only shrugged ‘I still see them as characters. Denial is my best weapon.’

Osamu shook her head, her tone unnervingly cheerful ‘I can’t wait for the moment Amelia finally breaks down. Maybe we’ll end up killing ourselves, but one can only hope… please, make it painless.’

Light practically shoved the thought aside ‘Let’s not do that. Alastor finally has the power to kill one of the top and become the new God of this—’

‘Not at this rate’ Sasuke interrupted, her tone sharp ‘God is toying with us.’

Alastor’s static flared, her teeth gritting as the voices grew louder, overlapping in her mind “Tone it down” she warned, her voice cutting through the chaos. The commotion was overwhelming, and it was never pleasant when more than four of them spoke at once.

***

Three years had passed.

Three years since his mother had vanished—since her name had faded into murmurs, since her presence had become nothing more than a memory that the wicked and the cowardly dared to mock. Some had breathed relief at her absence, whispering their contempt in the corners of Hell where they thought they would not be heard.

But Stolas had heard.

He had endured the hollow ache of time stretching endlessly without her, wandering the corridors of their home like a ghost, tending to the gardens they had built together with a quiet reverence—an act of devotion, a desperate attempt to preserve what little remained of her.

He told himself she would return. That this silence was only temporary. That grief was something that could be ignored.

But Hell was cruel. Its inhabitants crueler. And not all wounds could be forgotten forever.

He had always known the whispers existed. Those who had scoffed at her authority, who had cursed her rule, who had laughed at the way she had defied the weak-willed aristocracy. Yet none had ever dared say it to his face. None had spoken such blasphemy where he could hear them—because, of course, they feared the Radio Demon.

Until today.

Auntie Rosie had come to him, her expression tight, voice sharp as she relayed what she had heard. The banquet. Andrealphus’ banquet. Andrealphus, with his pristine arrogance, his silvered tongue, his venom disguised as civility. Rosie repeated the words her friend had overheard—the twisted amusement in his voice, the way he had laughed behind his glass, turning Stolas’ grief into something cruel.

"She probably abandoned him because he was such a waste of a son."

"Good riddance to the Radio Demoness. Hellborns should rule—not a disgusting sinner like her."

For a moment, Stolas had been silent.

Listening. Processing. Absorbing each syllable as fury coiled in his chest, slow and molten, ready to burn. Then something snapped—a tether severed, an instinct took hold—one that did not think, did not hesitate.

Before thought could temper him, before reason could whisper caution, Stolas arrived at Andrealphus’ home. The steps leading up to the entrance were lined with delicate ice sculptures—pristine, untouched, fragile. They disgusted him. As his talons neared the threshold, the temperature shifted, the air cracking like frost-bitten glass. A towering wall of ice erupted before him, a barrier of cold intent. Stolas did not flinch. He exhaled, unbothered, as he sensed the presence behind him.

Andrealphus stood there, unconcerned. His coat, thick with winter’s embrace, draped over his shoulders like a coronation robe, like a statement—as though he wasn’t standing before a storm ready to tear him apart. His smirk was perfectly in place, his gaze gleaming.

"Well, what an honor" he mused, his voice silken with amusement, watching Stolas approach with slow, deliberate steps "Has the prodigal son come to cry?"

Stolas did not answer. The snow crunched beneath his talons, but he barely heard it—only the rushing pulse of blood in his heart, the pounding weight of something that demanded action.

The peacock demon continued, his posture lazy, his tone dripping with mockery "Let me guess. Someone finally told you the truth, and now you’re here to make some grand speech about how wrong I am?"

He kept talking.

"Face it, Stolas. Maybe she ran off because she couldn't stand the disappointment of what you became."

Stolas moved.

No words. No hesitation.

Just pure, unfiltered instinct.

Before Andrealphus could react, before his smirk could fully settle, Stolas grabbed him by the collar, fingers twisting into fabric, yanking him forward with crushing force "You will never speak of her again."

The words were low, guttural, stripped of all civility. Stolas was not speaking as a prince. Not as nobility. He was a son defending his mother.

And he would not let these words go unanswered.

Andrealphus snorted, unmoved by the sudden shift in weight, unfazed by the iron grip closing around his coat. He knew full well that if this encounter escalated, the political repercussions would favor him—most of the Ars Goetia aligned with his ideology, ensuring his safety. He regarded Stolas with a smug, detached amusement, his lips curling into something cruel "Oh, please. Are you really getting worked up over a worthless sinner? She didn’t belong in this world, and everyone knows it."

Another mistake.

The blow landed before Andrealphus could blink. Fist against jaw. Bone against bone. The crack of impact snapped through the silence, disrupting the cold stillness like a sudden thunderclap. Andrealphus staggered, his footing lost for the first time in forever, hands scrambling against the surface of an intricately carved ice sculpture as he caught himself. Shock flickered across his face—quick, fleeting—replacing amusement with something uncertain, something nearly panicked.

But Stolas wasn’t done.

No spells. No elegance. No careful precision. His mother had trained him in restraint, in refinement, in discipline—but none of that remained now. His vision blurred with rage, raw and unchecked, the kind that did not allow space for mercy.

"You think yourself untouchable?" Stolas snarled, his second strike crashing into Andrealphus’ ribs, sending him collapsing onto the snow. Black streaks of blood smeared against the frozen ground "You think your bloodline makes you superior?"

Another blow—across the face this time, sharp enough to send ice shards scattering. Andrealphus tumbled backward into his own sculpture, his weight cracking its base, splitting the delicate craftsmanship beneath him.

"You think you can insult my mother without consequence?"

The peacock coughed, his breath hitching, his laughter shaky but persistent. The realization had yet to dawn—that his life, in this moment, was no longer guaranteed. Still, his arrogance remained. Foolish "All this over a sinner—how pathetic."

Stolas grabbed him again, claws twisting around his neck, yanking him up so their faces hovered mere inches apart. His breath, sharp and heated "Mock me all you want" Stolas hissed, his grip tightening, his voice dipping into something colder, heavier, more final. More unshakable.

A pause. Long enough to suffocate.

"But if I hear her name come out of your mouth again—"

He let the silence linger, let Andrealphus feel the weight of it pressing down.

"I will make you beg for the sweet release of death."

Andrealphus let out a short, breathless laugh, blood spilling from his lips, staining the snow beneath them. Even now, he refused to take Stolas seriously. The owl narrowed his eyes, his expression shifting—slow, deliberate. Then came the smirk.

A tilt of the head. A lingering stare. Unblinking. Calculated.

Andrealphus felt the shift before he understood it. The air grew warmer, subtle at first—then undeniable. His own breath came quicker, a tinge of heat curling in his throat, crawling across his skin. The snow around them melted, the ice sculptures deforming, dripping into misshapen pools.

Then the burning started.

The peacock flinched, his body tensing as he felt the heat rising around his throat. Stolas’ hand. His grip. His presence. It was growing hotter by the second, like a flame pressed against paper, poised to ignite.

"It seems you’ve forgotten" Stolas murmured, his voice curling with amusement, with malice, his grip tightening ever so slightly "Fire is my element. Would you like me to test how long it takes to melt you away?"

A grin stretched across his face, sharp and knowing.

Andrealphus yelped as Stolas raised his free hand. Purple flames coiled, twisting and pulsing as if they had their own hunger, flickering with a heat far beyond anything Andrealphus had ever faced. He had mastered ice and was resistant to fire. But this—this was something else entirely.

Something that could erase him with a mere touch.

Stolas was not simply the Prince of Ars Goetia. He was not merely the son of Alastor. He had been her student, her successor. She had molded him into something beyond expectation—beyond reason. More powerful than any regular Ars Goetia could ever hope to be.

Powerful enough to kill a Sin.

But neither Stolas nor Alastor had ever disclosed that truth.

"Stop—!" Andrealphus gasped, panic lacing his voice as he struggled, trying desperately to summon ice, to freeze the hand around his neck. His magic surged—but the moment the frost formed, it melted instantly, vanishing beneath the overwhelming heat curling from Stolas’ body. Faster. Stronger. Unstoppable.

Stolas grinned, pleased, watching as the peacock fought against inevitability. He pressed the flames against Andrealphus’ cheek, letting them lick at his skin, letting him feel the burn—not just across his flesh, but deeper, into something more profound.

The scream that tore from Andrealphus’ throat was not merely pain—it was horror.

Stolas had been kind. He had only burned his face leaving a wound that would never heal. A scar that would mark him forever.

Stolas let him collapse, watching with quiet detachment as Andrealphus writhed in the ground, his hands clawing at his own face, shaking, moaning in agony.

The owl prince blinked. Apathetic. Unmoved. Then he exhaled, slow, deliberate, and bent down—not in sympathy, not in kindness, but in finality, his fingers curling harshly into Andrealphus' hair.

"I didn’t kill you because of the political repercussions" he said, his voice low, a quiet promise of something worse "No, I didn’t kill you because I want you to remember—you are alive because I allow you to continue breathing."

And he knew those words well.

His mother had said something similar once before—when she had spared the first man, when she had chosen torturous existence instead of death as a punishment. Stolas was not merely repeating them—he was confirming them, cementing their meaning in blood and fire.

Andrealphus never spoke of Alastor again.

Not out loud.

Not where anyone could hear.

Not where Stolas could make him regret it.

***

Stolas visited his mother’s home every day.

The corridors felt hollow without her. Though the walls still stood tall and unyielding, they carried an emptiness, an ache that whispered of gentler times. Seven years had passed since he had last seen her, but the passing days had only widened the void of her absence. Time did not heal this wound; it merely magnified its depth.

Her voice echoed faintly in his memories, a melody that could brighten even the bleakest of days. Every song she sang, every word she spoke had carried an inexplicable warmth that enveloped him like a shield. And her touch—gentle yet unwavering—had been a grounding force, a reassurance that no matter how dark the world seemed, he was safe in her presence. With her, he had felt invincible. Without her, even the hellfire felt cold.

Stolas often wandered the gardens they had built together, the place where his love for flora first bloomed alongside hers. When she had first taken him in, he had never expected her to share his fondness for plants. But when he learned that she loved them just as much as he did, something in him sparked—an overwhelming joy, a quiet understanding, a bond formed through soil and roots.

They had crafted this sanctuary together, shaping every corner, nurturing every seed, turning the once-empty grounds into a living masterpiece. He still cared for it—because it was theirs, because it was the one part of her that still felt close, still felt alive despite her absence. But no matter how much care he poured into the earth, the garden felt different now. Incomplete.

Without her, something was missing.

The plants still thrived under his care, their colors vibrant, their shapes exquisite. But they lacked something—a vitality, a brilliance that only his mother’s hands could weave into each petal and leaf. Every morning she spent tending to them had left behind traces of her magic, her presence, her warmth. And he tried—tried to preserve it, tried to keep it just as she left it, tried to maintain the life they had cultivated together.

Yet, despite everything, it wasn’t the same.

The memories clung to him as he roamed, washing over him like the waters that once masked their laughter. He could still hear her laugh, rich and full of life, carrying a lightness that seemed impossible to reclaim now. His heart ached with the weight of things unsaid, of moments lost forever to the relentless march of time.

He yearned for her guidance, for the wisdom that had always shone like a beacon in his life. She had been his anchor, his compass in a realm that thrived on chaos and cruelty. Without her, Hell seemed more ruthless, more unforgiving than ever before. And in her absence, Stolas found himself grappling with a question that lingered, unspoken but persistent: would she be proud of the demon he had become?

Her absence was a wound that refused to heal, a jagged scar that cut deeper with each passing day. It wasn’t just the emptiness of her home that haunted him—it was the irreplaceable bond they had shared, the connection that no force in Hell or beyond could replicate.

Stolas missed her stories.

The way she spun her tales, weaving vivid details so masterfully, he could almost feel the worlds come alive around him. Each word was like a thread, binding him to distant lands and fantastical journeys. There were six stories in particular that he cherished—not just for their content but for the way his mother’s eyes would glimmer as she told them, as if these tales were treasures she held closest to her heart.

There was the story of a determined young girl who outsmarted a brilliant detective while pursuing her dream of cleansing the streets of crime.

The story of a banished princess, cast out alongside her brother, who rose against their father’s tyranny to become the ruler of their nation. Funny, how the name of the brother was Zuko, the same name she had chosen for his companion.

The story of a girl who fled her village to escape corruption, only to return stronger, destroying its oppressive leaders and saving the world—falling in love with a kindred spirit along the way.

The story of a girl living in a society of heroes and villains, striving to reshape the world’s perceptions while falling for a man with striking crimson wings.

The story of a lost girl, unsure of life’s purpose, who dedicated herself to doing good even when she couldn’t distinguish it from evil, finding hope in a fiery boy with vibrant hair as he promised to become her moral compass, her reason for continuing living.

And the story of a formidable queen who was reborn into a modern age, entangled in a labyrinth of curses and sorcery, battling fiercely alongside an annoying man she claimed as her own for he was the closest one out of everyone to be able in keeping up with her.

Her voice had been a symphony, breathing life into each character and setting. Stolas treasured those moments of escape, where her words painted images more vivid than the world around him. In her stories, he found solace—a let off from the weight of responsibilities and the unrelenting burdens of his reality.

Now, as he stood beneath the night sky of the pocket dimension his mother had conjured and not the familiar redness of hell, its vastness seemed emptier without her by his side to explain its mysteries. She had taught him to look beyond the mundane, to see the beauty in the cosmos and appreciate the infinite possibilities it held. But without her, the stars seemed dim, their light distant and cold. Every constellation he traced was a reminder of her absence, each one a reflection of the void within his heart.

Stolas closed his eyes, allowing the tears to flow freely. He did not shy away from the vulnerability—how could he, when every tear carried her memory? Her name left his lips in a whisper, carried into the stillness of the night. He never prayed; he knew she would never want that. But somehow, he believed she could hear him, wherever she was, and that she knew he had never stopped yearning for her return.

The years had done nothing to dull his love. If anything, they had only deepened his appreciation for the time they had shared. Her absence was a chasm he could never bridge, but her stories, her voice, her wisdom—they lived on, woven inseparably into the fabric of his soul.

In the solitude of the garden, Stolas held onto hope as if it were the only thing tethering him to a brighter past. Perhaps, one day, fate would grant him the kindness of their reunion. Until then, he would carry her memory within him—a cherished fragment of his soul, radiant and enduring, keeping him connected to the light she had always embodied.

Without her, Hell seemed darker, colder. The love she had bestowed upon him, however, remained his guiding star, a beacon that refused to dim even in her absence.

Lost in his contemplation, Stolas was startled by the sudden sound of a voice, both familiar and teasing, dripping with a blend of sarcasm and warmth “My little owl has always been such a crybaby.”

His heart seized in his chest. Turning sharply, breath hitching, he found her standing there. Alastor. His mother. Seven long years had passed since he last laid eyes on her, yet there she was, as though she had stepped straight out of his memories. Her presence was overwhelming—a maelstrom of emotions threatening to drown him. Relief, anger, longing, and confusion swirled within him, leaving him unsteady.

“Mother?” he whispered, disbelief thick in his voice. The word hung in the air, heavy with the significance of the moment. The garden itself seemed to hold its breath, as if acknowledging the gravity of her return.

Alastor’s crimson eyes gleamed with her signature dark humor, though a tenderness lingered beneath the surface, a reflection of the bond they shared “Did you miss me, Stolas?” she teased, stepping closer, her figure both familiar and haunting “Or did you think I would never return?”

Tears welled up in Stolas’ eyes, but this time they carried a fragile joy, a desperate hope that had lain dormant for far too long “Where have you been? Why did you leave?” he asked, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions.

Alastor sighed, her expression softening in a way that was rare, even for her “It’s a long story” she admitted, tilting her head with an air of exasperation “One that involves a very annoying being who’s far too stubborn for his own good. But…” her gaze softened further, sincerity seeping into her tone “I never stopped thinking of you, my little owl. Never stopped longing for the day I could be by your side again.”

“More stubborn than you?” Stolas joked weakly, tears now spilling freely down his cheeks.

A soft chuckle escaped her lips “Perhaps” she conceded.

Stolas hesitated for only a moment before closing the gap between them, wrapping his arms tightly around her. The years of separation melted away in an instant, replaced by the warmth of her embrace “I’ve missed you so much, Mother” he whispered into her shoulder, holding her as if letting go might shatter the moment.

The two stood together in the garden, the stars above quietly bearing witness to their reunion. The universe, for a fleeting moment, felt a little less vast, a little less lonely. Stolas’ heart, once heavy with sorrow, now felt lighter. The guiding star of his mother’s love had returned, dispelling the darkness that had surrounded him for so long.

“If you leave again…” he murmured, hiding his face in her hair “I’ll stop listening to the radio and switch to television instead.”

Alastor’s rich laughter rang out, filling the garden like a melody “Now, now, my dear” she said, her voice teasing but warm “There’s no need to go to such lengths” she leaned in closer, her tone dropping to a conspiratorial whisper “Where is Zuko?”

Stolas hummed thoughtfully “He’s in the bayou” he replied “I always leave him there to hunt while I’m in the garden.”

“Savage little thing” Alastor murmured, her voice tinged with fondness.

***

“Bitch is fighting me.”

Alastor’s ears twitched with amusement as Lucifer’s growl echoed across the lobby. Reclining on the couch, she observed the scene with a grin that widened ever so slightly with each passing moment. The King of Hell was pacing furiously, his fiery breath practically singeing the air as he clutched his phone, typing at breakneck speed.

Charlie sat next to Alastor, her hands clasped tightly together, her anxiety palpable as she waited for her father’s approval for the meeting. Vaggie worked to ease her tension, gently rubbing her shoulders to stave off the beginnings of a panic attack. Meanwhile, at the bar, Husker and Niffty had taken their places as spectators, watching the scene unfold. Husker grumbled as Angel Dust repeatedly tried to pet his ears, swatting the arachnid sinner’s hand away with increasing irritation.

“He keeps texting me bullshit after bullshit” Lucifer snarled, his tone dripping with venom as his fingers darted across the screen “As if he’s some hot shit” the devil paused, confusion flickering across his face “Apparently, he hasn’t been showing up to the exterminations in the last few years…”

The room went silent as all eyes turned toward Alastor. She felt the weight of their stares and let her grin curl wider, the gleam in her eyes betraying her amusement “Really?” she said, her tone dancing with mock innocence “What a funny predicament.”

“Yeah… wonder why” Husker muttered, batting Angel Dust’s hand away once again.

Lucifer tilted his head, utterly perplexed “What?”

Angel snorted, throwing his arms up theatrically “You really haven’t done your homework, huh, big daddy?”

Alastor’s gaze sharpened, her grin never faltering as she took in Lucifer’s bewildered expression. He looked utterly lost, and for a brief moment, she considered whether this man truly understood the depth of the games he was playing “Your Majesty” she said smoothly, her voice laced with amusement “Will you do me the favor of informing Adam that the Radio Demon will be attending the meeting as well?”

Charlie’s head snapped toward her, excitement lighting up her features “Really? You want to participate?” her voice carried relief as she added “I thought I’d be rehearsing my points the entire night, but if you’re going to help during the meeting, I’ll feel so much more at ease.”

Vaggie grimaced, crossing her arms tightly “Are you sure having Alastor there will make Adam listen?” she said skeptically “After what she pulled seven years ago, I’m pretty sure it’ll have the opposite effect.”

“Miss Alastor can force anyone to listen to her” Niffty chimed in, giggling creepily from her perch at the bar “Especially the bad boys.”

Lucifer stiffened, visibly unsettled by the little sinner’s comment. His gaze darted across the room as he demanded “Alright… will someone please tell me what Alastor has to do with Adam? What’s this big thing I’m missing?”

Charlie took a deep breath, her voice trembling slightly with apprehension “Alastor fought during the extermination, seven years ago” she began, a grimace crossing her face “It was broadcasted all over Hell… she killed seven exorcists and…”

“I defeated Adam” Alastor interjected smoothly, her tone light as if discussing something trivial. She inspected her fingernails with feigned disinterest “I cut his arm off, and he flew away like the coward he is. You mentioned he hadn’t appeared recently—perhaps it’s because I sealed his injury. Either he still lacks an arm, or it’s taking him seven long years to heal the injury” her grin widened slightly, savoring the weight her words carried in the room.

Angel Dust tilted his head, curiosity gleaming in his eyes as he chimed in “Don’t forget the part where you vanished a week later after that whole show. You haven’t said where you went…”

Alastor let out a bright, almost musical cackle that filled the room with static undertones “It’s not important” she replied, her amusement bubbling over “But by all means, do indulge me with your theories. I’d find them delightfully entertaining.”

The room’s energy shifted as all eyes turned to Lucifer. He stood frozen, staring at her as if he couldn’t process what he’d just heard. His disbelief finally erupted in a thunderous yell “You killed— You cut his— WHAT?”

In two strides, he was upon her, grabbing her shoulders roughly. The static from her presence buzzed faintly under his grip, but she didn’t flinch. Instead, her grin widened further, her crimson eyes alight with a mix of amusement and challenge.

“How could you even…?” Lucifer spat, his voice low and dangerous as he tightened his hold “You’re a sinner—a mortal soul. Adam’s power is on par with Lilith’s! You shouldn’t have been capable of that.”

Alastor’s tone turned icy, her words laced with venomous amusement “You have no idea what I’m capable of when motivated, my dear” she hissed, her hands moving deliberately to pry his fingers off her shoulders.

“You could have caused a war” Lucifer growled, his grip tightening further. Charlie’s voice broke through in the background, pleading for him to stop, but he didn’t seem to hear her.

“Oh?” Alastor purred, her grin twisting into something far more menacing “Would you have even noticed if I had? Or would you still be blissfully unaware, locked away in your little palace?”

With force, she pushed him back, her strength sending him stumbling. Lucifer nearly lost his footing, his wide eyes betraying his shock. Alastor stood, smoothing her coat as she loomed over him, her stature far more imposing than her frame should have allowed.

“Adam is too prideful and too much of a fool to admit defeat” she continued, her voice sharp yet dripping with amusement “No, he’d rather hide away, licking his wounds in private. Tell me, Your Majesty…” she tilted her head, her grin razor-sharp “How desperate would he have to be to seek help from… Oh, I don’t know… Michael?”

Lucifer’s reaction was subtle but telling—a slight flinch at the mention of the name, his composure cracking ever so slightly “You’re too arrogant” he muttered, his tone subdued as his gaze flicked to his daughter’s disappointed face.

“I’m arrogant enough to accomplish what no one else can. I’ll never apologize for that” Alastor said firmly, brushing her fingers through her hair and adjusting her coat with a theatrical flourish “Now, do inform Adam that I’ll be attending the meeting. He’ll comply, if only to prove himself superior to the woman who so easily shattered his pride.”

Lucifer sighed heavily, his frustration evident as he sent the message. His eyes widened as Adam’s response arrived almost instantly “The meeting is scheduled for a week from now” he announced, surprise lacing his voice.

“Then we’ll be there” Alastor replied, satisfaction curling in her tone. She narrowed her gaze, her next words deliberate “All three of us—The King, Charlotte, and myself.”

“You want me to attend as well?” Lucifer asked, his surprise palpable.

“Just a feeling” Alastor said vaguely, tapping her cane against the floor as it appeared in her hand “Now, my dear chumps, I’ll take my leave. There’s much to prepare for this meeting” her gaze flicked to Charlie “Charlie, either write a detailed report or select the documents you’ll present. I’ll review them quickly to ensure they’re polished—less enthusiasm, more professionalism in your tone.”

Charlie nodded, rising with newfound determination “Vaggie, I’ve got so many new ideas to add!” she exclaimed, grabbing her girlfriend’s hand and dragging her toward the stairs “It’s going to be a busy week!”

Angel Dust leaned closer to Husker, his voice low “This is gonna end badly, huh?”

Husker grunted, sipping his drink “Either a miracle happens and the idea of the princess somehow works on the angels or… the most probable one, Alastor actually kills the first man and starts a war.”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN | A NEW CHARACTER HAS JOINED NOT A GOOD THING

"Well… it seems this is it for me, too."

Kakashi Hatake was about to die. Pain’s clones had torn through the village, leaving devastation in their wake. The streets were filled with casualties, all because they sought Naruto Uzumaki. Fortunately, Naruto was outside the village—he was safe. And Sakura Haruno, his former student, was undoubtedly pushing herself to her limits in the hospital, healing as many wounded as she could. That was her nature. His role, however, had been to protect the village. He had fought, bled, endured—but there was no denying it now. Pain’s clones were stronger. His body lay crushed beneath rubble, his arms pinned under slabs of concrete, his chakra drained past exhaustion. There was no way out of this.

And Sasuke… She had vanished into the chaos when the attack began. He had tried to follow her, but the battle pulled them apart, separating them in the storm of destruction. He had no idea where she was now, but Kakashi almost chuckled—of course she was fine. If anyone could stand against Pain and emerge victorious, it would be Sasuke. That damn cold, sarcastic girl. And yet, beneath the anger, the pain, the fury she carried so deeply, there was something softer. Kakashi’s mind flickered back to a rare, unexpected moment—the first time she met his summons, his dogs, his pack.

At first, he had thought he was hallucinating—the way she had crouched down, a small, genuine smile appearing as she ran careful fingers through their fur. His ninken, usually wary of strangers, had instinctively leaned into her touch, responding to something unspoken, familiar. And for the first time, Kakashi understood. His summons recognized her as something more than an outsider—there was a natural ease, an acceptance. A quiet part of him felt something stir, something ancient in the depths of his instincts—bond, pack, belonging. The realization had unnerved him, though he buried it under dry humor.

He had teased her about it afterward, of course. How could he not? Sasuke Uchiha—S-rank missing-nin, a “Flee on Sight” order attached to her name—was a softie for animals. But no one could take that moment from him. Because Kakashi wasn’t sure if he imagined it, or if, just for a second, she had looked at them the same way he did—like they were hers too.

Kakashi exhaled slowly. His body felt heavy, surrendering to the inevitable. That wasn’t a bad memory to die on. He closed his eyes, accepting his fate. He was finally going to join Rin and Obito in the afterlife. But then—

His body was wrenched away, the sensation violent and sudden. He hit the ground hard, a sharp grunt escaping his lips. Before he could even process what had happened, something struck his forehead. A brief pause—and then his energy returned, rushing back into him, wounds sealing themselves as if reversing time.

Dazed, he opened his eyes. His fingers brushed against something smooth on his forehead—a seal. Slowly, he pushed himself upright, peeling the tag away once he was fully healed. Only then did he take in his surroundings. It was another battlefield. Buildings collapsed, rubble strewn across broken streets, the remnants of destruction. But his gaze settled on one thing—Sasuke.

She sat atop a massive slab of broken concrete, her back to him. He blinked, confused. Had she thrown the seal at him? Instinctively, his hand moved beneath his vest, searching. His fingers brushed against another seal—one she had planted on him earlier, without him even noticing. ‘When had she done that? How had she done that?’ Honestly… this girl was terrifying. But it had been thanks to that seal that he was here. That he had been pulled to her side.

Kakashi exhaled sharply, shaking off the lingering shock of near-death and stepped closer “You are kinda scary… did you know that?” his tone was light, casual—like he hadn’t just crawled back from the brink of death. No response. So, he tried again, slipping into an obnoxious drawl “Mah, Sasuke… it’s rude to ignore me when I’m trying to—”

He froze mid-step.

Just a few paces away, at Sasuke’s feet, lay a body. Danzo Shimura. Dead. A gaping wound marred his chest, blood soaked into the shattered remains of the battlefield. His lifeless eyes remained open, frozen in an expression of sheer horror. Whatever had happened had been brutal. Kakashi felt his breath hitch “What have you done?” he whispered.

Sasuke turned to face him. His eyes widened. Blood streaked down her face, trailing from her eyes—the unmistakable consequence of overusing her Sharingan. Her voice was quiet. Unwavering.

“Justice.”

***

“Look at that, not a single person at the front desk… why do we even have a front desk if it’s going to be there just for decoration?”

Lucifer's voice carried across the lobby, tinged with nervous energy as he rambled to no one in particular. Charlie stood to his left, her calm facade betraying the anxiety simmering beneath, while Alastor, ever composed, lingered on his right, her grin a constant, unnerving presence.

This had to be the most stressful week of his life, and that was saying something for the King of Hell. He was about to meet Adam again—a thought that made his stomach churn with disgust. Worse yet, he was taking his daughter directly into enemy territory.

And then there was Alastor, standing beside him as if she weren’t the exact sinner who had killed angels and nearly sparked a war. For all he knew, she could’ve finished the job right there, plunging them all into Heaven’s wrath. But noooo, he had to be a good father. He had to listen to Charlie when she insisted that bringing Alastor along was a good idea.

“She’s the best businesswoman in Hell” Charlie had said. Lucifer scoffed internally at the memory. That was just a fancy way of saying Alastor was the most conniving, manipulative woman to walk the underworld, someone who could twist any deal to her advantage.

Lost in his spiraling thoughts, he barely registered Alastor rolling her eyes. She stepped forward, tapping the bell at the front desk with a deliberate motion. In an instant, a golden scroll and quill appeared, floating gracefully from above. Without hesitation, she took the pen and wrote down their names. The scroll and quill ascended back before vanishing entirely.

The twin doors before them creaked open, revealing the meeting room beyond.

Lucifer turned to Alastor, disbelief etched across his face “Why would you just open the doors without even giving us a chance to prepare ourselves?” he demanded, his tone laced with rising panic.

But before he could work himself into a full-blown rant, a voice echoed from within the room, cutting through the air like a blade.

“Lucifer.”

The King of Hell froze.

No. No. No.

Leave. Leave. Leave.

Run. Run. Run away.

Not him. Not now.

His heart thundered in his chest as the word sounded, reverberating through the resounding room. It was a voice he hadn’t heard in eons but one he could never forget—a voice that carried the full weight of his damnation.

His breath caught in his throat, his body rigid as terror clawed its way through him. Slowly, his wide eyes flicked toward the source of the sound.

It was Michael.

The archangel who had cast him out of Heaven without a second thought. The one who had sent him hurtling into the abyss with cold, unyielding conviction.

His brother.

Lucifer swallowed hard, dread pooling in his stomach. He could handle anyone—anyone—but him.

Lucifer’s legs trembled, barely able to hold him upright. Memories surged through him like jagged shards, raw and unrelenting. His fall from grace played out in his mind, vivid and agonizing—the pain of losing his heavenly wings, the searing sting of being torn from Heaven’s light, and the eternal plunge into darkness. All of it orchestrated by the brother he had once admired and loved beyond measure.

His thoughts spiraled into chaos, a whirlwind of fear, anger, and helplessness.

“No… not him” Lucifer whispered, his voice a strained breath over the deafening roar of his heart. He could feel his resolve unraveling. ‘Leave… run away’ his mind screamed, yet his body betrayed him, frozen in place. The King of Hell, reduced to a trembling mess by the mere sight of Michael.

The twin doors to the meeting room loomed larger, towering like an unbearable obstacle. Escape was impossible. Charlie glanced up at him, her worried eyes scanning his face, sensing something amiss but unable to grasp the full depth of his torment.

Alastor, on the other hand, understood. She always did. Her eyes gleamed with calculated amusement as she surveyed the situation. Adam had been weak enough to summon Michael—the archangel—for help. That fact alone spoke volumes. Alastor already knew what this meeting would entail, and she was certain that Charlie’s heartfelt appeals for redemption would fall on deaf ears.

Lucifer’s breath quickened as they stepped into the room, his chest constricting with every step closer. The full weight of Michael’s gaze fell upon him, sharp and unyielding, piercing him to his very core.

The archangel stood tall, radiating authority and an aura that was simultaneously majestic and oppressive. Michael’s presence swallowed the room, making it feel smaller, suffocating. Lucifer’s breaths came in shallow gasps, his thoughts a chaotic wave of despair.

Michael’s face—an almost haunting reflection of his own—was eerily familiar yet unbearably cold. His blue eyes, once bright with brotherly affection, now held no warmth, no trace of the bond they had shared. Only the unwavering judgment that had condemned Lucifer to eternity in Hell.

“Lucifer” Michael said, his voice calm and steady, yet laced with an unmistakable finality “Are you going to make us wait for this meeting?”

Lucifer’s knees threatened to buckle. His vision blurred as the walls of the meeting room seemed to close in around him, confining him in a cage of his past sins and regrets. Every breath felt labored, every thought screamed for escape, but he was trapped, not just in this room but in the weight of everything Michael represented.

Help.

The thought barely formed in Lucifer’s mind, desperate and raw, as the world around him seemed to constrict. His breath caught, shallow and uneven, the weight of Michael’s gaze bearing down on him like a hammer.

Then, as if the universe had responded to his silent plea, something shifted.

Lucifer felt it almost immediately—an external sensation unlike anything he had experienced before. An energy, a calmness spread through his body, unfamiliar and impossibly soothing. It was as though pure life force had entered him, its warmth wrapping around his soul. The raw edges of his fear and anger began to dull, replaced by a tranquility that drowned out the chaotic whirlwind in his mind.

He looked down, and there it was—the source of the calm. Alastor’s fingers were lightly touching his forearm, her touch hidden from Michael’s sight but resolute.

It struck him with a force greater than her strength alone. Her touch wasn’t invasive—it was deliberate, precise. It carried an unspoken promise of support, of strength. Lucifer stared at her hand, then at her face. Her expression remained steady looking ahead, that ever-present grin masking whatever thoughts lay beneath.

The soothing sensation grew stronger, steadying him. He felt his heartbeat slow, each thud resonating with a newfound stability. The suffocating pressure that Michael’s presence had brought began to lift, and for the first time in centuries, Lucifer felt the faintest glimmer of hope.

Michael’s piercing gaze remained fixed on him, cold and unyielding, but Lucifer no longer buckled under its weight. He stood a bit taller, his knees no longer threatening to give way. Though his will felt battered and frail, the quiet fortitude imparted by Alastor was enough to steady him.

‘Seriously… just what are you?’

The thought gnawed at Lucifer with a mix of desperation and curiosity. He gave her one last glance, his eyes searching hers for answers he knew she wouldn’t give.

The question reverberated in Lucifer’s mind, but his thoughts lingered on Alastor’s presence, her hand now withdrawn yet the calming effect still rippling through him. She had done something—something risky, something dangerous—and yet, she had granted him the strength to face his brother.

Lucifer inhaled deeply, steadying his resolve. Whatever Alastor was, whatever she had done, he was grateful. And though the answers eluded him, he couldn’t help but think: It’s always her making me feel me a burst of emotion.

“Well… what an entertaining surprise we have here, gentlemen and lady” Alastor exclaimed, stepping forward with an exaggerated flare. She placed herself directly in front of Lucifer and Charlie, almost shielding them from view as if her mere presence could eclipse their existence. Her grin widened, her charm dialed to its maximum, and she tilted her head slightly, her eyes gleaming with an air of mischief “Had I known we’d be graced by none other than the magnificent Michael, I’d have dressed even better!” she let out a soft, melodic chuckle, each note carefully calculated.

Michael’s eyes landed on her, piercing and cold, and in that moment, she knew. He recognized her. There would be no toying with him, no charming her way out of his judgmental gaze. Unlike Lucifer, whose confidence had cracks where uncertainty seeped in, Michael was uncompromising—a being of pure resolve, unshakable in his ideals. He would undoubtedly be a thorn in her side.

“How is Adam?” she asked, her tone light as she toned down her charm with an elegant shrug. Without hesitation, she made her way to the closest chair, standing there with practiced nonchalance “I hope his injury is much better.”

She could feel Lucifer’s horror radiating beside her, the devil himself staring as if she’d just flipped the balance of Hell on its head. He moved quickly, standing near her and keeping Charlie close, his hand gently gripping his daughter’s arm as though she might slip away if he didn’t hold her.

Michael’s expression darkened at her words. She could see it—the tension in his jaw, the subtle shift in his stance as he recalled the incident. The memory of Adam’s injury, the fallen exorcists, and the sinner who had dared to challenge Heaven. His light seemed to dim ever so slightly, his presence shifting as if the warmth of grace recoiled in response to her audacity.

He stepped closer, his movements deliberate and heavy with authority “You” he began, his voice a low rumble that carried the weight of eternity itself “You are the one who dared to defy the Heavens, who sealed Adam’s wound beyond the reach of my healing” his gaze bore into her, seeking truths she had no intention of surrendering.

Alastor met his stare without flinching, her crimson eyes glinting with amusement. Her confidence was unwavering, her demeanor unbroken even under the formidable presence of the archangel “And if I am?” she replied, her voice honeyed with audacity, a tone that both intrigued and infuriated.

Michael’s jaw tightened, the muscles beneath his skin working as he fought to restrain his righteous fury “You will answer for your transgressions” he declared, his voice rising with indignation “What gives you the power to challenge the divine? To inflict such grievous harm upon the holy?”

A heavy silence fell over the room. The weight of Michael’s question hung in the air, the tension almost tangible as everyone awaited her response. Charlie shifted nervously beside Lucifer, who remained silent, his unease palpable.

“Oh, that’s quite easy to answer” Alastor said at last, her tone daring as her grin sharpened “Something called… Free Will. Have you ever heard of it?” her words dripped with sarcasm as she arched an eyebrow “Unlike you angels, I’m perfectly within my rights to enact my free will when I’m threatened. I was simply defending myself during the extermination. There’s nothing that states a sinner cannot fight back.”

Her voice grew sweeter, though no less piercing “They tried to kill me, so I killed them. Adam tried to do the same, and I was merciful enough to simply let him leave—with a small punishment” her grin widened, sharp as a blade “I mean, really—what’s my little punishment compared to your type of punishment?”

She leaned forward slightly, her tone dropping to something more sardonic “Would you have preferred I ripped his grace from his soul? Made him incapable of ever reaching Heaven again? Cast him out of his home?” her grin stretched further, her eyes beaming as she added “Wouldn’t that be too cruel?”

The air crackled with tension as her words lingered, daring the archangel to respond.

Michael’s expression hardened into an unyielding mask of wrath. The ethereal light in his eyes flickered like a storm barely contained. His voice thundered through the room, vibrating like the echo of judgment itself “You dare lecture me about free will?”

The words struck like a hammer, leaving the air around him charged with authority “You, who have forsaken the celestial order, who have embraced sin and rebellion, speak to me of mercy and restraint? Your defiance is an affront to the very foundations of Heaven. Free will does not absolve you of your transgressions.”

Lucifer’s breath caught in his throat as Alastor’s bold words from moments earlier echoed in his mind. The reference to stripping an angel of their grace reopened wounds he hadn’t thought about in millennia. Memories of his fall surged forward, vivid and unrelenting—the excruciating pain of being torn from the light and cast into eternal darkness. He couldn’t suppress the mix of horror and admiration that stirred within him. Alastor’s audacity was both a marvel and a terror to witness.

He tightened his grip on Charlie’s arm, his knuckles white from the strain. His muscles coiled like springs, every fiber of his being prepared to intervene should the situation tip further into chaos.

Charlie clung to him, her wide eyes darting between Michael and Alastor as the tension grew almost unbearable. Fear and uncertainty rippled through her. She admired Alastor’s courage—her ability to stand tall in the face of such divine fury—but the consequences of provoking Michael further made her stomach churn. Her heart raced as she tried to make sense of the confrontation before her, seeking solace in Lucifer’s presence.

The room seemed to hold its breath, suspended in a moment heavy with potential devastation. Michael took a step closer, each movement deliberate, his presence an oppressive weight that filled the space. His voice dropped, softer now, yet sharper still—a blade hidden beneath silk.

“You will answer for your actions, Alastor” he said, his tone cutting through the room “Heaven will not tolerate such insolence. Prepare yourself for the reckoning that is to come.”

Lucifer’s gaze flicked to Alastor, who stood unyielding. Her eyes burned bright, her expression unwavering despite the overwhelming pressure emanating from Michael. The sinner showed no fear, no hesitation, only a confidence that seemed unshakable.

For a moment, Lucifer found himself envying her. That defiance, that strength—qualities he’d once believed himself to possess, stripped away eons ago. And now, in this room, facing the archangel who had cast him into the abyss, Lucifer couldn’t help but wonder: Who is truly the stronger one here? The sinner who dares to challenge Heaven, or the devil who still carries the scars of falling from it?

The atmosphere grew colder, the weight of anticipation pressing down on Lucifer like a suffocating shroud. The air itself seemed to still, heavy with the unspoken tension between sinner and archangel. Alastor, undeterred, her eyes locked onto Michael’s with unwavering confidence. The confrontation had reached a critical juncture, and Lucifer could feel the storm brewing.

“Sorry, I was late, but this bitch couldn’t find my mask and—”

The voice cut through the tension like a jagged blade. Everyone turned to see Adam, who had just entered the room, his tone casual and dismissive as he adjusted his mask. He hadn’t even glanced at them yet, but when he finally did, his gaze swept across the room—first to Lucifer, then Charlie, then Michael. And finally, his eyes landed on Alastor.

Adam froze.

The shift in his demeanor was immediate and visceral. His expression twisted into one of shock and fury, the memories of their last encounter flooding back to him in vivid, searing detail. The pain, the humiliation, the loss of his arm—it all played out in his mind like a cruel, unending loop. His face contorted with rage as he clenched his remaining fist, the room seeming to pulse with the intensity of his emotions.

“You” he spat, his voice trembling with unresolved anger “You fucking cunt.”

Lucifer almost flinched at the venom in Adam’s tone, his words cutting through the room like knives. But then got confused ‘Adam was already aware that Alastor was going to be here… so, why act surprised in seeing her?’

“You think cutting off my arm and leaving me in disgrace would break me? You think I would forget?” Adam’s gaze hardened, every word a dagger aimed directly at Alastor. He took a step forward, his fury amplifying the tension in the room to a breaking point “Well, I’ve had seven years to plan my revenge, and I won’t let you escape that easily this time.”

The confrontation reached a fever pitch, the air thick with anticipation and unresolved vengeance. Lucifer’s grip on Charlie’s arm tightened instinctively, his protective instincts flaring as he prepared for the worst.

Alastor, however, remained unfazed. Her eyes drifting to the top of his head. A golden mist was wrapped around his temple ‘You got to be kidding me’ she thought with bitterness ‘He is being influenced right now?’ but it also another problem ‘Not to mention… I won’t get a proper reading of his character if it turns out that all this time, he was being controlled…’

She met Adam’s wrathful gaze with an air of indifference, her grin sharp and unyielding “Well, it seems everyone wants to have my attention” she said, her tone dripping with mock amusement “I almost want to blush.”

“Alastor” Lucifer scolded, his voice firm as he turned to Michael “We are not here to discuss Alastor’s actions in the past. This meeting is about my daughter’s project” the words felt heavy on his tongue, and he almost didn’t want to say them. He already knew it was hopeless with Michael in the room “After we’re finished with that topic, then we can discuss Alastor’s situation.”

“You think I would lay such sinful actions—” Michael began, his voice icy and rigid.

“You are in my home, Michael” Lucifer interrupted, his eyes flashing red as he stepped forward. Even he was surprised by the confidence in his tone “Don’t forget that. You will follow at least the etiquette of my realm. This is not up for discussion.”

Michael’s gaze bore into him, colder than ever, the weight of his celestial authority pressing down on the room. Lucifer held his ground, his heart pounding in his chest as he stared back at his brother.

Just as Adam opened his mouth to interrupt, likely to call Lucifer’s words complete bullshit, Michael raised a hand, silencing him with a single gesture. The first man’s mouth snapped shut, his fury simmering just beneath the surface.

“Very well” Michael said at last, his tone clipped and measured “Just this once” he moved to take a seat, his movements deliberate and calculated. Adam followed suit, sitting beside him, his glare still fixed on Alastor.

“Let your daughter speak” Michael continued, his voice carrying an edge of finality “Then we will address the other matter.”

Lucifer exhaled slowly, the tension in the room still palpable but momentarily contained. He glanced at Charlie, who looked up at him with a mixture of fear and determination. He gave her a small nod, silently urging her to begin.

Lucifer and Alastor settled into their seats, the air around them heavy with tension. Charlie remained standing, her heart pounding as she prepared to speak. She silently reminded herself of Alastor’s advice: Be professional. Don’t stutter. Speak confidently, like your words are undeniable truths.

Taking a deep breath, Charlie scanned the room. The contrast between the occupants—two celestial beings and two infernal ones—only heightened the stakes of this meeting. Their gazes bore down on her, sharp and unwavering, but she stood tall, letting her determination shine through.

"Thank you for allowing me to speak" she began, her voice steady and clear "I believe that even the most lost souls deserve a chance at redemption. My project, the Hazbin Hotel, is designed to be that chance—to provide sinners with a space where they can begin a journey toward salvation."

She paused, letting the weight of her words settle before continuing "This hotel isn’t just a refuge; it’s a place of transformation. A place where those who have fallen the furthest can find the resources to change. The journey toward redemption is not instantaneous, nor is it easy—but with guidance, structure, and purpose, sinners can prove they are capable of something more."

Her gaze flickered toward Michael, searching for even the faintest glimmer of understanding in his cold, stoic expression "I know that salvation isn’t given—it’s earned. And I believe that with Heaven’s insight, we can craft ways for sinners to demonstrate true growth. Change should not be measured solely by regret, but by action. With your wisdom and experience, we can build a system that ensures each soul can show, through deeds and choices, that they are worthy of a second chance."

Charlie stepped forward, her passion growing with every word "This isn’t just about offering sinners a vague hope. It’s about creating real, tangible steps toward rehabilitation. How can we help guide them to understand morality? What tests of character must they face? How can we ensure that a sinner who has changed is truly ready for Heaven? These are questions that must be answered, and together, I know we can find the right path forward."

She reached down and placed a folder on the table in front of Michael and Adam, its contents meticulously prepared—the culmination of countless hours of planning and refining "Inside this folder, you’ll find our structured framework. It includes personalized programs, paths tailored to different types of sinners, and the methodologies we have designed to measure transformation over time. Every aspect is meant to ensure that a soul receives the guidance necessary to become something greater than their past."

Adam glanced at the folder with undisguised disgust, his lip curling as though the idea itself offended him. Michael remained impassive, his piercing gaze fixed on Charlie.

"Redemption is not just about rehabilitation—it’s about proving that change is possible" Charlie continued, her voice unwavering despite the tension "Wouldn’t it be remarkable if sinners could truly transform? If bad people could become good people? It would prove something extraordinary—that the ability to change, to evolve, is a fundamental part of what makes a soul worthy."

Her conviction deepened, filling the space with the weight of belief "That is why we are asking for Heaven’s collaboration—not just to approve the idea, but to help refine it. You understand the nature of souls better than anyone. Your insight could help shape how we measure redemption, ensuring that those who seek change can follow the right steps to prove their worthiness."

Michael’s gaze hardened, the tension thickening, as if even the air itself held its breath. Charlie could feel the pressure, but she held her ground, unshaken.

"This initiative is not just a project—it’s a mission" she said, her voice unwavering "It’s about bridging the gap between sinners and salvation. It’s about proving that no matter how lost someone is, they can strive for something greater. To believe in redemption is to believe in the possibility of change—and I ask that you help us make that possibility a reality."

She took one final step forward, locking eyes with Michael "Consider the potential impact of Hazbin Hotel. By supporting this project, you’re not just aiding in the salvation of souls—you’re affirming the belief that humanity can rise beyond its failings. That anyone can choose to be something better. If Heaven stands by this mission, together, we can create a tangible path to redemption—a future where transformation is not just a hope, but a proven possibility."

The room fell silent, her words lingering in the air, waiting for judgment. All eyes turned to Michael—waiting for a response that could determine the fate of Charlie’s dream.

And perhaps, the very nature of redemption itself.

Charlie stood there, speaking with conviction, her words lined with hope—not the naïve kind, but the kind that had been tested, had been shaped by resistance and rejection, yet still persisted. Charlie believed in redemption. Believed in change.

And yet, as she spoke, as she showed her vision, as she offered Heaven the chance to collaborate—to build something beyond war, beyond punishment, beyond the cycle of sin and damnation—Alastor already knew how this would end.

She had seen men like Michael before. Men like Danzo Shimura.

Men who sat on their thrones, convinced of their own righteousness, wielding power under the guise of order, of necessity, of balance. They did not listen. They did not reflect. They did not question their own methods. To them, peace was control. And control did not allow for change.

Danzo justified genocide. He spat words of duty, of stability, of the greater good. He claimed that her clan’s extermination was a sacrifice for harmony. That the Uchiha’s destruction was needed to protect Konoha.

But you do not build peace on the bones of children.

Just as you do not uphold Heaven by crushing those desperate to escape Hell when their sins are barely a thing to judge.

Michael was watching Charlie, expression unreadable, but Alastor could see it—the dismissal lurking behind his gaze, the silent rejection settling beneath his stillness. He did not see her as an equal. He saw her as an anomaly, an error that did not belong in his perfect system.

She was fighting for something that would never be handed to her. She did not understand that men like him did not bargain. They did not change. They dictated.

And yet… she fought anyway.

Just like Sasuke did. Just like Alastor still did. And every other version of her that was tried to be crushed by a corrupted system. 

There was a painful kind of admiration in that.

Charlotte did not realize it yet, but Michael would not offer her salvation. He would not give her hope. He would turn his gaze down upon her, like Danzo did to her, and tell her that this was how the world must be. That there was no other way. That Heaven functioned as it should, and her dreams were a foolish, reckless disruption of order.

And maybe, when she heard those words, she would crumble. Or maybe, she would rise.

Because dreams built on rejection—dreams built against power—were the ones most worthy of being realized.

Alastor believed in redemption, but she also believed in damning consequences of one’s own actions. And she knew that Charlie would fight, even when the odds told her not to.

And that, she could respect very easily.

Chapter Text

Here you have today's song. I changed the lyrics of this song since it's Alastor who will sing it, so the melody is what you should focus on. Honestly, I hope you guys like the lyrics that I wrote for it, it still has some of the old parts but at this point, the song is called 'Heaven's Endeavour'.  

*****

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN | HEAVEN’S ENDEAVOR REALLY MEANS TO CUT YOU OFF

“SASUKE, ANSWER ME!”

Kakashi Hatake rarely raised his voice unless absolutely necessary, unless it was during a mission where urgency demanded it. But now—how could he not? His reflexes, usually calm and controlled, snapped tight, alarm flaring through every nerve. Sasuke had just killed a high-ranking official of Konoha. This wasn’t something that could be ignored, wasn’t something that could be forgiven. A crime like this was punishable in the worst way.

He would have to apprehend her.

The thought made him exhale sharply—as if he could. His pulse roared, something primal thrumming beneath his skin. His body rebelled against the very idea—apprehend her? His instincts snarled at the notion. She was pack. And yet, logic told him there was no illusion about this: Sasuke was stronger than him, there was no point in pretending otherwise. But she had broken the truce. The thin, fragile truce that had barely held her tethered to the village, the one that had given them hope that she could integrate again. That she could be something other than a missing-nin.

Why?

Why? Just when it had seemed possible—just when Kakashi thought she might truly belong again. His senses had settled around her, accepted her presence, acknowledged her as someone close, someone trusted. And now she was shattering it.

He had believed in it. He had seen the way the missions had shaped them as a team—how, despite her sharp demeanor, Sasuke was a solid partner, someone he had learned to rely on. They had spent time together, not just in battle but in the moments between, the quiet gaps of companionship that had started to form something real. His feelings had adjusted to her presence, found comfort in it.

Kakashi wasn’t going to lie—it had mattered to him. A lot more than he realized.

He hadn’t thought he would have another genuine bond outside of Guy. And befriending a girl ten years younger than him? It went beyond logic, beyond social norms—because pack was not dictated by age, but by trust. By experience.

A ninja’s world did not work like a civilian’s. There were no structured timelines for friendship, no pre-determined guides for when connections should be made. Bonds happened in the chaos, in the fire, in the survival. And Sasuke… Sasuke understood.

She was like him. Forced to grow up too quickly, forced to do everything alone. It wasn’t fair. His instincts flared protectively at the thought, an almost subconscious need to ensure that she wasn’t forced into solitude again. It wasn’t right. He had wanted her to have more—to carve out something better, something beyond the loneliness that had shaped them both. But now? Now she was about to become his enemy again. And it stung—more than he had expected. More than it should have.

“Sasuke, you just killed a member of the council, a high-ranking official. What do you have to say for yourself?” his voice came out rough, gritted through clenched teeth, laced with something he couldn't quite name—anger, disbelief, resignation. Maybe all of it.

Sasuke’s eyes had always been dark—deep, black, unreadable. But now, now they looked empty. Hollow. Done with everything. Without a word, she stood, pushing herself up from the broken concrete with a slow, deliberate movement. He tensed, his gaze shifting to her right hand.

A scroll.

“ANBU ROOT operative mission assignment…”

Sasuke’s voice was eerily monotone as she recited the words, void of any emotion, as if the contents no longer held the power to unsettle her “Level S Rank. To ANBU operative Itachi Uchiha… Issued by Danzo Shimura, senior advisor to the Hokage and head of ANBU ROOT.”

Kakashi’s frown deepened as he listened, unease clawing its way up his spine “What? Sasuke…” he attempted to interject, instinctively stepping back, creating some distance between them. But she didn’t stop.

“Mission objective… to eliminate all members of the Uchiha Clan, with the exception of the designated target, Sasuke Uchiha, per the directive established by the Konoha Council. Justification—following extensive surveillance and intelligence reports, it has been determined that the Uchiha Clan is actively conspiring against Konohagakure with the intent to stage an insurrection. Due to the potential high-risk conflict this poses to the stability of the Hidden Leaf Village, decisive action must be taken to neutralize the threat before civil war erupts.”

Kakashi’s breath hitched “No… no… no” he muttered under his breath, the pieces falling into place, the implications settling into his mind like weighted chains.

“You have been chosen for this mission due to your exceptional combat proficiency, loyalty to the village, and your unique position within the Uchiha Clan, allowing for efficient execution with minimal external interference.”

Sasuke continued forward, closing the space between them, her stare hollow, empty—a shell of what a gaze should be. Kakashi stopped backing away. The weight of the moment made retreating pointless.

Then… her Sharingan flared to life, crimson bleeding into her once-dark eyes, the fury buried within her heart bubbling dangerously close to the surface “Mission Parameters… All individuals classified under the Uchiha Clan are to be eliminated without exception, barring the protected subject, Sasuke Uchiha. Execution must be swift and undetected by external Konoha forces. The mission must remain concealed from the wider population, ensuring that knowledge of internal conflict does not spread.”

Then, a cynical smirk—one that lacked humor “Following mission completion, you are to immediately report to the Third Hokage, Hiruzen Sarutobi, for post-mission debriefing. You will assume a position within Akatsuki to further protect Konoha from external threats.”

Kakashi closed his eyes briefly, inhaling sharply as dread settled into his bones. If this was true—if her words carried weight—then Danzo hadn’t acted alone. The Third Hokage had allowed it to happen. There was no stopping the sinking feeling in his chest, the slow pull of despair, the realization that the village had, once again, sacrificed its own to protect its foundations.

Sasuke lifted the scroll, letting it drop unceremoniously at his feet “This mission must never be revealed to any other Konoha shinobi or governing body outside of assigned personnel. Violation of discretion will result in immediate countermeasures.”

Kakashi stared at the scroll, his mind tangled in conflict “I have to take you in… I don’t have enough information to—”

Sasuke let out a low, bitter chuckle “Yeah… yeah… I know how it works… but we both know you won’t do it, and it’s not just because you feel conflicted” her voice was quiet, but sharp “I appreciate the struggle, though… because I do see you as someone I could call a friend. You are my first friend, Kakashi.”

Kakashi exhaled harshly, a humorless laugh breaking from him as he dragged a hand down his face, fingers pressing into the weight of the situation “Damn it, Sasuke.”

“You don’t have time… in case you’ve forgotten, Pain is attacking the village. I would hurry to Tsunade’s side right now… Pain is going to wipe out everything” Sasuke said, her voice unsettlingly casual.

Kakashi stiffened “What?” his voice was edged with disbelief “Sasuke, what do you—”

“No offense, but I kind of want to see this village crumble… along with its people” her words were cold. Detached.

Kakashi reacted instantly, grabbing her by the arm, pulling her closer “How could you say that? This was your home—you were born here, you—”

Her Sharingan flared violently as emotion crashed through her, raw and blistering. She yanked herself back, snarling at him, sharp and furious. For the first time, Kakashi was caught off guard—he had never seen her like this. Never seen such unfiltered, unrestrained anger in her “This was never my home! It was never the home of the Uchihas! You think we wanted a coup for power?!”

A bitter laugh escaped her lips, biting through the air “Ever since Tobirama Senju became the Second Hokage, the Uchiha were pushed aside—outcasts in their own village. A brilliant idea, right? Move an entire clan to the outskirts, isolate them completely, cut off their voice in politics by forming the Konoha Military Police just for them so they wouldn’t hold any real power. Yeah, I remember how civilians used to look at us—how they feared us, thanks to Danzo spreading his little rumors that only an Uchiha could control the Nine-Tails that attacked sixteen years ago. I remember how we were suspected, distrusted, pushed further and further into isolation. Hated.”

Her breath was sharp, her stance rigid, her fingers curling into fists at her sides. And Kakashi didn’t see the calculated missing-nin, the cold strategist, the infamous warrior.

He saw a girl.

One who had lost everything.

Sasuke could feel the tears streaking down her cheeks, hot against her skin, but she didn’t bother to wipe them away. Kakashi was watching her, silent, his expression weighed with nothing but sadness “Three hundred and eighty-seven people were murdered that night. And I remember the death of every single one—thanks to Itachi forcing me to witness it through the Sharingan. Children. Pregnant women. Elders. All murdered. Why?”

Her voice cracked as frustration twisted in her chest. Without thinking, she struck Kakashi, a desperate punch against his chest—but he didn’t flinch. He simply stood there “You think my father wanted to stage a coup because of ambition? Because of greed? Do you really think he would have risked everything if he hadn’t believed there was no other way?”

Her breathing was uneven now, raw, unrestrained “Things were better when Minato Namikaze was Hokage. And then he died.”

Kakashi flinched.

Sasuke smiled bitterly “And the Third took power again. And once again—everything went to hell” her fingers curled into fists, shaking with unspent rage “After the massacre, I woke up in the hospital. And you know who came to greet me?” she let out a hollow laugh “Hiruzen Sarutobi. He sat in my room and told me he was sorry for my loss.”

She shook her head, incredulous “The nerve of that man. As if he wasn’t responsible, too” her voice dropped, heavier now, darker “And to make things worse… Danzo Shimura desecrated the bodies of my clan. He stole their eyes. He implanted them into his arm—to gain more power” she let out a sharp, humorless exhale “It was never about protecting Konoha. That man only ever wanted power.”

Sasuke felt fury rise again, an unrelenting fire in her chest, pushing past the sorrow, drowning it out entirely. It was exhausting being an Uchiha—being cursed with emotions so deep, so overwhelming, it was impossible to suppress them “If a leader believes that wiping out an entire faction is the only way to prevent conflict, it suggests a systemic failure—not just in leadership, but in the political and social fabric of the village itself.”

She spat the words like venom, her Sharingan flaring dangerously, her breath sharp as she forced out a dark chuckle “If peace is achieved through genocide, is it truly peace?” her lips curled, bitter “If a government must erase a problem rather than resolve it… does it even deserve to stand?”

Sasuke’s gaze locked onto Kakashi’s, unwavering despite the storm brewing behind her eyes “True peace doesn’t come from silencing conflict… it comes from understanding and resolving it. Otherwise, it only breeds more destruction.”

A hollow laugh escaped her lips—one that twisted into something darker, something fractured. Kakashi’s senses bristled at the sound, sharp and jarring, like a wounded creature barely holding itself together “Just look at me… I’m… I’m…” she struggled to form the words, frustration tightening her throat as more tears slid down her cheeks. His breath hitched, something deep in his core recoiling at the sheer helplessness in her voice.

Her lip trembled as she bit down on it, anger mixing with grief “I’m alone. All my people are dead, and all I can feel is rage and hate… because I still have my pride. The Uchiha Pride is all I have left, so I can’t rest until my clan is avenged, but sometimes—” her breath caught, shaking “I just want to die.”

No.

The word was silent, instinctive, absolute.

Before she could fully register movement, Kakashi pulled her toward him, his grip firm but steady. The action wasn’t calculated—it was instinct, pure and unfiltered. The wolf in him refused to let her collapse, refused to let her spiral into nothingness. She stiffened at the sudden embrace, shocked—not used to this. Not used to warmth. But the moment his arms held her, pressing her face into his chest, his feelings settled, grounding both of them.

She smelled like fire, like storms, like battle—but beneath it all, she smelled like home.

Something inside her broke, and her body sagged against his, the sobs tearing free, harsh, relentless, raw. Kakashi clenched his jaw, the sound hitting him like a blade to the gut. It was wrong. She was not meant to cry like this, not meant to carry this alone, not meant to fight until there was nothing left of her. His gut feeling screamed to protect her, to shield her, to remind her—she was not alone.

She clung to his vest, her fingers twisting into the fabric, anchoring herself as she collapsed into him, into the moment. Kakashi exhaled slowly, his grip firm but deliberate, letting his body speak when words couldn’t.

"I'll help you" his voice was low, quiet, a promise resting beneath each syllable. Not a promise made of diplomacy, but of something stronger. His chin rested lightly against her head, an unconscious act of comfort and protection, grounding her in ways he wasn’t sure she understood "We can talk with Tsunade. We'll explain everything… We'll end up breaking some rules, but I won't abandon you. And I know Naruto and Sakura would want to help, too" and deep in his mind, in a place untouched by logic, his urges whispered one final truth—

She is pack.

And Kakashi does not lose pack. Not again.

Sasuke exhaled sharply, her grip loosening slightly “I don’t like Naruto and Sakura” her voice was quieter now, almost steady.

Kakashi chuckled softly, a sad, knowing sound “I know…”

A silence stretched between them, lingering, heavy. Then, finally—

“Those who break the rules are scum…” Sasuke muttered, recalling his words from before, ones she had committed to memory once upon a time in another life.

Kakashi nodded slightly, finishing the quote “…But those who abandon their friends are worse than scum.”

Slowly, the moment faded. They stepped back, separating. Sasuke wiped her face, her fingers lingering at her chin before her gaze dropped to the ground, thoughtful, troubled.

She remembered those words. She believed in them.

But it wouldn’t change what had to be done.

Obito Uchiha was still alive. Still lurking in the shadows, still masquerading as Madara, still orchestrating something far beyond the village's control. And the only way to get close to him—the only way to uncover the truth—was to abandon Konoha.

She would have to become its enemy.

And that meant rejecting Kakashi’s offer.

***

Michael’s reaction to Charlie’s exposition was immediate, his heart brimming with profound offense. As the young princess spoke passionately about her vision for Hazbin Hotel—a sanctuary for sinners seeking redemption—Michael’s gaze darkened. Each word she uttered struck him like a hammer against the foundation of divine law.

Her implication—that Heaven’s judgment could be flawed, that sinners condemned to Hell by God’s will could ever rise above their transgressions—was a blatant affront to everything he held sacred. Insult coursed through him like a tempest, his resolve unwavering.

Michael’s belief in the absoluteness of God’s decree was unshakable. Sinners belonged in Hell; their fate had been determined, their place in the order unchangeable. To challenge this truth, to suggest that redemption could be granted to the unworthy, was not merely misguided—it was heresy.

As Charlie continued, her voice fervent and full of hope, Michael’s gaze hardened. The room brimmed with tension, each second stretching unbearably as the weight of her challenge settled into the charged air. Though his stoic demeanor betrayed little, the fury simmering beneath his cold surface was unmistakable to those who truly knew him.

“I have heard enough” Michael finally said, his voice cold and cutting, each word laced with contempt. His tone reverberated through the room, commanding attention and silence “To suggest that Heaven’s judgment is flawed—that sinners can rise above their past transgressions to find salvation—is an affront to the divine order.”

His eyes narrowed as his gaze bore into Charlie, unflinching and severe “Heaven’s role is to uphold God’s judgment, not to question it. Certainly not to offer redemption to those who have been condemned. The very idea is misguided and a sin in itself.”

His words cut like a blade, their rejection swift and final. The weight of his authority left no room for misinterpretation. Michael’s stance was clear: Heaven would not entertain such rebellion against God’s will.

Even as the silence thickened, Michael’s thoughts churned. Each syllable of Charlie’s plea lingered like a faint echo, a small disturbance in the perfectly ordered world he had dedicated himself to preserving. To him, there was no debate, no negotiation—her ideals, no matter how noble they seemed to her, were dangerous.

His final declaration hung in the air like a guillotine blade suspended on a thread, a stark reminder of where he stood and what he represented.

Lucifer closed his eyes, his chest tightening as Michael’s words echoed through the room. He didn’t need to look at his daughter to know the impact they had on her. He could almost feel the weight of her heartbreak—a silent, agonizing echo of his own past humiliation at the hands of his brother.

This was exactly what he had feared. Charlie was standing there, unwavering yet vulnerable, facing Michael’s unrelenting judgment with the same hope and conviction Lucifer himself had once carried. And now, she was experiencing the same degradation—the brutal reality of being dismissed, her ideals trampled by the indifference of Heaven’s messenger.

The silence hung thick in the room, until Charlie’s voice cut through, sharp and filled with a barely restrained fire “What about the exterminations, then?” her hands had clenched into fists, her frustration bubbling over “If you can’t accept the idea of sinners achieving redemption, then why not let them stay in Hell, in peace? There’s no need for exterminations when we all know Hell keeps expanding magically to accommodate more souls. The excuse of overpopulation doesn’t work anymore.”

Lucifer opened his eyes and watched her, his heart aching with both pride and dread. She was standing her ground, even as he feared the consequences of challenging Michael further.

“Because it’s fun… duh” Adam interjected, his tone dripping with casual cruelty. He leaned lazily against the table, using the folder Charlie had placed there to fan himself as if her proposal were a joke. Alastor had noticed the stubborn mist intensified when the first man had said those words, she hated more the fact that she could not see Adam’s face properly to read his expressions.

Lucifer’s jaw tightened, his anger simmering beneath the surface.

“God’s will—” Michael began, his voice steady but commanding, prepared to dismiss her entirely.

Alastor had been silent but when Michael uttered the words “God’s will,” she couldn’t contain herself. The soft sound of laughter escaped her lips, growing louder and sharper until it transformed into a maniacal cackle that echoed through the room.

The sudden outburst drew every eye to her. Charlie shivered, the sound sending a chill down her spine. Lucifer frowned, his expression contemplative as he tried to decipher her intentions. Adam grimaced, his irritation evident. Michael’s gaze snapped to her, his eyes narrowing in anger and confusion at the audacity of her response.

‘Don’t do it, Alastor.’

“What is so amusing, Alastor?” Michael demanded, his voice cold and authoritative, cutting through the tension like a blade.

‘Control yourself.’

Alastor's laughter subsided into a sinister grin. Leaning forward slightly, her eyes gleamed with mischief and the weight of hidden knowledge “Oh, Michael” she began, her tone dripping with mockery “You speak of God’s will as if it is a beacon of righteousness. But we all know that history is written by those in power, and power… well, it often comes at a cost. Isn’t that right?”

Her words hung in the air, daring him to respond.

‘Mother… the mean man.’

Michael’s expression darkened further, his light dimming as his anger simmered beneath the surface. Before he could retort, Adam interjected, waving his hand dismissively “Let’s not get too philosophical here, bitch” he sneered, his tone dripping with disdain. The mist intensified as it tried to spread more around his head “The point remains that Heaven’s judgment stands, and there’s no room for debate. Killing sinners is a fucking must for us.”

‘WeI feel him.’

Charlie, undeterred by the interruption, stepped forward, her determination burning brightly in her eyes “I refuse to believe that there is no other way” she said, her voice steady despite the tension “Redemption should be possible for everyone, and I will continue to fight for it, no matter the cost.”

‘It’s alright, mother… IWE can protect you this time.’

Adam opened his mouth to speak again, his tone already dripping with venom “Your little delusions about those cu—”

The mist disappeared suddenly.

Adam froze for a second, but no one noticed.

“Let me stop you right there
Save us all precious time
If what you’re suggesting
Is letting us fall.”

Michael’s jaw tightened as the meeting was abruptly interrupted by the start of a song. A voice filled the room, dripping with defiance and determination, challenging Heaven’s rigid decree. Alastor had begun to sing, her manic grin widening as she pushed Adam’s hand aside.

“Down the ladder
Oh, you rather we silence ourselves?
Sorry, sweetie. But there’s no defying my way.”

With a flare, Alastor stepped onto the table, her heels clicking sharply against the surface. She sauntered toward the angelic beings, her finger wagging mockingly in front of Adam, only to rip his mask off revealing his face.

“Cause heaven’s endeavor
Really means to cut you off
Had their chance to treat us better
Now they’ll fall from the sky.”

Her voice was laced with venomous charm, her movements theatrical and commanding. Michael’s eyes narrowed, his expression hardening as her words sank in. Her brazen behavior, coupled with her record of killing angels, only reinforced her audacity.

“Cause the rules are shades of gray
There’s no use in trying to fight me
You’ll fail for all your lives
Until I kill you, again.”

Alastor’s outfit shimmered and transformed, a leather jacket, tight pants, and bold eyeliner. She teleported behind Adam, draping a hand over his shoulder as she leaned in close.

“Just try to chillax, babe
You’re wasting your breath
Did I hear you imply
That you don’t deserve death?”

Her mocking tone sent a chill through the room. Michael’s gaze burned with fury, but Alastor turned her attention to him, her gestures exaggerated and taunting.

“Are you winners?
Are you sinners?
Cause I couldn’t care less
Fair is fair, an eye for an eye.”

The room began to shift, the walls melting into a surreal landscape. Alastor floated above them, stepping gracefully on bloody clouds. Her smirk deepened as echoes of her voice reverberated through the space.

“And when all’s said and done (Said and done)
There’s the question of fun (Fun)
And for those of us with demonic precedence
Free will is entertainment.”

With a wave of her wrist, Michael and Adam were telekinetically dragged in their chairs toward the wall. The table vanished, leaving Alastor standing tall at the far end of the room, her presence dominating.

“Heaven’s endeavor
Really means to cut you off
Had their chance to treat us better
Now they’ll fall from the sky.”

She began to walk toward them, her steps slow and deliberate. Michael struggled against invisible restraints, his holy power flickering uselessly. Adam, meanwhile, sat frozen in terror, his fear mirroring the helplessness he’d felt years ago.

“Cause the rules are shades of gray
There’s no use in trying to fight me
You’ll fail for all your lives
Until I kill you, again.”

A long sword materialized in Alastor’s hands, the blade gleaming ominously. She swung it with a wicked grin, her voice dripping with mockery.

“Fucking heaven’s endeavor
Really meant to suck a lot
So give up you dumb endeavor
Cause you don’t have a shot.”

She was only steps away now. Michael glared at her with defiance, but Adam’s terror was palpable. Alastor’s grin widened as she relished their reactions.

“Long as I’ve got your attention
I guess I should probably mention
That I’ve made the determination
Of creating my own extermination.”

“What?” Lucifer and Charlie shouted in unison, their voices filled with horror as they watched her performance unfold.

Alastor snapped her fingers, conjuring two pieces of paper that floated in front of Michael and Adam’s faces. She leaned down; her eyes gleaming with wicked delight as she met their gazes.

“Can’t wait a whole year
To slaughter you little cunts
I know it’s been just a week
But I’ll be up in six months.”

She mimicked Adam’s impatient gestures from earlier, her grin never faltering. Satisfied, she reached out to hold the two pieces of paper, her presence commanding the room as the surreal landscape began to dissolve back into reality.

The room was thick with tension, Alastor stood tall, her crimson eyes filled with amusement as Michael’s restraints dissolved. She could feel the shift in the atmosphere, the archangel’s fury simmering beneath his stoic exterior.

“Lucifer, was this your intention all along? You want a war with Heaven?” Michael’s voice cut through the silence, his gaze fixed on his brother with cold accusation.

Alastor’s grin widened as she stepped forward, the sword in her hand. With deliberate precision, she placed the blade against Michael’s neck, her voice low and venomous “Do not speak to him” she hissed, her tone dripping with disdain “You are dealing with me, not him. I will tell you the same thing I said to Adam seven years ago—I will not have someone else take responsibility for my actions. Much less blame someone who, despite every right to do so, would never stoop to the level of a piece of shit like his brother.”

The two documents floated in front of Michael’s face. Her grin turned darker, her voice laced with mockery “The first document contains the signatures of four Overlords and the heir of the Ars Goetia. You may wonder, what does that even mean?” she chuckled, the sound cold and sharp “You see, combined, the five of us possess enough power to force our way into Heaven and slaughter everyone there. We don’t need the King’s permission to kill you.”

She gestured to the second document, her tone sweet yet piercing “The other document contains a detailed contract in which you agree to help Charlotte in her project of redemption. By signing it, we enter a treaty of ceasefire—no exterminations, no slaughter of angels” her smile widened, deceptively kind “Your choice.”

Michael’s silence stretched for a moment, his expression unreadable. But before he could speak, Alastor leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper “And if you have any doubts about our capabilities, let me remind you of one simple fact. You’ve had seven years to figure out how to heal Adam’s arm. You failed. You don’t know what I’m truly capable of. If you think I can’t do the same to you—consume you entirely—please, do try me” her smirk deepened, her tone almost playful “After all, there are two of you here, and I only need one to send a message.”

Michael’s eyes narrowed, his holy light flickering with renewed intensity. Alastor could see the fierce determination flooding his features, the resolve of an archangel who would not be cowed.

With a sudden, blinding burst of holy energy, Michael summoned his power, channeling it into a wave that struck Alastor with immense force. The impact sent her staggering back, her grip on the sword faltering as she momentarily lost her footing.

In that fleeting moment of distraction, Michael moved with precision. He lunged forward, grabbing Adam firmly by the arm. Without hesitation, he invoked his celestial abilities, and in a blaze of radiant light, both he and Adam vanished, leaving the room behind and retreating to Heaven.

Lucifer's reaction was immediate. The moment Michael’s holy wave struck Alastor and she staggered back, a surge of fury and fear ignited within him. His red and white wings unfurled in a blur of motion as he closed the distance between them, his piercing gaze locked onto her, searching frantically for any sign of injury.

His heart pounded, each beat heavy with dread, but as he reached her, his fears subsided. Alastor, though momentarily disoriented, stood unharmed. Her resilience was unnerving, and as her eyes met his with a steely resolve, Lucifer realized Michael’s attack had failed to wound her.

As the room settled from the lingering energy of the strike, Lucifer’s gaze darkened. The weight of Alastor’s words, her actions—the declaration of war against Heaven, the promise of a massacre, the undeniable truth that she had acted without his consent—pressed against him like heavy stone.

For centuries, he had delicately maintained a fragile balance, avoiding direct confrontation with Heaven at all costs. He knew what they were capable of. He knew the lengths they would go to erase threats. He knew how quickly everything could be turned to dust if Heaven deemed them unworthy.

And more than anything—he knew that if war came, Charlie may not survive it.

But now, that balance had been shattered.

Alastor had tossed aside restraint, thrown them into uncharted territory, forced them to face what Lucifer had worked so hard to avoid. And yet, as anger curled beneath his ribs, as frustration thickened in his breath, another thought slithered in, unwelcome and undeniable.

‘Did she have a point?’ his old self questioned.

His current self quickly shut it down ‘No.’

Lucifer's eyes burned faintly, locking onto her as he spoke—low, heavy, deliberate "Alastor… Do you understand the magnitude of what you've done? This is not a mere fight between sinners—you have declared war on Heaven itself" his voice tightened, tempered with warning "For centuries, I have worked tirelessly to avoid such confrontation and be at peace, knowing the devastation it would bring. Why would you risk everything? Why now?"

Alastor scoffed, the sheer disbelief in her tone cutting like a blade "Peace?"

The word dripped with contempt, her fingers twitching at her sides.

‘How many times must I hear this justification? How many times must I stand in front of someone who insists that this type of order is peace? That submission is security? That genocide of the innocent is balance? That the death of the youth is acceptable?’

"What peace?" she spat, voice sharp as glass "If peace is achieved through genocide, is it truly peace?"

She hated this. Hated that she was saying these words again. Hated that she was back in another situation, another broken system, like Azula, like Sasuke, like Tomura, like Sukuna—always standing at the edge of destruction, always watching the powerful justify slaughter for control and so-called peace.

Fath—Ozai had said the same thing.

The Hero Commission had said the same thing.

The Elders had said the same thing.

But the one she hated the most… the one that felt the most personal…

Danzo had said the same thing.

He had stood before her, a man wrapped in shadows and power, and with cold conviction, insisted that massacring her clan had protected the village. Protected whom?

Because she had walked through blood.

Through the hollow faces of her people, left lifeless, discarded like insignificant pieces in a grander plan that had never included them.

"True peace doesn’t come from silencing conflict" Alastor forced herself not to tremble, not to let the memories drown her. But the fury remained "Killing sinners simply because they exist does not equal peace, Your Majesty" her tone dipped, laced with bitter irony, sharp enough to slice through the cold air between them "Peace comes from understanding and resolving that conflict—otherwise, it will only breed more destruction."

A slow breath, measured, controlled—but her anger burned hotter "And that is why I am here. I intend to be the consequence of their continuing destruction. Because unlike you..."

Her eyes locked onto him, unwavering, sharp as steel against flesh.

"I won’t stay quiet."

Lucifer’s expression flickered, his fury dimming for just a moment—just enough to betray uncertainty.

Alastor chuckled, dark, low, tainted with defiance "Your Majesty, this was never about what you wanted or avoided. This is about taking control, asserting our power, ensuring that Heaven understands—" her voice lowered, the words slipping from her tongue like venom "We will not be oppressed or subdued."

Lucifer’s teeth clenched, his anger simmering beneath his skin.

Alastor shook her head with a sigh, mocking, frustrated, disappointed "Where is your pride?"

"This is about pride?" Lucifer snapped, his measured tone cracking, eyes flashing red-hot with disbelief.

"Not at all" Alastor shrugged, casual, detached, as if this was merely a conversation—not a moment teetering on the edge of a war "It is simply what needs to be done. But you wouldn’t understand."

Lucifer's anger surged, tangled in frustration, in disbelief, in something deeper—something bitter "You think I don’t understand wanting revenge on the ones who cast me out?"

Alastor exhaled sharply, brushing dust from her coat in a motion so deliberately dismissive it only sharpened the fury in Lucifer’s breath "I think you’re someone who would never do what needs to be done" her voice remained calm, but the words cut, precise, merciless "For the simple reason that you were designed to avoid such things" she paused, letting the weight of it settle, a final dagger between them "You are the Angel of Creation, Your Majesty. You could never bring yourself to change your purpose for one of destruction."

That was half of the truth.

But the king didn’t know what she knew about his design. Bill had slipped… mentioning that after Lucifer’s fall, that fucking God had rewritten his form making him incapable of killing his four siblings.

Lucifer stared at her, her words striking deeper than he cared to admit. He couldn’t deny the truth in her statement. Even after everything Heaven had done to him, after all the pain and rejection, he had never considered complete destruction. It wasn’t in his nature—it simply wasn’t written in him.

But as he looked at her now, her fierce and unyielding resolve radiating like a fire, he realized the peril she had brought upon them all. The war she had ignited would demand every ounce of their strength, and there was no turning back from the path she had carved.

“Very well” Lucifer said at last, his voice a blend of determination and resignation “If war it is, then we must prepare for the battle that awaits. Heaven will not take this lightly, and neither shall we.”

Alastor nodded, her expression fierce and steadfast. The lines had been drawn, and the war was upon them.

“We’re really going to war?” Charlie’s voice broke through the heavy silence. She sat in a chair, her gaze fixed on the destroyed folder she had worked so hard to prepare “Are we just… giving up on redemption?”

“Not at all” Alastor replied, her answer confusing both Lucifer and Charlie. She tilted her head with a small, sly smile “We will do both. We will redeem at least one sinner by the end of these six months. We will show the angels that redemption is possible and give them one last chance to change their minds. If they don’t accept…We will take them out but if they do…” she shrugged, her tone light, almost cheerful “Then there’s no need to worry, right?”

Lucifer’s gaze remained fixed on Alastor, his thoughts racing with both fear and begrudging admiration. She had taken them to the brink of war with Heaven—but she had also left room for hope. Whether that hope was genuine or another calculated move, only time would tell.

Chapter Text

In case anyone is interested in knowing the heights of the characters! It just shows that while Lucifer likes them tall... Alastor also has a type and is shorter than her:p

CHAPTER NINETEEN | BREAKFAST AT THE HOTEL IT WAS NICE

“Yo, Dazai, you asshole, hand over that doll!”

Twenty-two-year-old Nakahara Chuuya’s voice echoed sharply as he trudged up the stairs, the goddamn kid slung over his back like an awkwardly oversized sack of potatoes. His patience, already thin from the mission, was wearing dangerously close to non-existent. They had been tasked with retrieving Q, the creepy little brat who’d been used by the enemy to mind-control the city—a disaster that resulted in the deaths of dozens.

While neither Chuuya nor Dazai were part of the Port Mafia anymore, they were the only ones suited for the job. Dazai’s nullification ability made her the best—no, the only—person who could effectively contain Q’s devastating power. It didn’t mean Chuuya was happy about it, though.

“No way” Dazai sang, her voice practically bouncing with an irritating cheerfulness that clashed violently with the seriousness of the situation “I’m keeping the creepy doll.”

Chuuya’s eye twitched as he glared up the stairs at his infuriating partner “You’re already immune to the ability, you idiot” he barked, his temper flaring “I need the damn thing so I won’t get controlled if the brat wakes up!”

Dazai waved him off dismissively without so much as breaking her stride “Mah, mah… you’ll be fine. Besides, I can always touch you to deactivate it, so you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

The shorter man groaned, a tired sigh escaping him as he muttered under his breath “I’m going to kill her one day…”

“Promise?” Dazai asked, her tone dripping with delighted mischief. Her brown eyes sparkled as she glanced back at him, matching her steps to his as she fell intro stride alongside him “Neh, why do you still call me by my last name, chibi? It’s almost like you haven’t screamed my name in pleasure in the bedroom” she winked at him, her grin widening mischievously.

“Shitty Dazai, behave yourself, woman!” Chuuya snapped, his cheeks flushing crimson as he pointedly avoided her gaze “Have some decorum, will you? I’m literally carrying a child on my back!”

“How boring you are” she replied sticking her tongue out at him like a petulant child. Then, with a dramatic sigh, she added “You really need to get over that silly fantasy you had as a kid. I’m not becoming your boss, so no need to be so formal.”

“It’s not because of that” Chuuya grumbled, still flustered “It’s just a habit… you were my superior back in the Mafia. It’s hard to call you by your first name—I only forget when we’re… you know…” his voice trailed off, and his already warm cheeks darkened further as he struggled to finish the thought.

“You’re such a prude, hatrack” Dazai teased, chuckling softly “I gotta say, though—I loved your enthusiasm during our first time. Technically, we’re both still virgins, but you get me. We still know how to have our fun. Anything goes—as long as it’s nothing inside me” her tone was casual, as if she were commenting on the weather.

Chuuya kept his gaze fixed on the ground, his face red with exasperation. He sighed heavily, praying for any form of mercy “Can’t you just change the subject or something?” he begged, his voice dripping with frustration.

Osamu glanced at him, her lips curling into a mischievous grin “Alright, since my tiny dog is feeling shy” she said with faux sympathy, shrugging lazily “Here’s a new topic: are you sure we should give Q back to Mori?”

Chuuya stopped in his tracks, his fiery eyes snapping to hers as he turned to face her. His expression was dead serious “What are you suggesting?” he asked cautiously, his tone low and deliberate.

Dazai casually produced a familiar knife from her pocket. She twirled it in her hand, smirking “We could finally get rid of them” she said lightly, her tone far too casual for the gravity of her words.

Chuuya’s jaw tightened as he processed both her statement and the realization that she’d once again pickpocketed one of his knives without him noticing. Normally, he’d be livid, but the weight of her words cut through his irritation “Dazai… it’s a child” he said carefully, his voice softer but firm.

Dazai tilted her head slightly, her smirk fading into something colder, sharper “So?” she replied, as though his protest held no meaning to her.

The gravity manipulator fell silent, his sharp gaze locked onto hers. He recognized the shift in her eyes immediately—the light that had been there moments ago, the playful spark that made her unbearable yet human, was gone. In its place was that dead, hollow look he would always have to chase away. It was a look he knew all too well, and it made his chest tighten painfully.

So he stared. And stared. He didn’t say anything, didn’t move to stop her, and didn’t agree either. He waited, his steady gaze searching for some flicker of life to return to her expression.

“Fineeeee” Osamu finally relented with a dramatic sigh, snapping out of whatever dark place she’d momentarily slipped into. She slipped the knife back into her coat, her usual playful tone creeping back into her voice “Whatever my little moral compass says” she added with a teasing lilt.

Chuuya let out a quiet breath, a mix of relief and weariness washing over him. He watched as she continued climbing the stairs, her steps light and carefree as though nothing had happened. Shaking his head, he followed silently, his thoughts heavy.

In truth, he wasn’t entirely opposed to the idea Dazai had suggested. If he were still in the Port Mafia, he probably would’ve been the one to propose it first. But things had changed. He had changed. He’d made a promise to himself and her—a promise that he’d be Dazai’s moral compass, her anchor, the one to help keep her grounded. He’d promised to show her she was capable of more, that she could care for others, even if she didn’t believe it herself.

Sixteen-year-old him had no idea what he’d been signing up for back then, but now, even as he trailed after her up the stairs, he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. He loved this damn idiot too much.

***

‘I don’t want to get out of bed.’

Lucifer woke to the suffocating weight of existence pressing him deeper into the bed. The thought repeated in his mind like a mantra. The invisible mist of despair clung to him, curling around his limbs, whispering all the reasons he should stay trapped beneath the covers.

Every morning was a battle, the dark tide of his thoughts relentless and unforgiving. The memories of his past failures, the echoes of his fall, and the void of worthlessness told him he was undeserving of peace, happiness, or even effort. These thoughts whispered ceaselessly, tearing down any remnants of hope.

Lucifer sighed deeply, staring at the ceiling. He knew these feelings all too well. They had been with him for millennia, wrapping around his soul like a shroud. Yet, even in this mire of despair, there was a small flicker of light—a reason to fight against the pull to remain dormant. Charlie.

His daughter’s unwavering belief in him, the way she had wanted him to stay at the hotel, had been his salvation. For her, he had grasped onto this new purpose with trembling fingers, refusing to let his pain dictate who he was. It wasn’t easy. Every day was a struggle to rise, to act, to exist, but as long as Charlie was safe, Lucifer could endure.

With a deep, reluctant breath, he forced himself to sit up. The promise he had made to his daughter weighed on him like a tether to the waking world. She had asked him to have breakfast with her, and he wouldn’t disappoint her. He clung to the thought of her excitement—a small, precious reason to push through his thoughts.

His mind shifted as he stood, the soreness in his muscles mirrored by the growing unease in his heart. Alastor. The Overlord’s presence in the hotel was a shadow he couldn’t shake. ‘What was her true end goal?’ Lucifer’s suspicions gnawed at him with increasing intensity.

Charlie, ever optimistic, had assigned him the room directly next to Alastor’s. It was a curious decision, considering the excess of empty rooms scattered throughout the hotel. He understood his daughter well enough to know she had her reasons. Perhaps she was trying to get them to work together, her boundless faith in people urging her to bridge gaps he wouldn’t dare approach.

Yet, despite her intentions, Lucifer couldn’t ignore the discomfort the arrangement caused. Alastor was a force he could neither predict nor control. Her presence was unsettling; her motives shrouded in mystery and mischief. What was she planning? What did Charlie see in her?

Lucifer rubbed his face, steeling himself for the day ahead. His thoughts churned, a tempest of doubt and determination, but he knew he couldn’t afford to let them consume him. For Charlie’s sake, he would confront these uncertainties head-on. If Alastor had an agenda, Lucifer would uncover it.

He straightened his posture ‘Yes, you can do this, Lucifer’ he told himself, clinging to the small spark of purpose that Charlie had reignited in him.

***

Lucifer descended the stairs; his steps deliberate as he tried to shake the weight of his thoughts. The lobby greeted him with its usual atmosphere—a peculiar mixture of chaos and company—but his mind remained a whirl of concerns.

‘What is Alastor truly up to? And why does Charlie insist on fostering this bizarre arrangement?’

Reaching the area where breakfast was set to unfold, his eyes landed on the long, grand table that stretched nearly the length of the room. It was an impressive sight, designed to accommodate the hotel’s eclectic array of residents. The energy was palpable; animated voices bounced off the walls as the guests chattered loudly, their diverse personalities blending into a loudness of sound.

But despite the lively chatter, one detail stood out to Lucifer immediately—no food had been served yet. Plates sat untouched and empty before each guest, an indication that the meal hadn’t even begun. His gaze flitted across the table, noting the colorful cast of sinners seated there. Yet, three seats remained conspicuously vacant.

Lucifer’s eyes narrowed slightly as they settled on the empty chairs at the far end of the table. It didn’t take long for him to deduce their intended occupants—one for himself, another for Alastor, and the third for the absent bug sinner. The deliberate placement of the seats made him pause, the setup too calculated to be mere coincidence.

He knew Charlie had orchestrated this arrangement with purpose. It was in her nature to see the good in everyone, to believe in harmony where discord thrived. Clearly, she hoped to bridge the gap between him and Alastor, to encourage interaction—or, perhaps, reconciliation. The mere thought of it caused Lucifer to sigh inwardly.

Charlie’s optimism was often admirable, even endearing, but in situations like this, it bordered on naivety. ‘Does she truly think I can find common ground with Alastor?’ Lucifer wondered. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to blame Charlie for trying. Her faith in people—even in him—had been his salvation when he’d felt like giving up entirely. He owed her this much.

Squaring his shoulders, Lucifer steeled himself. He had made a promise to Charlie to join her for breakfast, and he intended to keep it. Whatever discomfort or unease awaited, he would endure it for her sake.

With quiet determination, he made his way to the vacant seat, his sharp eyes scanning the lively table one last time. As he approached, he could feel the eyes of some of the residents subtly shift toward him, a mix of curiosity and wariness following his every move.

Lucifer approached the table, his smile measured yet polite, nodding briefly to each sinner seated before him “Good morning, everyone” he greeted, his voice carrying an air of practiced politeness. His gaze softened slightly as he addressed his daughter “Hello, Charlie.”

Charlie’s face lit up in response, her enthusiasm infectious. Lucifer then turned his attention to the person seated closest to her “Good morning, Maggie” he added with a calm tone. Vaggie’s brows furrowed briefly, but she gave a polite nod in return, perhaps still uncomfortable with him but too disciplined to express it openly.

Lucifer’s gaze swept across the table, lingering on the animated sinners engaging in conversation. He struggled briefly to recall the names of the others, his mind blanking amid the commotion “Um, good morning to you all as well” he said, hoping the general greeting would suffice.

As he moved to take his seat, his eyes landed on the empty chair beside his own “Where is Alastor?” he asked, his curiosity piqued by the absence of the radio demon.

Charlie’s expression brightened, her excitement almost palpable “Oh, Dad! Alastor is making breakfast for everyone, and Niffty’s helping her” she exclaimed eagerly “Husker here was telling us that her food is the best thing in Hell” her tone conveniently omitted how the cat sinner had previously called the redhead a “bitch,” albeit one with remarkable cooking skills.

Lucifer felt his doubts bubble to the surface, his lips parting as if to comment, but the kitchen door swung open before he could voice his concerns.

Alastor emerged from the kitchen, a grand casserole dish balanced in her hands, her grin wide and confident. The little bug sinner followed closely behind, carrying a large pan covered with a lid that looked far heavier than her petite frame should have allowed. Lucifer’s senses were immediately assaulted by the tantalizing aroma wafting through the room. His mind worked to discern the ingredients—shrimp, potatoes, eggs—but the dish itself eluded him.

“Breakfast is ready, everyone!” Alastor announced cheerfully, her voice cutting through the lively chatter. The room buzzed with murmurs of anticipation and appreciative comments about the smell.

“That smells amazing!” Charlie exclaimed, her eyes widening with delight.

“Damn, Smiles! I’ve never smelled anything like that” Angel Dust chimed in, sniffing the air appreciatively.

Alastor approached the table, her movements graceful yet commanding “I’ve prepared a Creole dish for breakfast” she explained, her smile proud and inviting “It’s a breakfast stack—shrimp creole sauce spooned over crispy hash browns, topped with two perfectly cooked eggs.”

As she spoke, Alastor began serving each sinner their plate, ensuring that no one was left wanting. Her attention to detail was remarkable—each portion carefully arranged, each plate a feast for the senses.

Niffty flitted behind her, handing out cutlery and napkins with a speed and precision that belied her size “Enjoy, everyone!” she chirped, her energy boundless.

Lucifer watched the plates being placed before the eager sinners, the sight and aroma stirring an involuntary growl in his stomach. He stiffened slightly, embarrassed by his reaction.

When Alastor finally reached him, she placed his plate down with a playful grin “My, my, Your Majesty looks ready to drool at the sight of my food” she teased, her tone light yet pointed.

Lucifer sighed, the temptation proving impossible to deny. His earlier suspicions momentarily faded as he took in the dish before him “Thank you, Alastor” he said, genuine appreciation coloring his voice “I’m not petty enough to deny that this looks and smells absolutely divine.”

Alastor’s grin faltered, her crimson eyes flickering with surprise. She had expected an offhanded remark, a jab masked as politeness—but none came. Instead, she responded with a small smile and a nod “You are very welcome. Enjoy the food.”

She turned back to serve herself, vanishing the empty pots back into the kitchen with a casual flick of her hand. Her seat, placed deliberately beside Lucifer’s, was occupied moments later as she joined the others in enjoying the meal.

***

As Lucifer settled into his breakfast, he found himself uncharacteristically savoring the moment. The atmosphere in the room was strikingly different from his usual mornings. Laughter and light-hearted chatter flowed freely, filling the space with a warmth that felt almost alien to him. For a rare moment, the oppressive weight that usually hung over his lonely days seemed to lift.

His gaze swept across the table. The sinners were thoroughly enjoying themselves, their laughter ringing out amidst the clinking of cutlery. It was hard to believe that a place like this—a hotel brimming with chaos and sin—could ever host such a harmonious scene. And yet, here it was. Lucifer took another bite of his food and, to his surprise, allowed himself to savor it.

What struck him most, however, was how seamlessly Alastor fit into this peculiar harmony. She sat among the sinners, laughing at some offhanded joke and engaging in pleasant conversation with an ease that was almost enviable. It unsettled him how effortlessly she adapted, how she could navigate even the most chaotic environments with that ever-present, unreadable grin. ‘I’m almost jealous of it' Lucifer admitted to himself, though the thought brought little comfort.

The contradiction of her character gnawed at him. Just days ago, she had confidently declared war against his brother—a move so audacious and reckless that it still made his jaw tighten in frustration. And yet, here she was, doting on his daughter, a picture of charm and grace. How could someone embody such extremes? How could the same woman be both a formidable adversary and the life of a breakfast gathering?

Lucifer shifted slightly in his seat, his eyes lingering on her as she leaned closer to Charlie, offering a playful comment that elicited a burst of laughter from his daughter. The sound warmed him, yet it also left him uneasy. Alastor was an enigma—a riddle wrapped in contradictions.

According to Charlie, she was feared by many sinners across Hell. That only added to the mystery surrounding her. Alastor wasn’t merely feared—she was respected, admired, even adored by some. It was a power Lucifer understood, but it still made him wary.

‘Just another piece to add to the puzzle I need to solve’ Lucifer thought, his mind turning over the fragments of who Alastor might truly be. He couldn’t let himself be lulled by her charm or distracted by her facade. There was always a game at play, a larger move hidden behind the smile.

Lucifer’s thoughts wandered until the arachnid sinner’s voice sliced through the air, pulling him back into the present. The flamboyant figure leaned closer to the table, his eyes glinting mischievously. Though he couldn’t quite determine whether the name was “Angel” or a misheard “Agel.” Regardless, the sinner had his full attention now.

Angel Dust’s focus was locked onto Alastor, his tone brimming with mischief “Hey, Smiles” he started, his grin practically gleaming “Got any juicy gossip for us? Do you have someone to bonk with in your life? Or maybe you’ve got your eye on someone?” the questions were brazen, bold, and completely unfiltered—an approach that stood in stark contrast to Lucifer’s own cautious and measured interactions with her.

Lucifer glanced toward Alastor, expecting irritation, perhaps even a sharp retort. Instead, she laughed—a light, melodic sound that sent a ripple through the room. It was genuine, seemingly unbothered by Angel Dust’s audacity. Lucifer snapped his focus away, mentally chastising himself for how captivating her laugh was.

‘Control yourself, Lucifer.’

“Oh, my dear, you are incorrigible” Alastor replied, shaking her head slightly, her tone rich with amusement. Her eyes gleamed as her grin widened “And to answer your question… No, I don’t have anyone special in my life at the moment. I’m not someone who has time for such things” she chuckled softly, her voice laced with a peculiar charm “Even my dear friend Rosie took it upon herself to find me a man. It’s been decades, and she has yet to find someone who meets my standards.”

Lucifer tilted his head slightly, her words stoking a spark of curiosity. Alastor’s response was unexpected—not because of her disinterest in romance, but because of the way she framed it. The thought that someone as enigmatic and captivating as Alastor had never encountered anyone who could meet her standards was both baffling and strangely intriguing. ‘What kind of man could possibly be enough for her?’ he wondered.

The possibilities churned in his mind. Perhaps her chaotic, unpredictable nature was part of the reason she remained unattached. Or perhaps her standards were impossibly high, reflecting her refusal to settle for anything less than perfection. Was her disinterest genuine, or was it simply another mask she wore? The more Lucifer thought about it, the clearer it became that he didn’t understand her—not yet.

‘I should observe her more closely’ he decided, his thoughts trailing off into the depths of speculation ‘Just for research purposes… of course.’

The next half hour was surprisingly pleasant. The sinners continued to chat, Alastor weaving seamlessly into the conversation, her charm as disarming as ever. When the meal drew to a close, she rose from her seat and began collecting empty plates, her movements as graceful as they were efficient.

Lucifer hesitated for a moment before standing. It was only polite to assist, especially given that she had prepared the meal. He reached for a nearby plate, his gaze flicking to Alastor. Her eyes met his briefly, flickering with faint curiosity before she returned to gathering the rest of the dishes. She said nothing, but he could feel the unspoken acknowledgment of his gesture.

She walked toward the kitchen, and after a beat, Lucifer followed. As he entered, he found her at the sink, already placing the dishes under the running water.

“Wouldn’t it be less tedious to use magic?” he asked, a note of genuine curiosity slipping into his voice.

Alastor hummed softly, the sound carrying a calm sort of thoughtfulness “Unless I’m short on time, I prefer to wash them myself” she replied “Sometimes, doing simple domestic tasks calms me down.”

Lucifer stepped closer, his posture slightly uncertain. It had been eons since he had done anything remotely domestic, but something about her honesty caught him off guard “Do you need any help?” he asked, his hesitation evident but earnest.

Alastor glanced at him, one brow arched in amusement “Dry the dishes each time I finish one” she said, her tone light but firm. She smirked slightly as she added “With your hands and a towel… not with magic.”

Lucifer huffed softly, his lips twitching in faint exasperation “Yeah… I got that” he replied, grabbing a clean towel from the counter and waiting for the first dish.

Standing there beside her, towel in hand, he couldn’t help but feel the moment’s unexpected simplicity. It was disarming—a stark contrast to the complexities she embodied.

***

Lucifer knew it had been too good to be true. They hadn’t lasted three minutes before they began to argue—all because of a small comment.

It was inoffensive.

It was.

She was just making a big deal of it.

Lucifer had casually remarked, as they were cleaning the dishes and talking about dishes that she had made and the dishes sometimes he would ‘cook’, that breaking pasta in half before boiling was a more practical approach. He had thought nothing of it, a simple observation of efficiency. But Alastor’s reaction had been swift and dramatic. Her eyes widened in absolute horror, as if Lucifer had suggested committing an unspeakable crime—a sentiment he found ironic, given her history was undoubtedly littered with far worse.

“Breaking the pasta in half?” Alastor echoed, her voice dripping with disbelief “That is a culinary atrocity!”

Lucifer raised an eyebrow, bemused by her outburst “Seriously? It’s practical. It fits better in the pot and cooks more evenly.”

“Practical, you say?” Alastor retorted, crossing her arms, heedless of the water dripping from her hands “It’s an insult to the art of pasta-making. Pasta is meant to be long, luxurious... something you twirl around your fork, not break into tiny, sad pieces. It’s sacrilege!”

Lucifer let out a chuckle, unable to hide his exasperation “You’re being overly dramatic. It’s just pasta.”

“It’s not just pasta. It’s tradition!” Alastor shot back, her tone growing more impassioned by the second “Some things deserve respect, and pasta is one of them.”

The argument escalated quickly, each of them digging in with equal stubbornness. Alastor gesticulated wildly, her sponge flinging droplets of water across the room with every exaggerated movement, while Lucifer leaned against the counter, arms folded, his expression blank but attentive.

Suddenly, Alastor’s smirk returned, cutting through the tension like a knife “I bet you had chefs making your food—or even worse—conjured most of your meals with magic. You probably only know how to cook broken pasta with your own hands.”

Lucifer’s eyebrow arched higher, a subtle smirk playing at the corner of his lips “Oh, you think so? I can assure you my culinary skills extend far beyond your narrow imagination. I simply prefer efficiency, unlike some people who seem to enjoy complicating their lives.”

“Efficiency” Alastor scoffed, her disdain dripping with dramatic flair “Is that what you call it? I call it culinary laziness. But let’s put it to the test, shall we? Let’s see if you can make a proper pasta dish—no magic, no shortcuts—for tonight’s dinner. You’re in charge.”

Lucifer laughed, the sound echoing through the kitchen “You’re on. But don’t cry when you realize breaking the pasta is just the beginning of my genius.”

Alastor’s tone shifted to one of deadpan resolve as she replied “I doubt it.”

Lucifer opened his mouth to fire back, but his words were interrupted by the sound of knocking at the front door. Both of them paused, their gazes instinctively turning in the direction of the noise.

‘Whatever’s next’ Lucifer thought as he tightened his hold on the towel ‘At least it’ll be quieter than this pasta debate.’

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TWENTY | YOU LIKE DUCKS? I LIKE TURTLE-DUCKS

"I just want to get rid of this brat and take a long bath while drink—ahhh!"

Chuuya barely had time to react before a tentacle wrapped around him, yanking him out of the building and sending him flying. He spun helplessly through the air before being thrown back, crashing into the entrance, the impact shattering the wall as he tumbled onto the rubble. In the chaos, Q was ripped from his grasp, lost somewhere in the wreckage.

A monotone voice interrupted the moment.

"My shoulder's been stiff for some reason" Lovecraft stood outside the ruined entrance, his right arm having morphed into a writhing mass of green tentacles. His expression remained unreadable, though his head—completely backward—casually spun 180 degrees as if adjusting himself "Have I been working too much?" he mused.

Chuuya groaned, pushing himself up from the wreckage. His gaze locked onto the grotesque sight before him "What was that ability?" he muttered, frowning.

A delighted voice rang out from behind him.

"I’d expect no less from the Guild!" Osamu stepped forward, excitement glinting in her eyes—before promptly planting her foot on Chuuya’s head.

"What amazing resilience!" she mused, pressing down harder as Chuuya let out a more pained grunt. With one hand on her forehead, she struck a dramatic pose, as though spectating some grand spectacle rather than standing on her boyfriend's skull.

"Get off me!" Chuuya growled, his cheek grinding against broken concrete.

With an amused sigh, Osamu finally stepped aside, strolling toward the eldritch being as Nakahara pulled himself up, dusting off his clothes. He approached her, standing at her side. Their height difference was stark, making Osamu almost coo at her chibi.

"What should we do?" Chuuya asked seriously, his eyes fixed on Lovecraft.

She already knew how this would play out. Unlike the others she had been, she didn’t try too hard—only when the situation truly demanded it. Only when things became complicated or threatened her partner. This wasn’t one of those moments.

"What do you mean?" she said with a casual shrug, closing her eyes in indifference "Bring out any gift, and I’ll take care of it with a touch of my finger."

But Dazai Osamu knew one undeniable fact—her ability did not work on Lovecraft.

Chuuya barely registered the movement before the tentacle lashed out, cutting through the air with terrifying speed. Due to their height difference, it only grazed him—but Dazai wasn’t as lucky. The force of the impact sent her tumbling several feet before her body slammed into a tree, the collision knocking the breath from her lungs and creating more injuries in her already damaged body.

"Osamu!" Chuuya’s shout was thick with worry as he watched her crumple against the trunk. Unlike him, she wasn’t built for this kind of fight—she could die from a hit like that. Panic surged through him, but before he could rush to her side, he sensed movement behind him.

Instinct took over. He activated his ability, focusing gravity into his fist, and swung with strength. The tentacle snapped under the force, its momentum neutralized instantly. As the ruined appendage writhed uselessly, Chuuya wasted no time, dashing toward the fallen brunette.

"A heavy fist" Lovecraft murmured, his neck cracking unnaturally as he observed. His unreadable expression remained as his head slowly spun ninety degrees.

Dazai knelt on the ground, grunting as she struggled to stand. She had known this would happen. She hadn’t cared. Pain was grounding—it reminded her she was alive. Unlike before, none of her past lives’ abilities had carried over. No Longer Human ensured that. It stripped her bare, reducing her to a normal human.

And yet… she still felt anything but human.

"Oi... Osamu!" Chuuya’s voice sharpened as he reached her, worry flashing in his stormy eyes "Are you alright?"

A dark chuckle escaped her lips. Dazai rose but didn’t fully straighten, her arms hanging loosely at her sides. Her already injured right arm—wrapped in a cast—was now accompanied by fresh wounds. As she lifted her face, the sight made Chuuya stiffen. Blood trailed from her mouth and leaked from the corner of her left eye.

His eyes widened "You're hurt pretty badly" he muttered, scanning her face before stepping closer.

Dazai smirked, amusement flickering despite the pain "Ha... you called me by my name."

Ignoring her words, Chuuya cupped her face with one hand, carefully wiping away the blood "Take this seriously" he muttered, his voice low.

Dazai hummed, tilting her head slightly "Those tentacles sure are strange" she mused "I can't nullify them."

Chuuya took a step back, his frown deepening "Bullshit" his gaze darted toward Lovecraft, who continued his slow, eerie approach "Is that even possible?"

"There are no exceptions to my nullifying ability" Dazai stated, her usual grin curling around her bruised cheek "There's only one possibility... It’s not a gift."

"Huh?" Chuuya’s shock was palpable "Seriously? That’s hilarious, damn" his laugh came out forced—half-amused, half-frustrated "If it’s not an ability, then what the hell is it?"

Dazai stepped beside him, barely containing her amusement "Alright… let’s do things the old way" she turned to him with a smirk, eyes gleaming "How about Operation Shame and Toad?"

Chuuya gave her an exhausted look, resting his hands on his hips "Ahh... what’s this, Rain Beyond the Window?" his deadpan expression barely hid his frustration "It’s more like Lie of the Fake Flowers."

Dazai met his gaze with a knowing look "Chuuya" she murmured "When have my tactics ever been wrong?"

He stared at her for a moment, jaw tightening. Then, with a sharp exhale, he turned his head away, clicking his tongue in reluctant defeat.

"Dammit."

***

“Be useful and open the door.”

Lucifer raised an eyebrow, his offense evident as Alastor's words registered “Me?” he echoed, his tone dripping with disbelief “Why me?”

Alastor didn’t miss a beat, stepping closer as she answered, her tone laced with condescension “Because” she began, her crimson eyes locked onto his “I can tell Charlotte and Vaggie are in their room, Angel Dust left the hotel, Niffty is running around inside the walls, and Husker has passed out on the floor of the bar” with each word, she leaned in closer, her presence making him tense “And I’m washing the dishes” she added with a deliberate pause, the word hanging in the air before she finished with a sharp, almost venomous sweetness “So be a dear...”

Lucifer could feel the barely disguised mockery in her voice, and it only fueled the irritation bubbling within him.

“And greet our guest” she hissed, tilting her head to the side, her grin widening as though daring him to protest further “Or do you need magic to even do that?”

Her words stung.

Lucifer’s glare deepened as he threw the towel onto the counter with an exasperated huff, his movements sharp and deliberate. He turned on his heel and stomped toward the kitchen door, his steps heavier than necessary, like a child on the verge of a tantrum “Control freak” Lucifer called out as he left the room.

“Impulsive idiot” Alastor sang, a soft chuckle escaping her lips as she returned to her task.

***

Lucifer’s irritation burned as he stomped toward the door, muttering Alastor’s words in a high-pitched mimicry under his breath “Be a dear and greet our guest” he repeated mockingly, rolling his eyes. He straightened his posture and exhaled deeply before opening the door “Welcome to the… the…” he trailed off, his mind scrambling for the proper name of Charlie’s pet project.

“Your Majesty?”

The voice snapped Lucifer back into focus, and his gaze lifted. And lifted. He found himself looking up—far up—at the towering figure of an owl demon. There was something familiar about the tall frame and regal demeanor, though Lucifer couldn’t immediately place it. He narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing the figure.

“Your Majesty, I’m Prince Stolas” the demon began with a polite tone “We met once when I was but a child. I doubt you remember me… I barely remember myself since I was two, I believe…”

The fog of memory cleared as recognition dawned on Lucifer. His eyes widened slightly before he composed himself “Ah, Prince Stolas” he said, his tone measured, accompanied by a forced smile that didn’t quite hide his awkwardness “Heir to the Ars Goetia, son of Paimon” the mention of Paimon left a bitter taste in his mouth, but he pushed it aside, determined to maintain his decorum.

“Do come inside” Lucifer gestured, stepping back to allow Stolas through the door “What brings you to our humble establishment?” he inquired, his tone practiced and welcoming despite the whirlwind of questions spinning in his mind. What business could the heir to the Ars Goetia possibly have here?

Stolas entered gracefully, his tall, grand frame somehow making the entrance hall feel smaller “Thank you, Your Majesty” he said with a polite nod, his eyes glancing around the lobby with curiosity. There was a pause as he seemed to carefully choose his words “I am here on a matter of some importance and… delicacy.”

Lucifer raised an eyebrow, intrigued in spite of himself “Well, then” he said smoothly, gesturing for Stolas to follow. He led the prince toward the couches in the lobby, though his mind was far from calm. Questions buzzed and half-formed suspicions loomed large as he pondered what could have brought the heir of the Goetia to his doorstep.

A sound abruptly cut through Lucifer’s thoughts.

Quack.

His entire frame froze before spinning frenetically, his sharp eyes scanning the room. Duck. Duck. Duck. DUCK. The word practically shouted in his mind as he sought the source of the noise.

His gaze landed on Stolas, specifically the top of Stolas’ head.

A duck.

Lucifer’s irritation evaporated in an instant as his expression softened, his mouth curling into a rare, wide smile. He lifted his hand, almost cooing as he asked “Who is this little guy? What’s his name?” he tilted his head in curiosity as he noticed something unusual about the creature “Does he have… a shell on his back?”

Stolas chuckled warmly, reaching up to gently cradle the bird in his hands. The fondness in his tone was unmistakable as he patted the small creature “His name is Zuko. He’s a turtle-duck. A gift from my mother” he explained “She gave him to me when I was just a child.”

Lucifer’s grin lingered as he observed the odd creature “A turtle-duck” he repeated, the combination of words as strange as the creature itself. For a moment, the tension of the day dissipated, replaced by a fleeting curiosity and amusement as he watched Stolas cradle his unusual companion.

Lucifer felt his composure unravel the moment Zuko quacked. The sound was innocent, yet it hit him with an inexplicable force, making him feel like he might just combust on the spot.

“Zuko, Zuko… what does it mean?” he asked, his voice softer than usual as he leaned closer to the tiny creature. His fingers hovered just above its yellow feathers, hesitant to touch it for fear that his simple touch might somehow harm it.

Stolas chuckled softly, his eyes warm as he explained “Actually, I asked my mother to name him as well. She told me the name had two meanings—one she disliked and one she adored. The first meaning is ‘failure’” he said with a slight grimace before his tone lightened “But the second meaning, which she asked me to embrace—and I have, proudly—is ‘loved one.’”

Lucifer blinked, his gaze shifting between Stolas and the small creature “That’s... beautiful” he murmured, genuinely touched by the sentiment. Stolas handed Zuko to the king, Lucifer carefully cupped the turtle-duck in his hands. But then his brow furrowed, confusion flickering across his face “I’m sorry, but my memory these days is... less than stellar. Your mother? I remember your father… unfortunately. But I don’t recall ever meeting her.”

Stolas let out a hoot, covering his beak with a hand as if to stifle his laughter “Ah, yes, well… about that” he cleared his throat, his demeanor light but sincere “She isn’t actually my biological mother. She adopted me, and I adore her. She’s been everything a mother should be—and more. I love her dearly” his voice softened further, a touch of awe creeping in “It was… beautiful, watching her create Zuko from scratch.”

Lucifer’s thoughts came to a screeching halt. What? What? What?

“What?” he said aloud, his voice betraying his disbelief as he stared at Stolas “You’re saying your mother… she created him?” he shook his head as if trying to clear the impossibility of the statement “That’s—it should be impossible...” his eyes dropped to Zuko, now perched contentedly in his hands “It’s truly alive, just like… Razzle and Dazzle. But that should be impossible. I’m the only one with the power to…”

The words caught in his throat as his mind began to spiral. He was the Morning Star, the Lightbringer. The creation of life was his gift—a singular, unparalleled ability that no one else in Hell should possess. It was more than a power; it was a cornerstone of his identity. The idea that someone else could have encroached on that sacred ground was unthinkable.

Lucifer’s grip on Zuko tightened ever so slightly, though the creature quacked happily, oblivious to the turmoil within him. This shouldn’t be possible. No one else should be able to defy the natural laws and create life from nothing.

He looked up at Stolas, his eyes wide with shock “You mean to tell me that your mother—this woman who isn’t even your biological mother—she created Zuko? She has the power to create life?”

Stolas nodded, his expression calm, though a small, knowing smile played at his lips “Yes, Your Majesty. She is incredibly powerful, and she delights in creation, especially for special occasions. Zuko was one of her creations—a token of her affection for me.”

Lucifer’s thoughts raced, his mind a whirlwind of questions and fears. If someone else could create life, what did that mean for him? For his unique place in Hell? This gift—this curse—had always been his alone. It defined him. And now...

He watched Zuko quack happily once more, as if mocking his internal crisis. The creature was alive, undeniably and vibrantly so. Just like Razzle and Dazzle. The realization shook him to his core.

“Who is your mother?” he finally asked, his voice low and tinged with awe, disbelief, and perhaps a flicker of dread.

Stolas’ knowing smile widened, his amusement barely concealed “Oh, you already know her. In fact, I’m here to visit her—I have some papers for her to sign. Mother loves making deals.”

Lucifer’s eyes narrowed as the pieces began to fall into place. His breath hitched as the truth hit him with the force of a tidal wave. He shook his head furiously, his wings bristling slightly as they threaten to come out from the anxiety rising inside of him.

Not her. Not her again.

Lucifer's thoughts churned, the weight of Alastor’s revelation pressing heavily on his mind as he tried to make sense of it. The lobby’s back doors swung open, and Alastor strode in, her confidence palpable in every step. Her crimson eyes gleamed with mischief, her movements radiating a presence that felt both commanding and unnerving.

“Stolas, my dear boy!” Alastor’s voice rang out with a blend of affection and amusement as she approached the prince and enveloped him in a warm, familial hug.

Lucifer watched the exchange, his gaze locked on her as Stolas returned the embrace with equal warmth. Their bond was undeniable, and that fact alone sent another ripple of unease through him. How many layers does Alastor have? What else is she hiding?

Lucifer could feel his chest tighten, the whirlwind of emotions threatening to consume him. Confusion, disbelief, and a gnawing sense of dread intermingled as he tried to process the magnitude of what he had just learned about her.

“Alastor” Lucifer began, his voice slightly unsteady as he lifted Zuko in his hand, the small creature quacking cheerfully despite the tension in the air “What is the meaning of this? How is it that you… you, of all beings, have the power to create life?”

Alastor’s smile only widened, her eyes glinting with amusement and a hint of something deeper—something that felt almost taunting “Ah, Your Majesty” she replied, her tone light yet saturated with confidence “It seems you’ve stumbled upon one of my little secrets. You see, I’ve always had a penchant for creation... but only when I truly put my mind to it. And when it comes to my dear Stolas, I simply couldn’t resist bestowing upon him a unique gift—Zuko, the magnificent turtle-duck!” she punctuated her words with the sound of applause emanating from her radio-like presence.

Lucifer’s heart thundered in his chest, the enormity of her claim shaking him to his core “But… how?” he stammered, his voice tinged with frustration and disbelief “This power was supposed to be mine alone. No one else besides… Father and me. How did you acquire such an ability?”

Alastor chuckled softly, the sound reverberating through the grand lobby like a haunting melody “Oh, Your Majesty” she said, her grin sharp yet playful “You should know by now that Hell is full of surprises. Power can manifest in the most unexpected places. And as for me… well, let’s just say I’ve always had a knack for bending the rules.”

Lucifer felt his legs weaken, stumbling back until his hand caught on a nearby pillar. Zuko remained nestled in his other hand, blissfully unaware of the turmoil raging within his bearer. ‘This shouldn’t be possible’ Lucifer thought as he steadied himself.

The realization hit him once again… Alastor wasn’t simply a force to be reckoned with—she was an anomaly, a mystery wrapped in countless layers of contradictions. His identity, his role, his place as the sole bearer of this divine gift had been challenged in the most profound way.

Lucifer’s eyes flicked back to Alastor and Stolas, watching them with increasing unease. If Alastor could create life, what other secrets did she hold? What other lines had she crossed that no one else dared approach? ‘No wonder she had no trouble challenging Michael’ he thought bitterly.

His spiraling thoughts were interrupted by Zuko’s cheerful quacking as the tiny creature waddled out of his hands and toward Alastor. She made a piece of raw meat materialize from thin air, prompting the turtle-duck to lunge for it and devour it with surprising fervor.

Lucifer’s gaze narrowed, his mind whirling with questions. The foundations of his existence—everything he thought he knew—had been shaken. Yet as he watched the scene unfold before him, he felt an undeniable truth settle deep in his chest: no matter how much he tried to understand her, Alastor would always remain an enigma.

And so, Lucifer decided in that moment to give up—not on confronting her, but on questioning her. She would never cease to surprise him, and perhaps it was futile to try. ‘Just let it be’ he thought bitterly ‘Because no matter what, she’ll always find a way to stay one step ahead.’

While Lucifer appeared lost in his own spiraling thoughts, staring blankly as though the weight of the world had descended upon him, Stolas turned his attention to Alastor. He handed her a neatly stacked set of documents with his usual grace. As the aroma of breakfast lingered in the air, his keen senses caught its nostalgic allure, prompting a fond smile to spread across his face.

“Here are the papers you requested” Stolas said politely, sniffing the air with a hint of longing “Did you make breakfast?”

Alastor accepted the documents, her eyes sparkling with mirth “Ah, yes. It was quite the feast” she replied, her tone carrying both pride and amusement.

Stolas, despite being a fully grown prince in his mid-thirties, couldn’t quite shake his childhood tendency to act like a doting mother’s boy around her. He tilted his head and, almost pouting, made his request “Mother, do you have any leftovers I could take? Blitzy’s friends at work would really appreciate it.”

It was a half-truth, and they both knew it. While Blitzo and the others had tasted her food once and found it delightful when she reunited with Stolas, this request was far more self-serving. Stolas had a habit of “accidentally” keeping most of the leftovers for himself, and Alastor, ever perceptive, was clearly aware of it.

She chuckled softly, clearly entertained by his request “Of course, darling” she said, waving her hand with dramatic flair. In an instant, a box materialized out of thin air, filled to the brim with leftovers “This should be plenty for you, your boyfriend, and those charming imp friends of his.”

Stolas’s face lit up, his eyes wide with delight as he clutched the box “Thank you so much! My friends will be thrilled… Especially Millie. She always says she misses your food.”

“Of course, she does. She appreciates proper homemade cooking” Alastor replied warmly, clearly pleased with his reaction. Her smile softened ever so slightly “It’s always a pleasure to see you happy, Stolas.”

He nodded enthusiastically, his feathers fluffing slightly from the excitement of his new leftovers. His gaze drifted briefly to Lucifer, whose expression remained vacant, his posture stiff as though he had been paralyzed mid-thought. The prince’s brow furrowed faintly in mild concern “Is he… alright?” he asked, his tone polite but not overly worried.

Alastor’s smile sharpened into something sly, her demeanor light yet ever so calculating “Oh, he’s just fine” she said, waving a hand dismissively “He’ll snap out of it in a few moments.”

With an almost unceremonious fluidity, Alastor placed a hand on Stolas’ back and began to guide him toward the door. Stolas couldn’t help but glance back one last time at Lucifer, whose faraway expression suggested he was wrestling with some profound realization. Whatever it was, Stolas decided it was probably best not to inquire further.

***

Lucifer didn’t remember how he’d got to his room. It didn’t matter.

Now lying flat on his back in the center of the bed, he let the remnants of his mental breakdown wash over him. His thoughts were a tangled mess as he finally admitted to himself that there was no point in trying to figure out what Alastor even was. Every time he thought he had a grasp on her, she shattered his expectations with effortless unpredictability. Perhaps it was better to give it up entirely, to stop questioning.

Maybe… maybe he should try following Charlie’s way instead.

His mind wandered to his daughter—bright, unrelenting, unwavering Charlie. She had always found beauty where there was none, hope where there was despair, and redemption where there was sin. Despite the chaos of Hell, despite the darkness that clung to every corner, Charlie’s belief in the good within even the most wretched souls never wavered.

‘Perhaps… just this once’ Lucifer thought. Perhaps there was some merit to her idealistic approach.

With a deep breath, Lucifer made his decision. He would let go of his obsession with understanding Alastor. Instead, he would focus on adapting to this new, strange reality—a world where unpredictability reigned and perhaps, through it all, he might find an unexpected connection with the Overlord just like his daughter wanted. The decision wasn’t easy. It left him feeling exposed, vulnerable, but there was an odd sense of relief in surrendering.

His gaze flicked to the clock on the bedside table, and his eyes widened. Almost six. He’d promised to make dinner tonight, determined to prove Alastor wrong. He scrambled out of bed, brushing aside his earlier turmoil, and darted toward the door. As he stepped into the hallway and closed his door behind him, he noticed another door opening.

Alastor emerged, her usual confidence evident in every step.

‘I am being punished’ Lucifer thought with numb resignation as the radio demon fell into step beside him.

“Everything alright, Your Majesty?” she asked, her tone carrying its signature teasing edge. She glanced at him with a smile that only deepened his irritation “And here I thought you might’ve forgotten about making dinner. But then again, how could I blame you for not wanting to prove me right?” she shrugged, her teasing tone as sharp as ever.

Lucifer huffed, shaking his head. He didn’t grace her with a reply, and Alastor, surprisingly, didn’t push for one.

Silence hung between them for a moment as they walked side by side. Finally, his curiosity got the better of him “Why a duck?” he asked, his tone betraying the genuine confusion behind the question. Of all the things she could have created… why a duck?

“Because it’s my favorite animal” she answered simply, as though the question didn’t warrant much thought.

Lucifer turned to her, his brows lifting in surprise as a small, unexpected smile formed on his lips “Your favorite animal is a duck too?”

“No” Alastor replied, shaking her head, clearly amused “My favorite animal is a turtle-duck.”

“What?” Lucifer asked, his confusion deepening. Her words didn’t make any sense, yet the grin spreading across her face said she was thoroughly enjoying his reaction. He sighed, shaking his head in defeat “I really don’t get you.”

Alastor hummed in response, her tone light and playful. She turned to him and, without warning, pinched his cheek—right over one of the red marks that adorned his face.

“You don’t have to” she said, her grin taking on an almost impish quality “It’s more entertaining this way.”

Lucifer rubbed his cheek, watching her as she continued down the stairs with an air of triumph. He let out a soft sigh, standing there for a moment before following her.

‘Yeah’ he thought as he descended ‘Maybe I really don’t have to.’

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE | SIR PENTIOUS IS HERE THE PAIN IN HER ASS IS AWARE TOO

"Hey!"

Dazai Osamu called out, raising her hands in a mock gesture of surrender. Her grin was as sharp as ever, even as Lovecraft tilted its head to regard her. Despite lacking eyes, its gaze felt unnervingly heavy.

"Dispatch the enemy and… go home" Lovecraft muttered, its monotone voice carrying an eerie calm. Without warning, its tentacles surged forward, striking with terrifying speed.

Dazai’s grin widened. She dropped to her knees in an instant, narrowly avoiding the attack. From behind her, Chuuya leapt into action, his leg swinging in a powerful arc that shattered the tentacles with a single kick.

Without missing a beat, he sprinted along the length of the writhing appendage, closing the distance to the eldritch man. His fist glowed red as he drove it straight into Lovecraft’s chest, the force piercing through its body and emerging from its back.

"Gravity manipulation" Chuuya growled, activating his ability. A crimson aura enveloped them both as he followed up with a devastating kick to Lovecraft’s chest. The impact sent the creature hurtling into the ground, creating a massive crater. Hovering above the wreckage, Chuuya glared down at his opponent.

"My gift controls the gravity of those I touch" he said coldly, his frown deepening "Take a nap, octopus."

Lovecraft remained pinned to the ground, its body unable to move under the crushing force of Chuuya’s power.

"Good job!" Dazai called out, her tone dripping with condescension as she strolled toward him.

Landing on the ground, Chuuya turned to her, his expression immediately souring "Bastard! Ordering me around like a sheepdog!"

"I’d use a sheepdog if I had one" she replied, sticking her tongue out at him "But I don’t, so I had to make do with you, tiny chihuahua."

"You—!" Chuuya jabbed a finger at her, his indignation practically radiating off him.

Neither of them noticed what was happening—well, Dazai did, but she chose to ignore it. After all, she couldn’t resist pulling one last joke on her lovely chibi. And of course, the hidden bomb.

Chuuya’s ability hadn’t fully worked on the eldritch being, and one of its appendages managed to break free. It lashed out, swiping at Dazai’s arm with brutal force. For a moment, it looked as though her arm had been ripped clean off.

The rest of the tentacle struck her stomach, sending her flying once again. Her body hit the ground with a sickening thud, skidding to a stop several feet away.

“Osamu!”

Chuuya’s shout rang out, sharp with alarm. His eyes widened as he turned around to see the semi-human figure before him began to morph, its grotesque transformation sending waves of energy that knocked him off his feet. He tumbled across the dirt, coughing as he tried to steady himself "What kind of joke is this?" he muttered, staring at the fully formed monstrosity—a massive creature composed entirely of writhing tentacles, with two small bat-like wings perched at the top.

"This is something inhuman" Dazai grunted from a few feet behind him. She had been hit far away but due to the blast, Chuuya had land closer to her, and now she rested against a tree, clutching at her ‘missing’ arm.

"You… Your arm!" Chuuya’s panic surged as he scrambled to his feet, his gaze snapping to her injury.

"Chuuya" Dazai whispered, her voice weak and trembling as she feigned the look of someone on the brink of death "There’s something I want you to hear… before I die."

Her words sent Chuuya into a frenzy "Osamu, Osamu—what the hell—you’re going to be fine!" he stammered, rushing toward her with desperation etched across his face. He reached for her arm, his distressed eyes scanning her pale features "This isn’t your place to—"

"Boo!"

Dazai sprang to her feet with a cheerful grin, her arm emerging from her ripped sleeve, perfectly intact and wrapped in bandages.

The next thing she knew, Chuuya—despite his petite stature—had grabbed the collar of her shirt with one hand, pulling her up and close as his fist hovered threateningly near her face. His expression was a mix of fury and indignation, his teeth bared in frustration.

Dazai raised her hands in surrender, her smile unfaltering "I’m going into a fight injured—why wouldn’t I do this? You shouldn’t be surprised."

"Why don’t you stop screwing with magic tricks and my heart, you devil woman" Chuuya snapped, his voice rising as he pointed toward the monstrous figure behind them "And start thinking about how we can take care of that nightmare!"

"Nope" Dazai replied with delight, her tone light and teasing "Let’s just give up and die" she chuckled, her eyes glinting mischievously "We only have one more course of action."

Chuuya released her collar, his expression shifting to one of surprise "Don’t tell me…" he began, his voice tinged with disbelief "You’re going to do something disgraceful."

Dazai’s grin widened "It’s after we wrecked an entire enemy organization overnight that we started being called the devastating rivals" she said casually "But if I’m late to support you, you’ll die. I’ll let you choose."

"You’ll let me choose?" Chuuya scoffed, clicking his tongue in frustration "As if you would ever let me die. Besides, whenever you say that… I never actually have another choice."

He knew what had to be done.

He would have to use Corruption.

***

“Why can’t you make me a duck?”

Lucifer Morningstar whined, his voice carrying the unmistakable tone of royal exasperation as he practically draped himself over the table. Alastor’s coffee cup was in immediate danger of being knocked over by his theatrics, and with a smooth, unamused motion, she slid the cup to safety. The King of Hell, reduced to a pouty mess, was almost endearing enough to sway her resolve. Almost.

“It’s been a week since I last saw Zuko, and now I just want to see another adorable duck” Lucifer groaned, finally settling into the chair opposite her. His posture straightened slightly, though the playful glint in his eyes remained as he leaned forward “Aren’t we friends by now?” he asked, his tone dipping into a mischievous hum.

Alastor raised an eyebrow, her crimson eyes dancing with amusement as she sipped her coffee “A week ago, you practically hated me… I create a living turtle-duck and suddenly we’re friends?” she replied, her words dripping with sarcasm “What a way for you to choose your friends.”

“I didn’t hate you” Lucifer said quickly, though his chuckle carried a hint of nervousness. He waved his hand in a dismissive motion, as though brushing aside the accusation “I just thought you were… suspicious. Someone I needed to keep an eye on—make sure you weren’t a threat to my daughter.”

He shrugged, the awkwardness of his admission clearly lingering in his posture “I mean… I still don’t know” he added with a weak laugh “But I decided to just let it go… hah… ha” his smile began to falter as Alastor arched her brow at him, the weight of her unimpressed gaze slowly wearing him down.

“Besides” Lucifer pressed on, determined to salvage the conversation “We’ve joined Charlie’s little talks—”

“By force” Alastor interjected without hesitation.

“By force” he conceded, nodding solemnly “But we’re so much better than before” he added, his grin making a timid return. His eyes searched hers for a flicker of agreement as he continued “We’re like… what do the kids call it these days?” he tapped his chin in mock contemplation before snapping his fingers in exaggerated triumph “BFFs!”

The static buzz from Alastor’s presence flared loudly in response, and Lucifer immediately winced, covering his ears with an irritated groan “Alright, alright… that did sound childish” he sighed, lowering his hands as the static faded “But is it so bad that I can easily consider you a friend?”

Alastor let out a soft sigh, placing her now-empty coffee cup on the table with deliberate care. Her tone lost its teasing edge, replaced by something more thoughtful “Yes” she said simply “You shouldn’t give your trust so easily to anyone. Unlike Charlie, you don’t have as much luxury as she does.”

Lucifer’s grin widened at her words, a hint of triumph sparking in his expression “But you’re not just anyone, are you?” he countered smoothly, leaning back slightly as if to emphasize his point “You are THE Radio Demon. The sinner that ruled Hell in my absence.”

He watched closely as Alastor’s eyes briefly widened, the slightest blush creeping across her cheeks. She turned her head to the side, clearly attempting to hide the faint redness blooming on her face.

‘Yes, Lucifer… Look at that… you made her blush’ he thought with victorious satisfaction, mentally patting himself on the back for his success.

Alastor didn’t respond, though her grin returned just as sharp as ever. She remained turned away, her composure mostly intact, leaving Lucifer with the fleeting joy of having caught her off guard.

Inside Alastor’s mind, chaos reigned. Amelia, ever the romantic, was practically screaming with excitement at the scene unfolding before her. While Amelia herself had never been interested in relationships, she had long been enraptured by the love lives of her future lives—Sasuke, Tomura, Dazai, Sukuna… and now, much to Alastor’s eternal exasperation, Amelia was fully invested in what she had dramatically dubbed “Alastor’s love life” with none other than Lucifer Morningstar.

‘Why do I have to witness this?’ Light groaned, covering her eyes in dismay as Amelia bounced around excitedly in the recesses of Alastor’s mind.

‘Don’t be such a downer, Light’ Dazai chimed in, her tone teasing as she leaned her chin on Light’s shoulder ‘It’s either this or listen to Sukuna rant about the original Sukuna’s escapades during the Heian era. Personally, I’d rather enjoy some drama over a boring history lesson.’

Alastor took a steady breath, deliberately tuning out the lively commentary in her head. She wasn’t about to let Amelia, or the others distract her—not when Lucifer was still staring at her with that infuriating grin. Flicking her hair behind her shoulder, she met his gaze with her usual composure and cleared her throat.

“I appreciate the compliment” she said, her voice measured and polite. She refused to let his words linger too deeply, no matter how unexpectedly they had stirred something within her “But don’t take it personally—I’ve only created two beings in my entire existence.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, the faintest glimmer of emotion flickering behind them as she continued “Zuko, the turtle-duck, was meant to protect Stolas. It’s similar to your Razzle and Dazzle, who were made to safeguard Charlie. I simply wanted to ensure my son’s safety from those who might wish him harm in my absence.”

As her words hung in the air, she allowed herself the smallest, fleeting glance at Lucifer. For all his bravado and charm, there was something undeniably genuine in the way he carried himself when it came to Charlie. Perhaps it was that shared determination to protect those they cared for that gave her pause. But Alastor wasn’t one to dwell—not outwardly, at least.

Lucifer listened attentively, his expression softening as Alastor explained her reasons for creating Zuko. Her explanation carried a surprising depth that he hadn’t expected—perhaps they had more in common than he’d originally thought. The revelation that Alastor considered Stolas her son had been startling, but it wasn’t hard to see the devotion in her eyes when she spoke of him. She cared for the prince of Ars Goetia with the same ferocity that Lucifer felt for Charlie.

The memory of their earlier conversation surfaced in his mind, one where he’d pressed her for details about how she had come to see Stolas as her child. Alastor had merely smiled, poked his cheek playfully, and sang that same line she had used when they first met: “The family you choose is better.” Leave it to Alastor to never give a proper explanation, leaving everything veiled in mystery.

Her voice brought him back to the present “The second one, Franklin” she began, her tone lighter now “A small dog I created after my friend Rosie’s husband died. I wanted her to have some company, since I was very busy back then. She named the dog after her husband.”

Alastor chuckled softly, a glimmer of amusement flashing in her crimson eyes “Which is funny, really, since Franklin wasn’t exactly a stellar man. But I don’t question Rosie’s tastes” she added with a casual shrug “Both times, I created for people I truly, without shame, care about... and it will remain that way.”

Lucifer leaned forward slightly, the warmth of a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips “Unless… someone else appears and ends up being someone that you also care about” he said, his tone light but tinged with curiosity.

Alastor’s expression shifted ever so slightly. Her eyes narrowed, and though her demeanor remained composed, he could tell she had caught the intent behind his words “Correct” she replied simply, her voice steady yet pointed.

For a moment, Lucifer’s gaze intensified. A flicker of something sharp and thoughtful passed across his features as his fingers tapped idly against the table “Good to know” he murmured, his voice low but deliberate.

The sudden explosion rocked the hotel, and Lucifer’s eyes widened in surprise. His gaze darted to the source of the commotion—a zeppelin hovering ominously outside, bristling with weaponry. At its helm stood a serpent-like sinner whose booming voice cut through the aftermath of the blast.

“Show yourself, Alastor… Come and face—” the sinner’s words faltered as he scanned the fresh hole in the wall, only to find Alastor nowhere in sight. His eyes shifted upward to spot her perched leisurely on the second-floor balcony “Oh, there you are. Face my wrath!”

Lucifer turned his head toward the radio demon, his expression bemused “Know this guy?”

Alastor tilted her head thoughtfully, humming softly before shrugging “Never seen him before” she then raised her voice, its melodic static amplifying as she called down to the serpent “Who are you?”

The sinner bristled at her question, his hissing voice dripping with indignation “Who am I? Who am I?... I am the great Sir Pentious!”

Alastor allowed herself to dissolve into a swirling fog, the motion effortless and graceful, as though second nature. Her form reassembled smoothly on the ground below, where Angel Dust, Vaggie, and Charlie were already gathered, their gazes fixed intently on Sir Pentious’ zeppelin dominating the skyline.

She glanced briefly at them, taking in the scene as the corners of her lips curled into a faint smirk. Beside her, she felt a sudden shift in the air as Lucifer descended, his wings folding neatly against his back before vanishing from sight.

“Inventor, architect of destruction, villain extraordinaire!” Sir Pentious declared, his voice rising with theatrical flair.

Niffty suddenly appeared on Alastor’s shoulder, her wide eyes sparkling as she leaned closer “Ooooooh, he’s a bad boy…”

Alastor scooped the tiny sinner up with little ceremony, dropping her back onto the ground with a casual motion “Ha! Well, if all that’s true, you’d think I’d have heard of you.”

“We’ve done battle, like… twenty times a couple of years ago?” Sir Pentious hissed, his tone tinged with what could only be described as wounded pride.

Alastor hummed in amusement “Well, you must’ve been really bad at this.”

The snake practically growled in frustration “Silence! Now cower… For when I’ve slain you, the almighty Vees will finally acknowledge me as their equal!”

“Wait” Lucifer interjected, his confusion apparent “Who are the Vees?”

Alastor’s gaze flicked toward him, her tone dismissive as she answered “Oh, nobody important.”

Lucifer narrowed his eyes slightly, studying her closely. It had only been a week since he’d genuinely begun spending time with Alastor, but he’d learned enough to pick up on certain shifts in her demeanor. Her body language wasn’t transparent, but he could tell her words contradicted by a flicker of significance she wasn’t willing to admit.

He gestured toward the zeppelin, his tone measured but direct “Want me to take care of it, or do you want to?”

Alastor waved a hand casually, her grin sharp “It’s alright. I feel like letting out some steam, thank you” with that, she raised her hand, her fingers curling into a glowing green fist.

Lucifer stepped back as a massive hole opened beneath the zeppelin, unleashing a swarm of writhing tentacles that tore into the ship with terrifying efficiency.

“Um... Alastor? I think he’s had enough” Charlie commented hesitantly, her expression twisted into a grimace.

Angel Dust shook his head “Nah. He’s got a few more hits in him.”

The zeppelin finally exploded in a dramatic burst of light and smoke, sending the serpent sinner hurtling face-first into the ground at Alastor’s feet.

“Thanks for another forgettable experience” Alastor chuckled, her voice dripping with amusement as she watched him groan and struggle to lift his hand.

Sir Pentious’ voice broke through his dazed state, rising in defiance “Thank you… for letting your guard down!” with surprising speed, he used his tail to rip a small piece from Alastor’s coat.

“Aha! Yah! Oh, shit…” his triumph was short-lived as he looked up to see Alastor’s eyes burning with fury. She manifested her cane, swinging it with precision and force as if she was on a golf course. The impact created a burst of green energy, launching the snake skyward. His screams grew fainter as he disappeared into the distance.

Lucifer whistled, watching the sinner fade into the horizon before turning to Alastor with an amused grin “Hole in one!”

Alastor snorted unconsciously at his stupid comment, only to recover quickly with a smirk “You need to work on your one-liners.”

“But it made you laugh, right?” Lucifer teased, leaning slightly as his elbow gave her arm a playful nudge “So I guess I’m doing fine.”

***

She was back.

She was back.

The Radio Demon was back.

Alastor was back.

His GoDD- NOOOO

She was back. Alastor—the Radio Demon. His goddess. His muse. His tormentor.

After all these years, she had returned to Hell, the place they both called home, and yet, for him, also the source of eternal unrest. Her mere existence in this realm unsettled him, a presence that demanded his attention and consumed his thoughts.

How he had once worshipped her… With every fiber of his cursed existence, he had followed her every footstep, clinging to her shadow like a devout disciple. He had praised her unparalleled power, her intoxicating charm, the wicked grace with which she danced through the chaos of their world. Her laughter was the melody that haunted his dreams—a discordant symphony that resonated in the deepest, darkest corners of his fractured soul.

Him, Vox, Ruler of Media, Overlord of the digital domain, reduced to nothing more than a pale shadow in her magnificent light.

Decades he had spent in her orbit, hoping—praying—that she would see him, acknowledge his devotion, reciprocate even a fraction of the love he had poured out for her. He had deluded himself into believing that if he worshipped her enough, loved her enough, she would love him back. Foolishness. She had rejected him, scorned him, laughed in his face with that cruel, captivating smile. To her, he was an insignificant speck, a footnote in the grand story she crafted for herself.

Oh, how it stung—the venom of her disdain. It burned him, wounded him deeper than any humiliation Hell had to offer. But the pain didn’t drive him away.

No, it only fed his obsession, twisting it, warping it into something grotesque. His devotion grew, festered, became an unyielding tumor that consumed every rational part of him.

He had tried to force himself on her, to demand what he believed was rightfully his. He had wanted her to understand—to see—the depth of his love and the intensity of his hatred. He loathed her for the power she had over him, for the way she could make him feel so utterly insignificant and yet so invincible in the same breath.

He hated her.

But he loved her.

BUT HE HATED HER.

BUT HE LOvEEE hEeeRRR.

The contradiction gnawed at the edges of his sanity, threatening to unravel the very fabric of his being.

His mind became a storm, a maelstrom of emotions clashing and overlapping, tangling themselves into an unbearable knot. Rage. Love. Bitterness. Desire. How dare she do this to him? How dare she return, so effortlessly, as if her mere presence wasn’t a cruel reminder of his failures? Years spent lingering in her shadow, years of devotion unreciprocated—and yet, even now, the thought of her set his very essence ablaze.

He would make her see.

He would make her understand the torment she had wrought upon him. The years of anguish, the power she had stolen, the way she wielded it with such casual ease—it all demanded retribution. Alastor would pay. She would see the depth of his obsession, would feel the weight of his torment, would know the darkness of his heart.

But then...

The king.

That damned, useless king.

Vox’s gaze burned as he watched the scene unfold before him. Alastor laughed—laughed—at something Lucifer said, her melodic voice ringing out amidst the hum of Hell's surveillance cameras that hung on his every broadcast. The sound echoed in his mind like the cruelest mockery, fueling the jealousy that clawed at his heart. It tore through him, shredding the last remnants of sanity he clung to.

Hatred festered, blooming like a dark and malignant flower that consumed every corner of his mind.

Did she not see?

Did she not understand the depth of his devotion, the ferocity of his love? How could she stand there, giving her attention to Lucifer, that fallen monarch, and ignore him—the one who had burned for her, crumbled for her, lived for her? It was betrayal, carved into his soul like a blade, slicing away what remained of his dignity and leaving behind an empty, hollow shell.

What was Lucifer, truly? The King of Hell was a useless entity, a figurehead who never lifted a finger. He could not compare to the fire that burned within Vox, the power that crackled like electricity beneath his skin. Alastor should have known. She should have felt it. She should have been his.

And now, as he watched them, delusion crept into his mind, whispering sinister truths that only fed the storm within him. This was a scheme. It had to be. Lucifer was plotting, trying to take her away, to steal the object of Vox's obsession—the one who fueled his very existence. The thought alone was unbearable, driving him closer to the brink of madness.

How could Alastor be so blind? So easily swayed by Lucifer’s honeyed, deceptive words?

Was it because he was the King of Hell? Was that it? Did Vox need to strip Lucifer of his crown, his throne, to finally earn her gaze? Was that what it would take for her to see him, to acknowledge him as the one she should have always chosen?

No. He would not let this stand. He couldn’t.

He would make her see. He would make her feel the torment she had inflicted upon him, piece by agonizing piece. Lucifer may have been the so-called King of Hell, but Vox knew the truth—he was nothing. Useless. An empty figurehead who underestimated the fury that coursed through Vox's veins.

And Vox? Vox was going to reclaim what was his.

The power she held. The influence she wielded. Her.

Alastor would pay. For her ignorance. For her blind allegiance to Lucifer. For the way she could drive him to madness with a single laugh.

Chapter Text

The only changes I made to the lyrics were the pronouns that Vox is using:p

*****

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO | STAYED GONE STAYED AWAY FROM HIM

"Grantors of dark disgrace, you need not wake me again."

Chuuya murmured the incantation under his breath as Corruption took hold. The advanced form of For The Tainted Sorrow unleashed an uncontrollable force—his power at its highest peak. His gravity manipulation became limitless, overwhelming, and unstoppable. But that strength came with a cost.

Chuuya’s body wasn’t built to withstand such raw destruction. He lost control, his movements dictated by rage rather than reason. Eventually, the power would consume him, killing him in its wake. The only way to stop Corruption was through Dazai’s ability. That meant that—every single time he used it—he was forced to rely on her to bring him back.

Red streaks surged across his body, illuminating him like a burning star. His eyes, drained of all color, were left in a stark white glow—signaling his complete loss of control. The ground beneath his feet shattered upon contact, forming a deep crater beneath him as he took his first step forward.

"What the hell is that?"

John Steinbeck, having just arrived, stared in disbelief at the spectacle before him. He watched as Chuuya’s energy radiated outward, warping the space around him.

"Are you curious, Guild worker ant?"

Dazai materialized behind Steinbeck, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. With her other, she pressed the cold edge of a concealed knife against his throat, ensuring he couldn’t activate his ability.

"That" she whispered, amusement threading through her voice "Is the true form of Chuuya’s gift."

Like a crimson comet, Chuuya shot forward, slicing through the monstrous mass before them with ruthless precision. His speed tore straight through the creature’s side, ripping apart its flesh without hesitation.

"Chuuya’s corrupted form allows him to manipulate nearby gravitons" Dazai explained with a smirk "The graviton bomb is a densely packed black hole... swallowing everything in its path."

With a feral grin, Chuuya generated spheres in both hands, each pulsing with an immense gravitational force. In one swift motion, he hurled them toward Lovecraft, the attack obliterating another section of its grotesque body.

Dazai feigned a pout "But he has no control over this ability" she continued, tone dripping with mock sorrow "So his rage continues until he consumes all his energy... and dies."

They watched as Lovecraft retaliated, its tentacles striking toward Chuuya with vicious intent. But the strawberry blonde fighter responded instantly, summoning a gravitational force field around himself. The tentacles disintegrated upon impact, unable to withstand his immense energy.

"But just what is that thing, anyway?" Dazai mused aloud, her eyes locked onto Lovecraft’s regenerating form "No matter how much Chuuya chips away at it… it just regenerates immediately."

She pressed the knife slightly closer to Steinbeck’s skin "You must know what it truly is" she murmured "Given that you’re his partner."

Steinbeck let out a snort "Who knows?" he said with mock indifference, attempting to turn his head to give her a smirk "Why would I tell you, even if I did?"

Dazai glanced back at Chuuya, watching as he tore into the creature once more. But its healing factor was accelerating—faster than his attacks could destroy it.

She sighed dramatically "This is bad… Chuuya’s body won’t last" she mused, her expression faux-somber as she glanced at the Guild member, pretending to lament the predicament.

But it wasn’t entirely a lie. Chuuya kept forming more bombs, but the strain was already evident—blood trickled from his eyes, nose, mouth, and ears.

The Guild worker had taken the bait.

"That's a shame" John Steinbeck gloated, feigning sympathy as he observed the battle "There's no way to destroy Lovecraft from the outside when he's in that state."

Dazai's grin stretched wider, a glint of mischief in her eyes "From outside?" she echoed innocently "So you can get him from inside" her voice lilted in a sing-song tone, amusement dripping from every syllable.

John's expression shifted—he realized his mistake.

And it was far too late.

It had been one of the reasons Dazai had let Lovecraft rip the cast off her arm. Hidden within it had been a bomb—one now buried deep inside the eldritch monster’s body.

With a smirk, she let out a delighted laugh, pulling her hand away from John’s shoulder and slipping a detonator from her pocket.

She pressed the button.

The effect was immediate.

A chain of explosions erupted from within Lovecraft, tearing through his insides with violent force. His massive, tentacled form bloated grotesquely as fire and brightness seeped through the cracks and wounds splitting open across his body.

"Finish him, Chuuya!"

High above, Chuuya gathered his remaining strength, forming a massive, gravity-dense bomb. With a fierce yell, he unleashed it, the force colliding with Lovecraft in a final, obliterating explosion.

Smoke and debris thickened the air, clouding the battlefield. When it finally cleared, Nakahara Chuuya stood in the aftermath—where the eldritch being had once been. Blood streamed from every orifice, dripping onto the ruined ground beneath him.

But he wasn’t finished.

His laugh rang out—wild, unstable. The corruption still burned through his body, his uncontrolled power manifesting in small bombs forming at his fingertips. He hurled them at the ground, sparks and destruction following. He lifted his hand, preparing to unleash an even greater one—

A delicate hand caught his wrist.

Chuuya froze.

"You annihilated the enemy" Dazai murmured softly "Take a break, Chuuya."

Her ability flared, the white glow engulfing him. His own crimson aura flickered, fading, until the red streaks vanished from his body. His color slowly returned—his eyes regaining clarity.

The shift left him weak.

Chuuya let out a grunt, his knees buckling as he collapsed forward "I told you to stop me as soon as it was over" he rasped, fighting against unconsciousness.

Dazai crouched down to meet his gaze, her amusement unwavering "I was going to, but it was entertaining, so I had to watch."

Chuuya twitched, his irritation evident despite his weakened state. He managed a glare, throwing her a half-hearted punch to the shoulder "I used Corruption because I trusted you" his trembling fist lingered against her coat before he exhaled heavily, voice barely above a whisper "You... better take me to the extraction point..."

He knew her well enough to suspect she'd leave him behind as a joke.

Then, he lost consciousness.

Dazai chuckled softly, closing her eyes for a moment "You got it, partner" she said lightly, then tilted her head with a smirk "I’ll carry you like the little princess you are."

Nearby, John Steinbeck approached the wreckage of what had once been Lovecraft, his face twisted with disbelief.

"I can’t believe this..." he muttered "The Lovecraft..." his gaze darkened as he looked at Dazai "Who are you people?"

Dazai turned slightly, tossing him an amused glance over her shoulder as she rose to her feet. Her grin widened.

"We are Soukoku."

***

“Well, it looks as though I need a visit to the tailor… Best of luck, chums” Alastor announced with a grin, her tone light and cheery as she turned on her heel. She caught the lingering disbelief on their faces out of the corner of her eye and couldn’t help but chuckle inwardly. Predictable, really.

“Wait, you're leaving?” Vaggie’s voice broke the silence, sharp and incredulous. She stepped forward, her glare unwavering “Alastor, we need your help. We need you to do your job.”

“We need a wall” Angel Dust chimed in, gesturing animatedly toward the gaping hole left in the hotel’s side.

Alastor paused, suppressing her amusement as she turned slightly, her eyes sparkling with mischief. Before she could answer, Lucifer threw his hands up dramatically, his voice dripping with mock offense.

“I’m right here too!” he said, opening his arms as though daring them to acknowledge his presence “Hello! Powerful King of Hell—standing right here” he added, pointing emphatically to himself.

Alastor let out a small huff of amusement before addressing the scene “I’m your sponsor, dear, not your facilities manager” she corrected Angel and Vaggie with a playful lilt “But” she continued, her voice taking on a theatrical flair as she gestured broadly toward the city “I can’t possibly let my new project fall into disrepair so soon. What would the papers say?”

With a snap of her fingers, black ink demons materialized around the damaged wall, equipped with construction tools and moving with mechanical precision. Satisfied with her handiwork, Alastor began her departure, her cane tapping lightly against the floor.

Lucifer glanced between the hotel and the retreating Overlord, his expression twisting into a grimace before he groaned audibly “Wait for me!” he called out, practically jogging to catch up with her.

Alastor didn’t spare him a glance as he fell into step beside her “I don’t recall extending an invitation for company” she mused, spinning her cane idly in her hand, her tone tinged with amusement.

The so-called king merely shrugged, that practiced confident smile of his firmly in place “Well, I can’t leave my new friend to walk all by herself, right?”

Her eyes flicked to him briefly, and she immediately recognized that smile—it was the same one he gave Charlie when pretending to have everything under control. The thought made her smirk faintly as she focused back on the path ahead, saying nothing.

They walked in relative silence for a few minutes, the air between them neither tense nor entirely comfortable. Lucifer seemed to grow increasingly restless, his gaze darting to the sinners milling about the streets as though searching for a distraction. Eventually, he cleared his throat, breaking the quiet.

“So, Alastor, nice weather we’re having, isn’t it?” he ventured, glancing at her with a tentative grin.

Alastor’s eyes gleamed with mirth as her cane continued its effortless spin “Nice weather? In Hell?” she replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm “My, my, Your Majesty, it sounds like you need to get out more.”

Lucifer chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck “Well, you know, it’s been ages since I’ve had a proper stroll. Figured it wouldn’t hurt to stretch my legs a bit too.”

Alastor raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a mischievous grin “Stretch your legs or stretch your excuses? Whichever it is, I’m sure you’ll make art out of it.”

Lucifer let out a small sigh, feeling a bit outmaneuvered “Honestly, Alastor, I wanted to… um, talk to you. It’s been a while since I’ve really interacted with anyone, so… I’m glad you’re not outright rejecting the fact that I call you a friend.”

Alastor halted the spin of her cane, lowering it to the ground as she turned to face him directly. Her expression softened, a rare moment of curiosity breaking through her usual facade “Is that so, dear? Well, you’ve certainly picked an interesting time for a walk and talk. What is it you wanted to discuss?”

Lucifer hesitated, his mind scrambling for the right words “I suppose I wanted to understand your perspective. You’ve always seemed so confident, so sure of yourself. How do you do it?”

Alastor tilted her head, pondering the question as if it were a puzzle “Confidence comes from knowing one’s purpose, Your Majesty” she replied smoothly “I know what I want, and I know how to get it. It’s simple, really.”

Lucifer nodded slowly, taking her words to heart “I see. Maybe I could learn a thing or two from you.”

Her signature chuckle returned as she resumed walking, her cane tapping rhythmically against the ground “Perhaps you could, but remember, dear, confidence isn’t about imitating others; it’s about finding your own path” her tone lightened as she gestured forward “Now, shall we continue to the tailor?”

Lucifer fell in step beside her, a small smile playing on his lips as he matched her pace “Lead the way, Alastor. Lead the way.”

***

“Will your tantrum suffice for now, or is there something else you wish to whine about?”

Alastor arched an eyebrow, her voice dripping with amusement as she harshly tapped Lucifer’s head with her cane. Her patience was vast, but watching him sulk was quickly testing its limits.

Lucifer let out an exaggerated whine, rubbing his head where the cane had landed before glaring at her “It’s taken longer than an hour for the woman to fix your coat” he complained, gesturing dramatically “I could have easily fixed it with magic!” he sighed, his irritation plain “And before you accuse me of laziness, this would’ve been productive. No wasted time. No boredom. Just efficiency!”

Alastor rolled her eyes, crossing her arms as she decided his theatricality wasn’t worth engaging with.

Thankfully, the tailor emerged after a few more minutes, carrying the freshly repaired coat “Here you go, ma’am” the tailor said with a respectful nod, holding the coat out to Alastor.

Alastor inspected the garment with a discerning eye, meticulously scanning each stitch and seam. It was flawless, as expected “Excellent work” she acknowledged, her tone polite but brisk as she slipped the coat back on.

Lucifer, still rubbing his head from her earlier gesture, let out a small sigh of relief “Shall we go now?” he asked wryly, clearly eager to leave the shop.

A chuckle escaped Alastor’s lips, her amusement bubbling beneath the surface “Very well, Your Majesty” she replied with a sly smile “Let us proceed.”

As the pair approached the shop’s door, Alastor froze mid-step, her senses sharpening in an instant. Her gaze snapped toward the television in the corner of the shop as its screen flickered to life unbidden.

Lucifer turned to her, confused by her sudden halt, before following her line of sight to the television. His curiosity was evident, though it was clear he was more interested in her reaction than the content itself.

“Top of the hour and we're discussing a certain has-been who has been spotted cavorting around town after a seven-year absence.”

Alastor’s eye twitched, her carefully composed demeanor cracking slightly under the weight of her irritation. She had been enjoying herself—her time with Lucifer, her quiet reprieve—and now the inevitable interruption had arrived. Vox, always eager to turn her existence into fodder for his endless commentary.

“Did anybody miss her, did anybody notice?
More on tonight's program.”

Her grip tightened on her cane, creaking faintly under the pressure of her hold. She could feel the air shifting as her displeasure began to seep into the room, her static quietly buzzing.

The shopkeeper, visibly sensing the storm brewing, hurried to turn off the TV. She pressed button after button, but no matter her efforts, the screen refused to shut off—Vox’s voice continued to echo unabated, as though deliberately mocking Alastor’s rising fury.

Lucifer, to his credit, remained silent beside her, though she could feel his gaze flickering toward her, studying her expression with a mix of curiosity and unease.

“So, the Radio Demon is back in town
Why is she hanging around?
What does that mean for your family?
Well, handily, I've got good news.”

Lucifer winced as Alastor’s patience snapped. With a sharp swing of her cane, she shattered the television, sending shards scattering across the shop floor. The shopkeeper scurried away in terror, leaving the pair alone amidst the chaos. Without a word, Alastor stormed out of the shop, her crimson eyes blazing. Lucifer sighed and quickly followed as he caught up to her.

‘Well… that’s annoying’ Lucifer thought, his gaze flicking to the nearby televisions lining the street. Vox’s broadcast was playing on every screen, his voice dripping with venomous charisma. A crowd of sinners began to gather, drawn to the spectacle.

“She's a loser, a fossil, and I don't mean to sound hostile,
But the demon is a coward.”

Lucifer snorted audibly. That was a blatant lie. He knew firsthand that Alastor was anything but a coward. She had challenged his brother to his face, and “fossil” certainly didn’t apply to her. Quite the opposite, in fact.

“You can take that as gospel.
Pulling my viewers? Impossible!
I'm visual, she's barely audible!
Stop giving her the time of day!
Don't listen to a word she'd say.
I hope she had a nice vacay!
But she should have stayed away!”

Lucifer rolled his eyes, glancing at Alastor. She seemed unfazed—until her pace suddenly quickened. Alarmed, Lucifer spread his wings and flew after her, only to accidentally teleport alongside her when she vanished.

They reappeared in her tower, and Lucifer landed face-first on the floor with an unceremonious thud. He groaned, lifting his head to see Alastor glaring down at him. Offering a sheepish smile, he scrambled to his feet as she turned on her radio broadcast. Her expression darkened as Vox’s voice continued to echo through the room.

“While she hid in radio, we pivoted to video!
Now her medium is getting bloody rare!
Hell's been better since she split,
Where's she been?
Who gives a shit?!

Lucifer raised an eyebrow as Alastor picked up her cane, her grip tightening as she joined the song. Her voice cut through the air with sharp precision, her tone dripping with confidence.

“Salutations!
Good to be back on the air.
Yes, I know it's been a while since someone with style treated Hell to a broadcast.
Sinners rejoice!”

The song quickly devolved into an exchange of insults between the two of them, each line sharper than the last.

“What a dated voice!” Vox sneered.

Alastor fired back without hesitation “Instead of a clout chasing mediocre video podcast.”

“COME ON!”

“Is Vox insecure, pursuing allure?
Flitting between this fad and that.
Is nothing working?”

“IGNORE HER CHIRPING!”

“Every day he's got a new format!”

“YOU'RE LOOKING AT THE FUTURE!
She's the shit that comes before that!”

“Is Vox as strong as he purports?
Or is it based on his support?
He'd be powerless without the other Vees!”

“Oh, PLEASE.”

Lucifer smirked, tempted to conjure a box of popcorn as Alastor fired back with unwavering confidence. She leaned back in her chair, kicking her feet up as if she were completely unbothered.

“And here's the sugar on the cream
He asked me to join his team!”

“HOLD ON!”

“I said no, and now he's pissy! That's the tea.”

‘Oh, so there’s drama between them’ Lucifer mused, his curiosity piqued ‘That explains why she looked uncomfortable earlier when I asked about… what were their names? Bees? Or maybe this guy isn’t related to them at all. Ugh, why is getting answers out of her so difficult?’’

“You o-old timey BITCH! I'll show y-you suffering!”

“Uh oh, the TV is buffering.”

Vox’s anger overloaded his circuits, causing static electricity to ripple through Alastor’s studio. His voice crackled and distorted, his fury palpable.

“I'LL DESTROY YOOOOU-YOU LIT-T-LE—"

With a final burst of static, Vox’s broadcast crashed, plunging Pentagram City into a blackout—except for the Hazbin Hotel.

“I'm afraid you've lost your signal.”

Alastor adjusted her seat, her grin widening into something manic.

“Let's begin
I'm gonna make you wish that I stayed gone.”

Lucifer’s attention sharpened as he noticed black marks spreading across Alastor’s face, trailing down her neck and hands. Her red eyes shifted, their pupils forming a sinister flower-like pattern outlined in black.

“Tune on in.
When I'm done, your status quo will know it's race is run!
Oh, this will be fun!”

Alastor’s laughter echoed through the studio as she cut off Vox’s signal throughout the city, leaving the Overlord dismayed and defeated.

“FUU-UU-UCK!”

Alastor’s smile lingered, pleased as she heard his voice crackle faintly through the airwaves.

***

“So… what’s the tea?”

Lucifer leaned casually against the couch in the lobby, his eyes fixed on the red-haired demon comfortably seated there, engrossed in a book. After their dramatic musical number, they’d both retreated downstairs, but his mind had been swirling with unanswered questions ever since. Being the insufferably enigmatic woman that she was, he knew Alastor wouldn’t give him anything resembling a proper answer until she’d had time to simmer down.

Twenty minutes.

Twenty excruciatingly long minutes.

He had counted every single second, waiting like a desperate angel craving the attention of the twisted soul he’d chosen to fixate on.

Alastor didn’t look up from her book, her eyes skimming the text as she responded, her tone disinterested “There is no tea, Your Majesty” she said evenly “I was simply dealing with a bothersome cockroach.”

Lucifer’s curiosity only deepened at her vague answer, and he leaned forward slightly, unwilling to let it go so easily “A bothersome cockroach, you say? Care to elaborate?” he asked, his tone laced with intrigue “You also mentioned earlier that the TV guy asked you to join his team, and you said ‘No’” his memory of her lyrics surfaced as he pressed her further.

This time, Alastor closed her book with a soft but deliberate thud, her eyes finally meeting his. There was a hint of weariness in her gaze, though her voice remained measured and composed “Vox is someone who used to work for me” she began, each word deliberate “He was an insufferable subordinate whose ego grew far too large for his own good.”

Lucifer raised an eyebrow, sensing the weight behind her words. There was clearly more to the story than she was letting on “And that’s all there is to it?” he probed, his voice calm but persistent.

Alastor sighed softly, her irritation only just veiled as she leaned back in her seat “There is more” she admitted reluctantly “But it’s not worth revisiting. Suffice it to say, he became unbearable, and he crossed boundaries that should never have been crossed… I simply dealt with it.”

Her words carried an edge that made Lucifer hesitate. He could see the effort it took for her to keep her tone even, the subtle tension in her posture as she shut the conversation down. His gaze softened, and though his curiosity gnawed at him, he decided against pushing further.

From her choice of words and the unspoken weight they carried, his thoughts began to spiral. It was Hell, after all. Alastor was a powerful woman—a force to be reckoned with. And men, well… men could be alarmingly insecure when faced with a woman like her. The idea unsettled him, but he waved the thought off before it could fully form. He didn’t want to assume the worst, especially without hearing it directly from her.

Instead, he simply nodded, his voice quiet as he replied “I understand.”

As the silence stretched between them, Lucifer allowed himself a moment of reflection. Perhaps, with time, she would feel comfortable enough to tell him the full story. ‘Maybe… she’ll tell me when she trusts me.’

He exhaled softly, sinking back into his seat ‘I just had to fixate on the most complicated sinner in Hell’ he thought wryly ‘Good luck, Lucifer.’

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE | PLAY A LITTLE GAME THEY WERE ACTUALLY FORCED INTO THIS

“You are a child.”

Alastor’s voice cut through the air, sharp and unimpressed, as her eyes flicked up from her book. She had been trying to ignore Lucifer’s incessant fidgeting, but her patience had finally worn thin. At first, his movements were subtle—shifting slightly, adjusting his position. But then it happened again. And again. And again. Now, he was literally upside down on the couch, sighing dramatically as though the weight of the world rested solely on his shoulders.

She tilted her head to the side just in time to avoid his foot, which had come dangerously close to her face. With a deliberate motion, she placed her book down on the table beside her, the sound of it hitting the surface carrying a quiet finality.

“Is this necessary?” she asked, her tone laced with exasperation as she forced a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes “Or are you truly incapable of remaining still and silent?” her crimson gaze narrowed slightly as she added, dripping with sarcasm “It looks more like you’re being possessed.”

Lucifer huffed, his upside-down gaze meeting hers “I have the devil inside me” he replied dryly, lifting his hands and waving them around for dramatic effect.

Alastor arched an eyebrow, unimpressed but unwilling to let him have the last word. With the same dry tone, she lifted one hand and placed the other against her chest “The power of Christ compels you” she intoned, moving her hand in a cross formation with mock solemnity.

Lucifer pressed his lips together, trying—and failing—not to laugh. He turned his eyes a vivid red and hissed theatrically, pretending her words had burned him.

The sound of Alastor’s genuine laughter caught him off guard. It was rare to hear her laugh without the distortion of her radio filter, and the sound was… pleasant. Too pleasant. Annoyingly pleasant. Even from his upside-down position, he couldn’t help but notice how beautiful she looked when she laughed, her sharp features softening ever so slightly.

Before he could dwell on the thought, the door to the entrance swung open with a loud bang, startling him. He flailed, losing his precarious balance and tumbling off the couch with an undignified thud.

Alastor didn’t miss a beat. With a single, fluid motion, she reached down, grabbed him by the back of his collar, and lifted him effortlessly. She set him back on the couch as though he weighed nothing, her movements precise and unbothered.

Lucifer blinked up at her, dazed. He wasn’t sure what was more surprising—the ease with which she’d manhandled him or the fact that he didn’t mind it in the slightest. Being handled by a tall, beautiful woman? He could think of worse fates.

As Charlie and Vaggie entered the hotel, the exhaustion clinging to Charlie weighed her steps down. She couldn’t even muster a smile as she spotted her dad and Alastor comfortably seated in the lobby. With a sigh that carried her disappointment, she collapsed onto the couch beside them, burying her face into the cushion.

Her father’s voice broke through her haze of frustration “Everything alright, sweetie?” he asked, his tone careful and measured, as if he already sensed the answer.

Charlie didn’t respond, the cushion muffling her sigh. She felt Vaggie step in, her partner’s voice carrying a touch of defeat “We didn’t manage to get a single recruit.”

Alastor turned her head, her sharp eyes gleaming with amusement as she observed the scene. Charlie’s slump of despair was almost theatrical in its intensity “And what exactly did your motivational speech include to convince the sinners to join?” she asked, her tone deliberately teasing.

Charlie mumbled something unintelligible into the cushion. Alastor’s grin widened slightly as she crossed her legs and tilted her head “Care to repeat that, darling? This time with you facing us” she coaxed, though the edge in her voice left little room for argument.

With reluctance, Charlie pushed herself upright, her tired eyes meeting Alastor’s. The demon’s smug amusement only fueled her frustration, but she forced herself to explain “I told them about how this hotel was a chance for redemption, a chance to be better and do good” she said, her voice gaining strength despite her annoyance “I spoke about the possibilities of finding a new purpose, of creating a community where they could belong and be understood.”

Her confidence faltered slightly as she noticed Alastor raising an eyebrow, her grin turning knowing.

“Ah” Alastor said smoothly, leaning back in her seat and steepling her fingers “And you left out the part where they would be safe from the angelic attacks, didn’t you?”

The hesitation in Charlie’s posture was answer enough. Watching the young princess bite her lip and look away briefly was all the confirmation Alastor needed. She didn’t need to press further.

Charlie’s shoulders sagged as the weight of Alastor’s observation settled over her “I thought focusing on the positives and the good we could achieve would be more convincing” she admitted softly “I didn’t want them to only accept for protection without actually trying.”

Lucifer sighed, his hand finding its way to his daughter’s shoulder in a gesture of reassurance “Your optimism is admirable, Charlie” he said gently, his voice warm but firm “But sometimes you need to be realistic too. They need to know both the risks and the rewards. Sometimes, being honest about the danger they face is what it takes for them to step inside. Once they’re here, then you work on building something better with them” he gave her a small, knowing smile “Like that spider sinner.”

“Angel Dust” Vaggie corrected, stepping closer to Charlie. Her tone was calm but unwavering as she nodded in agreement with Lucifer’s words “We’ll have to find a way to balance that message next time.”

Taking a deep breath, Charlie let herself absorb their advice. Her frustration melted into determination as she squared her shoulders, the flicker of hope reigniting in her chest “You’re right” she said, her voice steadier now “Next time, I’ll make sure they understand everything, not just the sparkling parts.”

The knock at the front door pulled Vaggie out of her thoughts. Her steps were swift and deliberate as she crossed the lobby to open it, only to be met by the sight of Sir Pentious standing there, holding his hat.

“Why, hello, my dear—”

Before he could finish, her fist met his face with satisfying precision, sending him sprawling to the ground. Without missing a beat, Vaggie pulled out her spear and pointed it at him, the tip hovering dangerously close to his neck.

Sir Pentious cowered in fear, holding up his hands in a peace sign gesture “Wait, wait, wait… I come in peace.”

Her expression darkened as she demanded “What are you doing here?

Hearing Vaggie’s sharp tone, Charlie hurried to the door to investigate “Vaggie, what’s the problem?” she asked, her voice filled with concern.

Her eyes widened as she spotted the snake sinner “Oh… hello again.”

Sir Pentious shook his head quickly, his tone pleading “I didn’t come looking for a fight. I, uh… I heard that you’re helping people. People who want to be better?”

Charlie’s heart leaped at his words, hope rushing to the surface. She gasped enthusiastically and ran forward, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the entrance “You heard right! Welcome to our home of healing, our resort of restoration, our—”

Her excitement was interrupted by Angel Dust descending the stairs, practically skipping toward them.

“Are you fucking nuts?” Angel exclaimed, his voice dripping with disbelief as he pointed an accusing finger at Charlie “This chump was trying to kill us like literally a couple hours ago! And now you wanna bring him in here to live with us?”

Charlie, undeterred, nodded enthusiastically “Absolutely. This place is about second chances, and who deserves one more than this slithery... slippery... special little man?”

Angel groaned, shaking his head as he followed them inside. His eyes darted to the couch, where Lucifer and Alastor sat, hoping for some backup.

“Aren’t you supposed to protect this place?” he asked, his frustration evident.

Lucifer exchanged a glance with Alastor, silently deferring to her. When she offered her response, short and precise, he couldn’t help but smirk.

“He is inoffensive” Alastor said, her tone calm and dismissive.

Lucifer raised an eyebrow, unable to resist pressing further “Hasn’t he tried to kill you many times?”

Alastor turned her gaze toward Lucifer, her lips curling into the faintest smirk “Like I said… he is inoffensive.”

Her tone carried an air of finality, effectively ending the conversation. She leaned back slightly, her posture radiating composed indifference as Angel groaned in exasperation and turned back to Vaggie.

Angel’s stare was intense as he asked “And you? You’re fine with this?”

Before Vaggie could respond, Charlie’s puppy-dog eyes locked onto hers, silently begging for her approval. Vaggie let out a reluctant sigh, her resistance crumbling under the princess’s hopeful gaze.

“I guess he’s not much of a threat without the war machine” she admitted begrudgingly.

Sir Pentious’ head lifted with anticipation.

“Or even with the war machine” Vaggie added dryly. His head drooped with a defeated sigh.

Overjoyed, Charlie hugged Vaggie tightly, lifting her off the ground and twirling her around once in celebration “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!” she exclaimed, practically glowing with happiness. She turned to Sir Pentious, beaming brightly “Sir Pentious, welcome to the Hazbin Hotel.”

Sir Pentious hissed warmly, his tone filled with gratitude “Oh no, darling… Thank you. You won’t regret this.”

Angel Dust crossed his arms, giving them all a dry, unimpressed look “Eh, I give you a week, tops” he quipped, his tone dripping with skepticism.

***

“Are you sure you’re okay with the snake staying at the hotel?”

Lucifer asked, his tone casual but with an underlying curiosity. He watched his daughter enthusiastically introducing Sir Pentious to the rest of the staff.

Turning to Alastor, he added “…I mean… if someone tried to kill me, I wouldn’t exactly be—”

Alastor cut him off before he could finish “Your Majesty, no offense, but the chances of your so-called food killing me are higher than the snake succeeding” her eyes sparkled with amusement as her words hung in the air, leaving no room for protest.

“Hey… that’s not… true…” Lucifer countered lamely, though even he wasn’t convinced. He couldn’t exactly argue, not after his last culinary disaster. The memory of that pasta mishap was still fresh—he’d managed to burn the kitchen beyond recognition, and Alastor had promptly and permanently banned him from cooking in her domain “I can still make pancakes” he muttered weakly, as if that would redeem him.

Alastor arched an eyebrow, a teasing smirk curling at the corners of her lips “Should I praise you for doing something as basic as pancakes?” she asked lightly, her tone carrying just enough edge to sting.

He closed his eyes, letting out a hum as if deeply contemplating “…It wouldn’t hurt…” his response was cut short by a sharp pinch to his cheek, her fingers closing precisely where the red mark graced his face.

“Ouch!” Lucifer hissed, rubbing his cheek as he gave her a pout. This wasn’t the first time Alastor had done it—she seemed to enjoy pinching and poking at his cheeks, always right on those red marks. Should he read into that? ‘I mean… it’s not like I dislike it… it gets her to touch me… I’m so touch starved…’ he sighed at the thought.

“At least let me help while you cook” he offered, trying to reclaim some dignity.

“You only want to help so you can sneak a bite while I’m not looking” Alastor replied knowingly, crossing her arms as she stared him down.

The king flashed her a sheepish grin, his charm returning in full force “Can you blame me?” he asked, his tone playful but genuine “Your food is really delicious.”

Her gaze flicked away as she let out a soft huff, warmth creeping into her chest at his compliment “Of course” she replied, tilting her chin up with an air of superiority that masked her slight embarrassment “I exist to excel in all that I do.”

Lucifer rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. He noticed that shift in her demeanor—the little spark of pride and awkwardness she showed when genuinely touched by a compliment.

Just as he was about to tease her, his attention was drawn to Charlie approaching, Sir Pentious in tow. His daughter’s excitement was practically tangible as she clearly intended to introduce the serpent to them like she had to everyone else.

Charlie approached with a bright smile, her enthusiasm palpable as she gently nudged Sir Pentious forward “Dad, I’d like you to meet Sir Pentious” she said cheerfully. Her hands gestured animatedly as she continued “He’s our newest guest, and he’s really trying to turn over a new leaf.”

She glanced at her father expectantly, hoping his response wouldn’t dampen the positivity she was trying to foster.

Lucifer leaned back slightly, his red eyes scanning Sir Pentious with a mix of curiosity and skepticism “Right… we’ll see about that” he mused, his tone dry yet not entirely unkind. He shifted his gaze between his daughter’s bright expression and the sinner’s nervous stance before adding “Welcome to our humble abode.”

He studied Sir Pentious’ reaction closely, gauging whether the snake’s apparent sincerity could be trusted.

The weight of Lucifer’s scrutiny bore down on Sir Pentious, making his nerves spike. Still, he managed to bow his head slightly, attempting to present his most polite self “Thank you, Your Majesty” he said, his voice tinged with unease “I am honored to be here.”

Though his words were earnest, the presence of the King of Hell made his scales prickle with apprehension.

Pleased with the tentative exchange, Charlie turned to Alastor with her signature enthusiasm “And Alastor… our sponsor!” she exclaimed, her tone as bright as ever. She gestured toward Sir Pentious with a nervous chuckle “You’ve met our newest guest, Sir Pentious… hehe…”

Her laugh trailed off as she glanced between the two, noticing Alastor’s demeanor shift ever so slightly.

Alastor tilted her head, a gleam of false enthusiasm lighting up her eyes “Ah yes!” she said, her voice carrying a honeyed sharpness “You’re the one who ruined my coat…” her eyes glowed faintly red, and a small, deliberate wave of killing intent rippled through the air, making everyone in the room tense. She smiled wider, the curve of her lips razor-sharp “I definitely remember you now.”

Sir Pentious felt his throat constrict, his nerves spiraling into panic as he gulped audibly. He could feel the weight of her aura pressing against him. Before he could stammer out a defense, Charlie stepped forward, her presence like a shield.

“Well, I guess this is a great time for your first lesson” Charlie interjected, her voice chipper as she attempted to diffuse the tension. Clearing her throat, she gestured to Sir Pentious “How to apologize!” she stepped aside, her smile remaining intact despite the charged atmosphere “The first step to becoming a better person is to admit when you’re wrong. Why don’t you give it a try?”

Her encouraging gaze rested on the serpent, willing him to seize the opportunity.

“Yes… uhm… Miss… uhm… Radio Demon… ma’am” Sir Pentious stammered, his usual bravado thoroughly diminished “Please forgive me for attacking you and ruining your very lovely coat… uhm… here.”

He reached into his pocket and presented a small fabric tear, the one he had taken from Alastor’s coat. His trembling hands held it out as a token of apology, hoping to appease the formidable demoness.

Alastor took the fabric with an air of detachment, inspecting it with mock reverence “Ah-ho…” she mused, her tone bordering on playful menace “Not many people have been able to take even this much off me. It must have meant quite a lot to you.”

Her eyes glinted mischievously as the small piece of fabric suddenly burst into green flames in her hand, disintegrating into ash within seconds. Charlie gasped, her expression frozen in shock as she watched the fabric combust into nothingness. The snake sinner recoiled slightly, his eyes wide with disbelief as the ashes drifted to the floor. He hadn’t expected forgiveness to go up in literal smoke.

Lucifer let out a chuckle, his voice dry and amused as he observed the scene “Not petty at all” he remarked, watching the last of the ashes disappear.

***

Charlie clapped her hands together, her bright smile lighting up the room as she addressed the group “Come on, everyone! Let’s play a little game to get to know Sir Pentious better. It’ll be fun!” she insisted, her cheerful demeanor practically infectious.

Unsurprisingly, Alastor was the first to voice her dissent.

“We’re not here for redemption, darling” Alastor remarked, her tone dripping with faux politeness “Why should we participate?”

Lucifer chimed in, raising an eyebrow as he regarded Charlie with mild skepticism “Indeed, sweetie. I fail to see why we should involve ourselves in this… trivial pursuit.”

Charlie’s determination didn’t falter. She stepped closer to her father, tilting her head with a playful innocence that she knew he couldn’t resist “Please, Dad?” she said, her voice soft yet pleading “It would mean so much to me. You know how important this is for the hotel and our guests” she fluttered her eyelashes for good measure.

Lucifer sighed, his stern expression softening ever so slightly “Very well, Charlie. For you” he conceded, though his tone still carried a note of skepticism.

Turning to Alastor, Charlie shifted her approach “And Alastor” she added with a knowing grin “You can oversee the game. Make sure I’m doing a proper job” she gave the Overlord a conspiratorial wink, hoping to nudge her into agreeing.

Alastor’s eyes narrowed slightly, though her lips curled into a melodramatic pout. With a theatrical sigh, she relented “Oh, very well. If it will ensure your competence” she replied, her voice laced with her usual sarcasm.

Beaming, Charlie clapped her hands together “Perfect! Everyone, gather around the couch” she instructed, her enthusiasm as unshakable as ever.

Once they were all seated, she began “Now, with a new resident, I think it’s important we all get to know each other. So, we’re going to play a little game!” she clapped twice, setting the rhythm “My name is Charlie” she began, clapping again “I like to sing” she continued with another two claps “And when we get to know each other, it’s the greatest thing” she finished, giving two more claps.

Charlie turned to Sir Pentious, gesturing for him to continue “Your turn!”

Sir Pentious looked visibly confused, glancing around the room nervously. With a hesitant sigh, he clapped twice “My name’s Sir Pentious” he said, his voice lacking its usual bravado. He clapped again “I like to build” he added, clapping twice more “And despite my stupid Egg Boiz, I think I’m very skilled” he finished, his tone gaining a hint of pride as he completed his turn with two claps.

Charlie clapped enthusiastically “That was great!” she encouraged, her smile widening as she turned to Angel Dust.

Angel, sitting back and scrolling through his phone, barely glanced up “This is stupid” he muttered, his tone drenched in disinterest.

Charlie stiffened, her cheerful tone turning forceful as she sang “This— is not— stupid!” she clapped twice, trying to keep the momentum “It’s just a game” she added with another clap “Sir Pentious did it well, so now please try to do the same!”

Her eyes bore into Angel, silently daring him to challenge her further.

Angel let out a long, dramatic sigh, tossing his phone onto the couch “I am way too sober for this” he grumbled, folding his arms.

Vaggie rolled her eyes, unable to suppress a smirk as she chimed in “Well, get used to it and learn how to play. This is gonna be your whole day” she sang lightly, adding two claps for emphasis.

Charlie’s smile returned as she turned to her father, her wide eyes filled with hope and determination “Dad, your turn” she urged, her voice soft but insistent.

Lucifer winced, feeling the unspoken pressure of his daughter’s pleading eyes. He could almost hear her silent prayer for him not to ruin this little game she had so enthusiastically put together. Her hopeful gaze tugged at him, and he offered her an awkward smile before lifting his hands hesitantly.

“My name is Lucifer” he began, clapping twice in rhythm “I like to… create” he added, glancing around nervously. Inspiration struck, albeit embarrassingly “Rubber ducks that keep me from going nuts” he finished with another two claps. He looked around the group, silently praying he hadn’t just embarrassed himself beyond repair.

Charlie let out an audible sigh of relief, her face breaking into a delighted smile as she clapped enthusiastically “Yes, that’s great, Dad!” she exclaimed, giving a little jump in her excitement. Her worry dissipated; her dad had participated, and she couldn’t be happier. With renewed confidence, she turned toward Alastor “How about you, Alastor?”

Alastor tilted her head ever so slightly, her tone glinting with amusement “My name is Alastor” she began, clapping twice in time with the game “I like to deal” she continued, her words laced with calculated drama. The archangel beside her, predictably, almost huffed audibly at her choice of topic. She smirked, fully aware of his reaction as she added “Sign the line and I’ll make your dreams real” finishing with two more claps.

Charlie’s hopeful smile faltered slightly as Alastor finished her rhyme. She had been hoping for something a bit… different, but at least the radio demon had agreed to participate. Grateful for small victories, she forced a small but genuine smile “That’s… great” she replied, her tone encouraging despite her inner reservations.

“You really had to make it about deals?” Lucifer interjected, unable to hide the frown that tugged at his features.

Alastor’s lips curled into something between a grin and a pout, the sound she let out teetering between feigned offense and amusement “It was about something we liked” she retorted smoothly, her tone light but deliberate “Did you have to make it about your silly rubber ducks?”

“They are not silly” Lucifer shot back, crossing his arms in defiance. He gestured toward her with a pointed look “Besides, you like ducks, so… ha” he added, his tone triumphant.

Her amusement deepened, though she waved a hand dismissively “I like turtle-ducks. It’s not the same thing” she clarified, her voice dripping with playful disinterest. Her grin turned mischievous as she pretended to ponder “But should I really change it?” she mused aloud, tilting her head. With exaggerated thoughtfulness, she clapped twice “My name is Alastor… I like to tease…” she paused for effect, her grin sharpening “This little angel sitting next to me.”

Lucifer instantly felt heat bloom across his cheeks, the golden flush spreading faster than he could control “...That’s not… that’s not… ah…” he stammered, utterly caught off guard. He rubbed the back of his neck, unable to meet her gaze directly “That’s not fair” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else.

Charlie blinked, momentarily stunned by the interaction. Was she… seeing this correctly? Her father wasn’t just flustered—he was different this time. Sure, she had seen him get awkward before, had watched him hide behind that well-practiced bravado, pretending he had everything under control.

But this?

This wasn’t the usual discomfort. This was something else entirely.

Her gaze flicked between him and Alastor, her mind racing to connect the dots—this was the kind of flustered someone got when they were in front of a crush.

Oh.

Oh…

‘I think my dad has a crush on Alastor.’

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR | THAT TV GUY WAS ACTUALLY GOING TO BE A PROBLEM, HUH

The numbers didn’t add up.

Vox had gone over them again and again, his fingers drumming against his desk in a rhythmic, impatient beat. There was an error. No—an anomaly. An inconsistency so glaring that it bordered on insult.

Four million. Gone.

He leaned forward, scanning the records once more. He had spent the last few hours retracing every transaction, every shift in the accounts. The budget allocated to the program was precise, calculated with meticulous care. Alastor did not tolerate carelessness. Every coin had purpose. Every expenditure was accounted for. And yet, here it was—a void in the numbers. A glaring wound on the integrity of what she had built.

His lip curled as he flicked through the documents. He had done the math himself. He never relied on someone else’s work when something felt off. He trusted no one’s diligence but his own. The moment he found the discrepancy, he had torn through records, tracking every transaction, every falsified document. Names. Dates. Amounts. Until, at last, he had uncovered the root of the theft.

Gerard Vens.

A pathetic creature of mediocrity, drowning in bureaucratic illusions of importance. He had wormed his way into the accounting department, weaving a careful, subtle siphon of funds over time. Had he really thought he could get away with it?

Vox scoffed.

He pulled open the folder, fingers tightening around the edges as he skimmed through the details. Age of when he died… forty-seven. Died in the seventies. A life built on petty theft and financial deceit. His sins had carried over, infesting Hell’s systems like rot.

This was not merely an error. Not a mistake to be corrected with a stern warning or a reallocation of funds. This was theft. This was defiance.

But something gnawed at him—something beyond the theft itself. Who the hell had been responsible for hiring this sinner? Someone with such a transparent history of fraud should never have been placed in direct contact with funds. Certainly it hadn't been Alastor. She would never allow such incompetence to stain her program. And it hadn't been him. Never. If there was one thing he ensured with manic precision, it was perfection for her. Everything he touched in her name was pristine, untouchable. He would never have let this happen.

So who had interviewed Gerard?

He racked his memory, sorting through past records of appointments, trying to recall who had been in charge of hiring at the time. Daniel? No. He had been preoccupied with infrastructure reports. Janine? Janine... now, she was a problem. She was a bitch—an insufferable, smug creature placed into her position by none other than Rosie.

Vox’s fingers curled against the folder as the realization sank in.

If Janine had hired Gerard, then this mess wasn’t just some unfortunate oversight—it was Rosie’s oversight.

He nearly choked on a laugh, the sheer delight of it swelling inside his chest like victory incarnate. Rosie, always so infuriatingly close to Alastor, always lingering in her presence, acting like some trusted confidant. And now, here was an opportunity. Here was something undeniable, something tangible, something he could use against her. This was her mistake. And soon, Alastor would know.

Oh, how beautiful it would be.

Vox almost burst into happy tears.

Finally, a chance to watch Rosie stumble. To present this failure to Alastor, to watch the irritation flicker across her perfect face, to have her see—see that Rosie had allowed trash into her precious program. And Vox, ever vigilant, ever devoted, would be the one to bring this truth to her feet.

His fingers traced the edges of the folder absentmindedly.

He would bring this to her. Present it with precision, with confidence, with the same unwavering loyalty that bound him to her. His stomach twisted at the thought, a surge of anticipation curling through his spine. She’d appreciate his vigilance, his careful watch over what belonged to her. She would see him, truly see him, as indispensable.

And when she smiled genuinely at him for his work—it would all be worth it.

***

“Are you sure you’ve got all the ingredients?”

Lucifer asked, his eyes fixed on the growing collection on the counter. The sheer number of jars, bottles, and spices made him uneasy—surely, with so many components, she was bound to forget one. Especially since she was attempting a new recipe.

Alastor paused mid-motion, her hands hovering above the counter. Her sharp gaze swept over the array before her, a faint frown tugging at her lips “The sauce did contain many ingredients…” she murmured before turning toward him. She gestured to the cookbook resting nearby “Repeat them to me again” she instructed, her tone brooking no argument.

She observed as Lucifer picked up the book, his fingers brushing its worn edges. He began scanning the list, his eyes narrowing in concentration. Alastor couldn’t help but smirk faintly at how out of place he looked, fumbling with something as mundane as a recipe book.

“Uh… is… um… pa-papri… ka?” Lucifer stumbled over the word, the hesitation in his voice pulling her attention fully to him.

Alastor wanted to laugh, her expression an exquisite mix of disbelief and amusement. Was he serious? “Paprika” she corrected, enunciating the word deliberately, each syllable crisp as though addressing a child “Do you have bad vision?”

Her unimpressed gaze bore into him, and Lucifer felt a faint heat rise to his cheeks “No… my vision is perfect” he replied timidly.

“Then why did you have trouble reading the word?” she asked, arching a perfectly sculpted brow at him.

His blush deepened as he scratched the back of his head sheepishly, trying to find a shred of dignity “Oh… well, it’s not like I use this kind of stuff” he muttered defensively. He shifted his weight awkwardly “…Besides… it’s been a while since I read a book… especially out loud… like decades. I was a little busy…”

A laugh slipped past her lips, light and melodious, though there was no mistaking the teasing edge in it “You’re telling me…” she began, her eyes sparkling with mischief “That you’re basically illiterate because you couldn’t pick up a book in decades?”

His pout was immediate, his cheeks still tinged with color as he crossed his arms “I’m not illiterate…” he retorted, his voice tinged with indignation “I mean, I even know what the word means” he added in an almost huff.

Alastor tilted her head, still thoroughly amused by his flustered demeanor.

“Just tell me what to do next” Lucifer said, his tone shifting to one of mild exasperation, clearly eager to redirect her attention back to the recipe.

She considered dragging it out further, if only to enjoy watching him squirm. But then again… perhaps she’d let him off easy this time. For now.

Alastor smiled softly, her sharp eyes catching the subtle tension in Lucifer’s posture. It wasn’t hard to notice—his shoulders were slightly hunched, and his usual light demeanor seemed to have dimmed. She had come to recognize these moments well. There was a fragility about him when feelings of inadequacy crept into his mind, and it took root faster than even she liked to admit.

“Just take out the clean dishes and utensils, as well as the napkins while I handle the rest” she instructed gently, her tone deliberately softened. She knew better than to push him when he was like this—if she wasn’t careful, that creeping insecurity could send him spiraling. And in Hell, spirals like that were particularly unkind.

‘Maybe you went a little too far’ Amelia’s voice whispered in the recesses of her mind, a hint of disapproval in her tone.

Sukuna scoffed, her voice dismissive ‘It wasn’t that bad. The little angel just seems to be sensitive at the moment.’

‘He did seem a little more closed than earlier’ Dazai hummed thoughtfully, her usually carefree tone taking on a rare seriousness ‘You know, during that game Charlie made you play. Let’s not forget—he suffers from severe depression’ a sly smirk followed her words ‘Like yours truly.’

The other personas snorted in response, but Dazai continued ‘We all know depressive moods can hit out of nowhere—even when everything seems fine, even when we’re having fun.’

Azula chimed in, her voice sharp and calculating ‘Not to mention, he’s latched onto Alastor like a lifeline. He hasn’t left our side in days… We’re probably his first real friend in centuries. Like it or not, everything we say is going to carry weight for him. He’s going to listen to every word and overthink it to death.’

‘He can take a joke if he realizes it’s in good humor’ Light added, her voice contemplative ‘But let’s face it—we’re mean by nature. Sometimes our words are too harsh for someone who hasn’t adapted to this type of dynamic yet.’

Sasuke’s calm voice cut in next ‘Just try to match his mood with the same precision we used with Kakashi. His depressive spells hit him randomly too—remember? Even when we were just lying in the grass, doing nothing.’

Tomura sighed, resting her chin on her hand ‘What a pain. Just give him a small gift or something and watch him bounce back into that hyper little thing he pretends not to be’ a wry grin spread in her tone ‘Let’s not kid ourselves—he’s obsessed with us at this point. Alastor doesn’t need to tread too carefully. He can handle it. All of our chosen can.’

‘Don’t compare them’ Amelia snapped, her voice sharp and firm ‘What Keigo went through isn’t the same as what Lucifer’s endured. Not. At. All.’

Tomura merely shrugged, her voice nonchalant ‘I’m just saying. We always choose people who can endure it. Lucifer will adapt to Alastor’s personality just like the others did. He’s stronger than you give him credit for.’

Amelia crossed her arms, her rebuttal immediate ‘That doesn’t mean Alastor shouldn’t be mindful.’

Shigaraki’s dry, almost detached tone finally broke through ‘It’s Hell, Amelia. Not the so-called “real world” of yours. We are literally in Hell. Lucifer will get over it because he has to.’

And for a moment, the cacophony of voices quieted as a single, somber truth resonated through them all.

‘Just like we all had to.’

The thought settled deeply, but Alastor didn’t let it linger. She turned back to Lucifer, observing the faint hesitancy in his movements as he began pulling out the dishes. She’d temper herself for now, mindful of the weight her words carried, but she’d keep her own nature intact. After all, this was Hell—and adapting was something everyone here had to do eventually.

***

He knocked on her office door.

A precise knock—just firm enough to announce himself, but not too demanding. He knew better than to disrupt her unless it was important. And this... this was important.

“Come in” came the lilting voice from within.

Vox inhaled sharply, smoothing his expression before pushing the door open. He stepped inside, immediately taking in the scene before him.

Alastor sat at her desk, fingers poised delicately over an object floating in the air before her—something crafted of her magic, shifting and forming under her control. It resembled a doll, though its details were intricate, precise. Not just a doll. A figure. That figure.

The owl.

His stomach twisted.

That wretched little thing had wormed its way into her life, drawing her attention, her energy, her care—things that should have been his. Vox had spent the last year watching, waiting, biting down irritation every time Alastor shifted her priorities toward the child. A child. That’s all he was. Nothing more. No threat. And yet, it infuriated him.

At first, he had dismissed it as simple amusement. Alastor was unpredictable—she latched onto things when they intrigued her, discarded them when they no longer held her interest. But time passed, and Stolas remained. She cared for him, made arrangements for him, assigned Vox to procure items for him. Trusted him with the knowledge that she had practically adopted the little prince.

Yes, it was an honor.

And it was infuriating.

Her attention should have been his. Every ounce of it. Every fleeting glance, every careful instruction, every moment of focus.

But that damn little bird had stolen time.

Vox forced the thoughts away, unwilling to let them taint the moment. He was here for something far more important than the owl.

He stepped forward, posture perfect, measured, controlled “Alastor” he began, voice smooth, reverent, purposeful “I have something urgent to report.”

She didn’t look up immediately, fingers continuing their delicate work on the doll, as though she were painting something into existence thread by thread. But he saw it—the brief twitch of curiosity at the edge of her smile. A flicker in the crimson depths of her eyes as she finally lifted them to meet his.

He nearly forgot how to breathe.

Every time. Every damn time he stood before her, he was reminded of just how breathtaking she was. The sharp angles of her face, the ever-present grin, the casual elegance of her posture—it all demanded devotion.

“I found something in the records” he continued, ignoring the pounding in his head “Four million stolen. A calculated theft.”

That made her pause.

The doll halted mid-air, caught in the grip of her magic as she tilted her head. Interest sparked across her expression, her eyes narrowing slightly as she considered him. And suddenly, he was the center of her attention.

Yes. Yes.

He had ripped her focus away from the owl, from everything, and now—now, she was looking at him.

He could live in this moment forever.

“It wasn’t a simple mistake” he went on, unable to stop himself from relishing the moment “This was deliberate. Gerard Vens siphoned money carefully, subtly, over time. He manipulated the records, faked expenses, covered his tracks with fabricated reports, expecting that no one would ever look too closely. And, of course, no one did” he exhaled sharply, shaking his head “Because I was not the one overseeing those records. Because someone hired that incompetent fool and trusted him with the finances of something that—that should have been guarded with perfection.”

He watched as Alastor leaned back slightly, claws now idly tapping against the desk as she listened.

Encouragement.

She wanted to hear more.

Vox continued, his voice practically reverent now “I traced every transaction myself. He stole from the budget meant to secure permits, housing, resources. He wasn’t just taking from money. He was taking from your vision, your work, the very structure of what you built” he inhaled sharply, forcing back the venom in his tone “Disgusting. A parasite hiding beneath layers of bureaucracy, thinking he could cheat you. Thinking he could ever, ever take advantage of your creation.”

A flicker of amusement tugged at the corner of Alastor’s lips.

It was sick how much he craved that look.

And yet, here it was. The recognition. The approval. The precise amusement that told him he had said exactly what he needed to say.

Alastor tilted her head, eyes gleaming with interest now “Do you know the sinner’s schedule?” she asked, tone light, almost playful.

Of course he knew. He had memorized it the moment he had identified the thief.

“Yes” he replied smoothly “He will be arriving tomorrow morning at seven and leaving at three in the afternoon.”

A slow, satisfied smile spread across her lips.

“After he leaves… bring him to our usual place” she said, interlocking her fingers and resting her chin on top of them “Three in the morning. You already know what you are allowed to and not to do between those twelve hours.”

His heart nearly stopped.

He knew what that meant. He knew.

It was always like this—the two of them, together, purging the filth from her world. He lived for these moments. The thrill, the precision, the privilege of standing beside her as she worked. He had seen it all—every elegant slaughter, every calculated strike, every slow consumption of a sinner foolish enough to cross her.

And now, once again, it would be just the two of them.

He could hardly contain the anticipation, the longing, the sheer, dizzying adoration that curled through his veins.

But then—then, she did something even greater.

She praised him.

“You did well” Alastor said, her voice edged with satisfaction “Isn’t it a good thing I took you under my wing all those years ago?”

Vox nearly blacked out.

Recognition. Acknowledgment. A rare moment where her words directly validated his efforts, his dedication, his existence. She had chosen him. She had kept him close. And now, she reminded him of that fact—of his place, of his worth in her eyes.

His grip tightened at his sides, fingers twitching as he barely held himself back from outright melting in her presence.

“I also found something else” he managed after regaining some semblance of control “The hiring—this wouldn’t have happened if Janine Roshe hadn’t been so careless” he feigned casualness, keeping his voice neutral, knowing too well how desperate he wanted to sound “And, well... Janine was appointed by Rosie.”

He said it smoothly, effortlessly, as if it were a mere afterthought.

Alastor hummed, narrowing her eyes slightly. There was an unreadable flicker behind them—calculation, most likely, something subtle. Then, finally, she nodded.

“Good to know” she said “I’ll deal with Janine and Rosie myself.”

Vox’s grin stretched impossibly wide.

Finally. Finally, he had something over Rosie. And once Alastor saw, once she recognized that Rosie had failed her, distanced herself from her—Vox would be right there. Close. Closer.

Alastor dismissed him with a flick of her fingers, and Vox practically floated out of the office, barely able to contain himself.

More. More.

He wanted more.

***

Alastor reclined in her dimly lit room, the rich scent of incense hanging heavily in the air—a fragrant attempt to soothe the tension that coiled through her frame like a restless serpent. The plush velvet of her chaise longue offered physical comfort, but her thoughts remained anything but tranquil. The events of the day weighed on her mind, a cacophony she couldn’t quite silence.

For hours now, Vox’s relentless attempts to breach the barriers she had meticulously woven around the hotel had been grating at her patience. The sensation was insidious—a persistent, infuriating buzzing, like a trapped bee beating against the walls of her mind. Through the airwaves, she could feel his probing presence, searching endlessly for a vulnerability to exploit. Each attempt was met with the sharp precision of her defenses, honed by years of experience, rebuffing his advances with ease. And yet, the effort required to maintain her guard was distracting, gnawing at the edges of her composure like a dull blade.

Closing her eyes, Alastor let out a slow breath. Even now, she could feel the residual hum of Vox’s presence, a low, thrumming vibration that seemed to echo through her very bones. It was a maddening reminder of his persistence—his refusal to accept defeat. 'Yes, and whose fault is that he learned to never take a 'no' for an answer and always persist?' she thought with frustration. This was all her own doing at that point. Her crimson eyes flicked open, imagining herself swatting at the invisible bee. Her fingers sliced through the air in futile gestures, each motion symbolic of the silent war raging between them.

Her sanctuary—the room she had carefully curated for moments of peace—felt invasive today. The usual quiet comfort of its walls seemed to reverberate with the vibrations of his attempts, amplifying the irritant. The invisible battle stole her solitude, leaving her yearning for respite, for stillness, for just a moment where she could gather her thoughts and regain her poise.

With deliberate movements, she stood and crossed the room, her steps measured and unhurried despite the storm brewing within her mind. She reached for the heavy drapes and pushed them aside, her gaze sweeping over the city sprawled beneath her now open window. The bustling streets from afar were oblivious to the silent clash taking place within the walls of the hotel—between her will and Vox’s relentless ambition.

She allowed herself another deep inhale, letting the cool, stale air of Hell fill her lungs. Her grip tightened slightly on the windowsill as she closed her eyes again. She would not let Vox’s incessant buzzing push her to a breaking point. She would not let his desperation for power elicit a reaction from her. No matter how persistent he was, no matter how irritating his presence felt, she would not give him the satisfaction.

Not by the likes of him.

She felt it.

Her eyes snapped open, the sensation sharp and undeniable. Pentious had activated that ridiculous wrist device to contact Vox. She could feel it—the way the currents connected, how Vox’s presence suddenly became more solid, more oppressive. It was like an unwelcome weight pressing into the airwaves, amplifying his existence in ways that he shouldn’t be capable of.

Without hesitation, Alastor dissolved into shadows, teleporting to the source of the disturbance. She materialized just outside the room, her form reforming as she steadied herself. Lucifer was there, leaning casually against the wall by the door. His eyes flicked toward her as she appeared, their red glow briefly betraying a flicker of curiosity.

He was already in his pajamas. Ducks—tiny, absurd ducks—were scattered all over the fabric. For a fleeting moment, Alastor almost laughed at the sight, the absurdity cutting through the tension like a knife through fog.

“That’s interesting timing” Lucifer remarked quietly, his tone laced with subtle amusement “You didn’t arrive when the spider yelled, but when the Box spoke.”

Alastor let out a low, dark chuckle, rubbing her forehead as if to dispel the growing unease beneath her skin. Something was wrong—very wrong. Vox shouldn’t feel this strong. He was still nowhere near her level of power, but something had shifted. This wasn’t the same energy she’d dealt with before. It was... sharper. Hungrier.

It was almost as though he was siphoning power from somewhere. But it couldn’t have been from souls—she would’ve tasted that in the air, the distinct and cloying sweetness of soul energy. No, this was different. It was colder.

It felt like...

Her breath hitched ever so slightly. If Lucifer weren’t standing there, watching her so intently, she might have laughed maniacally at the absurdity or torn at her hair in frustration. But she couldn’t let herself unravel—not here, not now. She had to hold it together. She had to wait until she was alone.

How?

How?

How? How? How? How?

She hasn’t answered.

She needs to answer.

‘Alastor, breathe’ Dazai’s voice echoed sharply in her mind, cutting through the chaos like a scalpel. There was no teasing in her tone now, only firm command ‘Hold it. You must hold it. You could actually end up hurting him if you lose control, and we don’t want that… do we? Do we want to hurt Lucifer?’

No, of course not. What a silly question. She didn’t want to hurt Lucifer.

Breath.

“Well… you know me” she finally said aloud, her voice tinged with theatrical flair as she waved a hand dismissively “I prefer to show up at the last minute to make an entrance” she kept her tone light, trying to reassemble the mask she wore so easily.

Lucifer didn’t answer.

Her eyes flicked to his face, only to see his attention elsewhere—on her hand. Slowly, she followed his gaze, realizing too late that her hand was trembling. She instantly lowered it, tucking it behind her back as though to erase the moment. A sharp smile curved her lips as she forced her focus elsewhere.

“Well… from what I see, they handled it on their own” she remarked, gesturing toward the sinners inside the room, who were currently singing something off-key and ridiculous. The noise was irritating, but right now, it served as a convenient distraction.

“Alastor.”

No. She didn’t want to hear that tone.

“I think it would be better if I returned to my room” she said quickly, ignoring his voice, her steps already preparing to retreat.

“Alastor…”

Stop. Shut up. Don’t get involved in this. Leave it alone.

“After all” she continued, her voice taking on a forced lightness “I need to change my clothes. Can’t sleep in day clothes—it would dirty the sheets” she let out a chuckle that sounded as hollow as she felt.

“Alastor, please…”

Her head snapped toward him, her eyes narrowing.

“Are you okay?”

No.

No, don’t ask me that.

Don’t ask that.

Because I can’t tell you anything.

You don’t even know what your father is doing.

“I’m perfectly fine, my dear” she replied smoothly, flicking her hair over her shoulder in an exaggerated flourish “But I do need my beauty sleep.”

Without giving him a chance to speak, Alastor shifted back toward her room, her figure melting into the shadows before he could even process her departure. Lucifer stood frozen, his heart sinking as he watched her retreat, the echo of her presence fading too quickly.

It wasn’t just her dismissive words that stung—it was the way she fled from him, as though he was the source of her anguish. But he knew better. He wasn’t the cause, not this time. It was him. That infernal television-faced nuisance. His wretched presence had shifted something in Alastor, and Lucifer could see the toll it was taking on her.

Frustration rippled through him as he clenched his fists tightly at his sides. Questions swirled in his mind, their answers elusive. What had he done to her? Why wouldn’t she share the burden she was clearly carrying? He wanted to protect her, to tear down whatever barriers were keeping her from him. But instead, he was left standing alone, powerless as the distance between them grew.

The image of her earlier forced laughter replayed in his mind, its hollow sound a sharp contrast to the vibrant, melodic laugh she’d gifted him earlier in the day. It was a cruel reminder of the shadows that had crept into her eyes since that wretched encounter. He longed to bring back her genuine smile, to chase away the weight that seemed to press down on her. But how could he do that when she refused to let him in? She had brushed it off, claimed it wasn’t important—but the cracks in her composure told a different story.

Taking a deep breath, Lucifer tried to steady the storm of emotions swirling within him. He knew he needed to be patient, to give her the space she seemed to crave. But patience was a bitter pill to swallow when his concern gnawed at him incessantly. Resolving himself, he knew he had to learn more about Vox, to understand whatever power he held over Alastor—and to dismantle it.

For now, he would wait. But he would not give up on her.

As his gaze drifted, he noticed a glint on the floor near the door. It was the watch—the one the snake sinner had used to contact that miserable box. He stooped down and picked it up, its surface scratched and broken.

He turned it over in his hand, ready to crush it into nothing, when his thumb accidentally brushed against a button. The screen flickered to life, illuminating the room with a cold, artificial glow.

“WHAT?” Vox’s voice boomed through the tiny device, his irritation palpable as his pixelated visage filled the screen. The snarl in his tone faltered, however, as he realized who he was speaking to. The television face flickered for a moment, a mixture of emotions flashing across his static features—shock, calculation, and rage.

Lucifer’s eyes narrowed, his expression darkening as he addressed the intruder “If I were you… I would count your days” he said, his voice cold and measured, the weight of his words laced with unspoken threats.

Vox remained silent, his eyes gleaming with fury, his usual arrogance muted under the king’s piercing gaze.

Lucifer’s lips curled into a humorless smile, and a dark chuckle rumbled from his chest “If I see you try anything else—on this hotel or on Alastor” he continued, his tone dropping to something more menacing “I will remind you—and everyone—why you all should fear me.”

The anger bubbling within him stirred his demonic form to the surface, his aura flaring as his true nature briefly revealed itself.

Without hesitation, Lucifer crushed the watch in his bare hand, the device cracking under the force until it crumbled into ash. Vox’s garbled attempts at a retort faded into static, silenced as the watch disintegrated in his grip.

Lucifer stood there for a moment, his breaths measured as he let the tension ease from his frame. His eyes glimmered faintly in the darkness, a lingering reminder of his wrath. With one final deep breath, he turned and walked out of the room.

 ***

She closed her eyes, her fingers tangling tightly in her hair as if to physically anchor herself against the storm brewing within her mind. The pressure built, relentless and unforgiving, until she felt herself pulling—yanking—against the silky strands.

She hadn’t even done the same thing as the original Alastor. That version had walked straight into the chaos, grabbed the watch, and mocked the television-faced nuisance with the ease and confidence she should have had. That version had stood tall, unapologetically resolute, unflinching in the face of conflict. But not her. She couldn’t even manage to act so boldly. She was supposed to be BETTER.

Her hands froze as a sharp sensation broke through her haze—a jolt of pain.

Ah. Her grip had been too forceful. She glanced down, catching sight of the delicate locks she’d ripped from her scalp. A small, almost insignificant amount. Yet the sting didn’t begin to compare to the ache deep in her gut—the clenching, suffocating feeling that took hold when she thought back to him.

Lucifer.

The way he had looked at her before she dissolved into shadows… She had seen it—the hurt in his eyes. The flicker of pain, not from her words, but from her actions. From her retreat. He was upset because she hadn’t confided in him; yes, his anguish stemmed from the fact that her withdrawal said everything—that she didn’t trust him enough to let him in, to let him see the truth. That she wasn’t okay.

That thought alone felt like an unbearable weight pressing against her chest.

She wasn’t alright.

HE IS BEING HELPED.

She wasn’t alright.

IT’S HIM.

She wasn’t alright.

WHY IS HE FUCKING INTERVENING?

She wasn’t alright.

WHY IS THAT FUCKER POWERING HIM UP?

She wasn’t alright.

She wasn’t alright.

She wasn’t alright.

She wasn’t alright.

She wasn’t alright.

She wasn’t alright…

.

..

...

....

.....

It wasn’t till the next day that the news broadcasted an earthquake had been felt in the middle of the night just at the outsides of Pentagram City. Something that had never happened before.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE | SO WE ARE PRETENDING EVERYTHING IS ALRIGHT?

Damn it. Fuck. Damn it.

Dazai Osamu ran like hell, her legs carrying her faster than her mind could process, her breath sharp, burning, each inhale laced with frustration, rage, and a desperation that twisted like a vice around her chest. If he wasn’t here—no. He had to be here. Chuuya had to be here.

That rat. Fyodor Dostoevsky was going to suffer for this. How she hated that man… hated how everything canon was out of the way, of course, he would be the one to ruin everything for her. They were too similar in that regard… he was just as smart as she was, sometimes even more so.

He had wasted a part of the page from The Book just to find information about her. The bastard had obsessed over her to the point where simply killing Chuuya wasn’t enough. He needed something worse, something more destructive, something that would gut him from the inside out. Dazai still hadn’t decided if this revelation was a blessing or a curse. On one hand, it was good that the information Fyodor had obtained was merely a hypothetical timeline rather than the actual truth—rather than the knowledge that she was a transmigrated soul. That alone was a dangerous secret, one that she was certain Fyodor could be capable of figuring out eventually. But then there was the other issue. The consequences.

Because Fyodor had taken Poe, had forced him to write a book under the influence of his ability, had made him create a twisted, remade version of BEAST. Where she—Dazai Osamu—died at the end, by her own hand. And Fyodor had found a way to trap Chuuya inside that book, had made him fulfill his role exactly as it had been in BEAST. Which meant—which fucking meant—

Chuuya had been forced to see it. To watch her die.

Dazai gritted her teeth, her pace quickening, feet slamming against the stairs as she tore her way up toward their apartment, her mind spinning in a thousand directions, her heart hammering, pulse erratic. Chuuya was going to have trauma from this. That much she had already deduced. The moment she found him, she knew what she would see in his expression, she knew what this would do to him.

And Fyodor—Fyodor would fucking pay for it. She would destroy him in ways even he couldn’t predict.

"Chuuya!"

Dazai threw open the door, her eyes scanning the room instantly, urgently, seeking him, needing to see him. And then—she found him. Her breath hitched. He was there, sitting on the couch and staring at the floor.

For a moment—a brief, fleeting moment—relief swelled in her chest. He was out of the book, and he was here. But then, as her mind connected the pieces, as the weight of it settled, reality struck harder. He had finished the book to get out. Which meant he had seen it to the end.

She moved slowly, her steps measured, deliberate, closing the space between them with a quiet patience. Lowering herself, she crouched before him, her arms resting on her knees, her presence steady, unwavering. Her gaze was soft but not pitiful, only filled with a quiet understanding, with something that belonged only to him "Chuuya" her voice was barely above a whisper, gentle, careful.

He didn’t look at her. Not at first. And when he finally spoke—his voice was wrong.

“I saw you die.”

The words hung heavy and thick with something unspoken, something breaking beneath the surface. His breath shuddered slightly, sharp through his nose, like he was trying to steady himself, to force the memory down, to push it away like it wasn’t gnawing at his mind “I watched you die, Osamu. It was real. You were in my sight and I—I saw everything” his voice cracked on the last word.

Dazai said nothing. She didn’t move. She only watched, her gaze unwavering, silent, patient—waiting. And that was enough.

Enough for Chuuya’s fingers to tighten, his knuckles whitening as his fists clenched against his lap, enough for his chest to pull tighter, for his breaths to grow uneven, for the tremor in his throat to hold more weight than words ever could. Finally, slowly, his head lifted—red-rimmed eyes meeting hers.

He had cried.

She could see it, the remnants of it, the exhaustion pressing into his expression, the tension woven into his frame. His mind was still split, still fractured between two realities—one where she was gone, and one where she wasn’t “I know it wasn’t real” he admitted. The words carried no relief. Only exhaustion. Only resignation “I know it was a damn book, a twisted illusion, a game that fucking bastard pulled—but it felt real. I watched you jump. I saw—” his voice broke as he swallowed thickly, fighting against the weight of it, failing “I saw your body, Dazai.”

He hadn’t touched her. Hadn’t reached for her.

She only whispered “You are out now. And I’m here.”

Chuuya’s jaw tensed, his breath uneven, his shoulders tight, stiff, his body holding onto something that wouldn’t let go. His voice was barely audible—raw, quiet, knowing “…I know.”

But knowing didn’t erase the horror of it.

Dazai finally shifted, reaching forward—but Chuuya flinched. Only for a second.

She froze, her movements halting immediately, her gaze softening. Carefully, she brushed her fingers against his, just the slightest contact, nothing overwhelming, nothing suffocating, only the smallest tether to reality. A quiet reminder. A reassurance. She didn’t pull him into a hug, didn’t drown him in empty words—just that single touch. Real. Undeniable. Grounding. Chuuya’s breath hitched, his fingers shaking, yet slowly—hesitantly—he tightened them around hers. His grip was unsteady, fragile, but it was there.

Dazai smiled but just barely “I exist, Chuuya” she murmured “I always will, as long as you do.”

Chuuya’s grip tightened around her fingers, but instead of grounding him, her words ignited something else—raw, sharp, furious.

"I exist, Chuuya. I always will, as long as you do."

Liar.

His breath shuddered, then sharpened. His body stiffened, his mind turning over every memory, every instance, every fucking proof that told him otherwise. His hand ripped away from hers, and before he could stop himself, he shoved her shoulder—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make her feel it. Enough to make her understand “Stop saying shit like that” his voice snapped, breaking under the weight of everything inside him, spilling out in jagged, unfiltered pieces.

Dazai blinked, unfazed, but watching him closely.

"You hate living" Chuuya spat, hands clenched into fists now. His whole body trembled, emotions spiraling too fast for him to contain them "You—Osamu, what the hell are you even saying? You're lying to my damn face."

She didn't interrupt.

"You will try, one way or another. That's who you are. You're telling me you're always going be here, but—" his breath hitched "One day, I won’t be enough."

The words felt like knives in his throat. His fists shook, and in a burst of helpless fury, he struck her arm to feel something, enough to make sure she was real.

Her eyes softened, the way only he ever saw.

Still, she let him hit her again, then again—small bursts of emotion he didn’t know how else to release. But she didn’t move away. And when his breath finally shattered into ragged sobs, she was there, steady and unfaltering.

Dazai reached out, her hands pressing gently against his tear-streaked cheeks, thumbs brushing away the wet traces of grief. She didn’t speak, didn’t force him to look at her, only waited, her presence steady, unwavering, anchoring him in a reality he wasn’t sure he trusted yet. His body trembled—shaking, fragile, caught in the aftermath of something he didn’t know how to process. But she waited. Waited for the trembling to ease, for his fists to unclench, for his breath to settle, for the raw, aching panic still clinging to his throat to finally release. Then, softly, she whispered "You are enough."

Chuuya squeezed his eyes shut, his teeth gritted, his chest tightening, shaking his head as if he could physically reject her words, as if denying them would somehow make them less real, less painful, less absolute "You—" his voice cracked, sharp, raw, breaking beneath the weight of something too deep to name "You say that now, but what happens when—when the world stops being bearable? When I can’t—when I’m not—”

The sentence fractured, cut short by a sharp inhale, choked, struggling, dying at the edges of his throat.

Dazai didn’t let him finish.

She moved instantly, grabbing him without hesitation, fingers tangling into his hair, pulling him closer—and then she kissed him.

Fierce. Unwavering. Desperate.

It wasn’t delicate. It wasn’t slow. It was the kind of kiss that carried everything—every unspoken promise, every plea, every broken thing they couldn’t say aloud. It was raw, laced with the weight of years, of grief, of everything that had been taken and everything they had left. And he kissed her back, just as desperate, just as wrecked, just as lost—emotion crushing him, consuming him, overwhelming him entirely.

Reality blurred, shifting between grief and comfort, anger and solace, love and fear, until all he knew was her warmth, her lips against his, the press of her body grounding him back into something real. She was here. She was alive. She was not a corpse on the ground.

Every time their lips parted, every time air became necessary, he chased after her—frantic, pleading, desperate, like he thought she might disappear if he didn’t hold her tight enough, close enough, real enough. His fingers tangled in her hair, pressing his forehead against hers, his breath erratic, uneven, still trembling.

"Don’t leave me."

The words tore out of him, raw and shaking, spilling from his lips between ragged, desperate kisses that tasted more like grief than passion, each breath carrying fear, each movement pleading, each touch clinging onto something he refused to let slip away "You’re not allowed to just—just walk away one day" his voice cracked, not with anger, not with fury, but with something buried deeper beneath the devastation, something that ached, something that had always been there, waiting to be voiced.

Dazai didn’t interrupt, didn’t tease, didn’t deflect—not now.

"I know what I’d do if you left me."

She stiffened.

The shift was barely visible, barely there, but Chuuya felt it. He felt it in the way her body reacted. His grip on her waist tightened, his body pressing closer, his hands clutching her like he could physically hold her in this reality, like he could force her to stay here, stop her from slipping into the one where she wouldn’t exist anymore.

"I would activate Corruption."

His voice fastened, his breath uneven, his hands trembling now, his muscles stiff, locking into place like he was trying to contain something far worse "I’d destroy everything—tear this goddamn city apart—until my body finally gives out. Because what the hell else am I supposed to do without you, huh?!"

The truth poured out of him—unfiltered, unrestrained, unmasked, words he had never let himself say before, emotions so deep they terrified even him.

Dazai’s hands pressed against his face, her thumb brushing over his lips, trying to steady him, ground him, hold him together just enough so he wouldn’t fall apart. Her lips parted, her breath whispering against his "You won’t have to."

Chuuya shook his head, his mind spiraling, refusing to accept it, refusing to believe her, because how could she say that? How could she pretend like it wasn’t inevitable, like one day, she wouldn’t decide she was done, like the world wouldn’t stop being bearable? "You can’t promise that."

She didn’t argue. She didn’t need to. Instead, she pulled him in, crushing her lips against his, sealing the words into him like a vow, like a binding contract between their souls, like an undeniable truth she was forcing him to feel "You are my reason, Chuuya" another kiss—deeper, more assured, not frantic this time, but grounding, solid, unshakable "I won’t go anywhere."

Chuuya’s breath was still ragged, his grip still tight, his body still pressed against hers—as if any distance between them would shatter everything holding him together. She had promised "I won’t go anywhere." But that wasn’t enough. Because she wasn’t just making a promise, she was making a gamble. And Chuuya didn’t trust gambles. His forehead rested against hers, his voice a low whisper, something raw laced beneath it that he wasn’t trying to hide anymore "You won’t go anywhere… not without me at least."

Dazai froze, her fingers still tangled in his hair, breath catching at the weight behind his words. Chuuya wasn’t asking. He wasn’t pleading. He was stating a fact. The certainty in his voice was unshakable, carved into the way his grip on her waist tightened, the way his fingers curled against her coat, firm, resolute "If one day, you really do get tired of everything…" he leaned and pressed a soft kiss over the bandages around her neck, reinforcing the reality she needed to understand "Then I’m going with you."

Silence thickened between them, settling like something impossible to ignore.

Dazai stared at him, eyes darker now, not cold, not distant, just… searching. As if she was trying to find something inside him, something that had always been there, something he hadn’t quite admitted yet but something she should have known all along "You’d really do that?" she finally murmured, voice quieter than usual. No teasing. No humor. Just a genuine question.

Chuuya huffed, not in annoyance, just in tired resignation—not expecting her to understand, only expecting her to hear it "Why the hell do you think I would stay here if you weren’t?"

It was simple. Too simple. And somehow, that made it hit harder.

Dazai exhaled slowly, her eyes flickering away for the first time—only for a second, only for long enough to process the sheer gravity of his words, to let them settle. Her hands, steady even under pressure, brushed over his cheeks again—softer this time, not to ground him, not to silence him, but to hold him.

And then, she smiled—not the kind of smile that masked things, not the kind that shielded, not the kind that played games. Just something real.

"Then I guess I don’t have a choice, huh?"

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

She already knew.

***

So… they were pretending nothing was wrong, huh?

It had been a week. One long, agonizing week since Alastor had practically bolted from him when he asked if she was alright. The next day, she’d come down the stairs as if nothing had happened, carrying herself with her usual confidence. She’d made breakfast, smiled at him like she always did—that same enigmatic smile, unchanging, unfaltering. As though the cracks he’d seen the night before didn’t exist.

Lucifer knew that tactic all too well—it was the same one he’d used time and time again. Brush it off. Put on a mask. Pretend everything was fine, no matter how far from the truth that might be. But it wasn’t fine.

The morning news had announced an earthquake outside the borders of Pride, an event so unprecedented that most dismissed it as some random anomaly. Everyone else might buy into that explanation, but not him. He knew better. There were no such things as earthquakes in Hell—that was an Earth thing. Hell’s structure didn’t allow for tremors of that nature.

And then there was the power. His feathers had practically vibrated that night, resonating with the sheer force of magic released into the air. It hadn’t just been power—it had been her power. He wasn’t being creepy—no, not at all—but by now, he could identify her magic. There was something so uniquely Alastor about it, something nobody else could replicate. She couldn’t hide that from him.

But she tried anyway. And for a week, he let her. He’d even gone along with Charlie’s little ideals about not pressuring people to open up "Give them space," she’d said, always so hopeful. And, hell, maybe that approach worked for some people—but it was killing him. No one else seemed to notice that anything was wrong with Alastor. No one saw the subtle tension in her movements, the slight hesitation in her laugh. No one else was aware of her “little freak-out,” as he’d come to call it.

But he had noticed. And now, he’d had enough.

They were friends—weren’t they? She hadn’t denied it. And friends were supposed to help each other. Friends were supposed to talk to each other. That was how friendship worked, right? He remembered Charlie giving a whole speech about friendship and its supposed powers of motivation and support. Granted, almost everyone had fallen asleep during it, and Alastor hadn’t even been there. She’d excused herself for some “meeting with the Overlords.”

Still. The point stood.

He could do this. Just ask her what was wrong. What was the worst that could happen?

‘She tells you that you’re too much and doesn’t want to be friends with you anymore.’

‘…Not helpful right now, Lucifer.’

Letting out a sigh, he let his forehead drop on the desk with a dull thud. He’d been turning this over in his mind for days—obsessing, really. To the point where he wasn’t even getting proper rest anymore. Not to mention his little project.

His eyes drifted to the small piece of paper on the desk. He reached for it, turning it over in his hands as he inspected the design he’d drawn for the hundredth time. A rubber duckie, but not just any rubber duckie—it had Alastor’s features. The fluffy ears. The monocle. Her cane. That signature red coat she seemed so fond of.

Would it be too much if he actually made it? If he gave it to her? Wouldn’t it be too soon? Too strange?

Lucifer exhaled deeply, placing the paper back on the desk. He’d do it. But not now. Tonight. He’ll work on it tonight when there wouldn’t be any interruptions.

***

TWO WEEKS.

It wasn’t just a week anymore—it was two weeks now. Two long, agonizing weeks since Alastor had practically run away from him after he asked if she was okay. At first, Lucifer had tried to respect her silence, but as the days dragged on, his patience wore thin.

On the third day of the second week, he’d given up waiting. If Alastor wasn’t going to talk, then he’d find out the truth himself.

And he had. Kind of. Not really. No.

He’d enlisted Charlie’s help, figuring that if anyone could give him insight into Alastor’s world, it was his daughter. She practically idolized the radio demon, like she was her number one fan. It made him cringe a bit to lie to her, telling her it was a secret project and that he needed information to surprise Alastor with a gift. What a terrible father he was, spinning lies to his own daughter—but it worked. In all the ways he actually didn’t want. Because he had gotten zero information about Alastor’s relationship with Vox.

Charlie had created a meticulously detailed folder full of Alastor’s achievements, her public milestones, and even a few hidden gems she’d discovered on her own. If Charlie was aware of Vox’s presence in Alastor’s life then she hadn’t deemed it important enough to add it or maybe, she genuinely was not aware of the bastard… Still, the list was astonishing, an endless stream of accomplishments that left him reeling.

And the highlights? They were something else.

1. She became the fastest Overlord in Hell.
2. She took control of the entertainment industry across ALL the rings, striking deals with the Sins themselves.
3. She cut off Greed from Hell—at least, in a sense.
4. She beat the hell out of Mammon.
5. She reshaped how Hellborns and Sinners interacted with each other.
6. She killed seven angels. And… ripped Adam’s arm off.

Lucifer stared at the folder, unable to process how he’d missed so much. How had he slept through someone cutting off an entire ring of Hell? How had he slept through someone killing angels?

Driven by disbelief, he’d grabbed his phone to find more context, pulling up a broadcast of Alastor from the extermination seven years ago. What he saw stunned him.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

She hadn’t used angelic weapons to kill the angels. She’d used her bare hands.

Lucifer sat back, the realization hitting him like a ton of bricks. Did Alastor figure it out? The secret to properly killing angels? He knew it wasn’t exactly about the weapon itself—it was about what the weapon reached. Angelic cores. Their souls, so to speak. The weapon wasn’t the true killer—it was merely a conduit, a way to direct energy and pierce through to the soul, to damage it.

If Alastor hadn’t used a weapon, then it meant she had achieved something far greater. She had managed to manipulate her own soul, making it compatible enough to directly touch an angelic core.

No one had figured that out before, he’d kept the secret to himself, ensuring that no one else could exploit… he never told Lilith, he sure knew that his siblings were not going to share that information either and had not done so since Adam seemed as ignorant as ever.  

But Alastor… somehow, she had cracked the code. And not just cracked it—she had carried it out.

The old saying echoed in his mind: An angel can only kill another angel.

What a load of bullshit.

They had underestimated sinners—underestimated Alastor. They didn’t know what she was capable of.

Hell, even he didn’t fully know what Alastor was capable of.

***

Lucifer wasn’t stopping.

Alastor sighed, quickening her pace as she walked past Lucifer’s room and toward the stairs. She could feel him—his vibrant, almost desperate need to speak with her—through the airwaves. His presence hummed persistently, distinct from the grating signature of Vox. Lucifer’s was different, softer, like the chirps and cries of a small, persistent animal trying to reassure her that he was there. The warmth it carried unsettled her more than she cared to admit.

He didn’t know he was doing it, of course. That unintentional beacon he sent out wasn’t conscious, but it still reached her. It felt too welcoming, too inviting, and it was wearing her down. It was far too easy to imagine herself opening up to him completely, letting those walls she’d constructed so carefully crumble. And that was the problem—it wasn’t just a matter of whether she wanted to. She couldn’t.

The consequences of speaking aloud about that bastard of a dictator were unfathomable. She didn’t know what it could do to Lucifer. Alastor clenched her teeth, her heels clicking sharply against the stairs as she descended. His lack of awareness wasn’t his fault—it was his father’s. Just like with everyone else, Lucifer was still susceptible to God’s influence, still vulnerable to that insidious hold, whether he realized it or not.

What if—her mind latched onto the thought, unrelenting—what if she told him the truth? That his father was meddling, intervening in their reality. That the free will he had fought so hard to give them wasn’t as free as he’d believed. How would he take it?

He had paid a price for that freedom. She knew that much. He had suffered for it. If he found out that price wasn’t enough, that the freedom he gave them wasn’t entirely real… could she live with herself if she shattered that illusion? She couldn’t hurt him like that.

‘He needs to know, brat’ Sukuna’s voice cut through her thoughts.

‘I KNOW THAT.’

The reply in her mind was instantaneous and filled with frustration, her mental voice booming as she shoved Sukuna’s presence aside. The past two weeks had been filled with their endless commentary, their constant urging for her to spend more time with Lucifer.

That wasn’t the priority.

Couldn’t they see that?

She had to deal with Vox first. She had to deal with this war first. And then… and then she had to deal with God. Only then, maybe, she could allow herself time with Lucifer.

‘If he’s still alive by the end.’

Dazai’s words hit her like a bolt of electricity. Alastor glitched out mid-step, her entire form flickering as the words echoed in her mind. She nearly tripped, catching herself against the railing.

Alive.

No. That wasn’t a possibility.

It wasn’t just unacceptable—it was impossible. Lucifer’s death? It couldn’t happen. It wouldn’t happen. Her mind spiraled at the very idea. Not him. He was as unacceptable to lose as Kakashi had been, as Satoru had been. They were not allowed to leave her.

Lucifer was not allowed to leave her.

He was hers.

And that was it.

It wasn’t as if she had been avoiding Lucifer during those two weeks. No, she had work to do—real work. Preparing for the possibility of war, should it come to that. Preparing for the possibility that Lucifer’s miserable excuse of a brother might finally come to his senses and face the reality of redemption. Redemption… What a complicated mess that was.

Bill had brought her intriguing news—that redemption wasn’t tied to God. He wasn’t involved. Apparently, it was something far deeper, rooted in the very composition of the soul itself. That revelation had sent her spiraling into hours of meticulous study and aggravating dead ends. The mechanics of the soul… Ugh. It was an area she despised—filled with complexity, contradictions, and limitations.

Sukuna’s understanding of the soul had been immensely helpful, but even with that, there was only so much she could achieve in her studies and practice. If only she had Mahito’s ability to transfigure a soul. The possibilities would have been endless, her progress exponential. She could still see that young curse, his rapid growth astonishing her even now. With a couple more years, he might have reached Gojo’s level of perfectionism with his technique.

But no. They had to kill him. She scowled at the memory, her mind flashing briefly to Satoru. She shouldn’t have listened to him back then.

And now here she was, struggling to understand what caused a sinner’s soul to transfigure into a winner’s soul. As if soul manipulation wasn’t already a minefield of risk and frustration. She let out a long sigh, her irritation simmering beneath her calm exterior.

Of course, her research hadn’t stopped there. Spiritualism, chakra—fucking chakra—had become deeply integrated into her studies. That damned life force that fueled her abilities was another tangled thread she had to unravel. It was through this energy that she’d created Zuko and Franklin. Manipulating the soul of a sinner she’d absorbed, ripping it apart into tiny fragments, and infusing it into her creations. Using chakra, she had breathed life into the lifeless, reshaping the fragments into something new.

Nature chakra, however, had been a separate headache altogether. It had taken years of painstaking practice—years spent as Sasuke—just to control it without succumbing to its dangerous side effects. One wrong move, and she could’ve turned into stone. Yet mastering it had opened doors, allowing her to mold and alter her life force in ways few could comprehend. The advantages it brought… they were unparalleled.

It had been an enormous revelation when she discovered that this same energy—this constant flow of life force—was what sustained the sinners of Hell. One might assume they were dead, but it was quite the contrary. Theirs was a relentless, endless cycle of energy, coursing through them like steroids, keeping them from ever truly dying.

And yet, there was one exception. That damned angelic metal. That infernal substance capable of reaching into a soul’s very composition, severing the flow of energy and cutting off its connection entirely. It was the only way to ensure a soul couldn’t regenerate—to render a sinner permanently dead. The thought lingered bitterly in her mind, a reminder of the precarious balance of their existence.

She wasn’t going to start with how Dazai’s ability could influence this realm. She hadn’t used it—not now, and probably not ever. It had been a wise decision to study Sukuna’s and Sasuke’s abilities first, to understand their effects on Hell, and to leave Dazai’s for last.

Osamu Dazai’s ability, No Longer Human, was a walking negation of existence. It nullified any other ability—curse techniques, chakra, magic. In this context, it was a power that could unravel the very fabric of Hell itself. Sinners existed because of chakra. Hell existed because of the intricate combination of chakra, magic, and curse energy. Dazai’s ability could nullify all of it.

If she were to activate it here, she could destroy everything. The very mechanisms that allowed Hell to function would cease to exist. She had reached that conclusion after meticulous study. Slowly, the nullification would spread, erasing everything that made this realm what it was.

But that wasn’t the worst part—not to her.

The worst part was what she had discovered about angels.

Bill had been instrumental in that revelation. Angels were pure cosmic existence, their cores formed from a constant flow of energy—a soul, in its most unadulterated form. Life itself.

If she were to touch Lucifer while No Longer Human was activated… she would nullify his existence. Completely.

Dazai’s ability was not allowed to be used in Hell. That was a rule she had imposed on herself. Earth was acceptable—Stolas’ research had confirmed that much. Heaven, however, remained an unknown.

Oh, how she had loved that ability when she was Amelia, even as Sukuna. But now? Now it hurt to have such a powerful, wonderful ability shackled by restrictions. It saddened her, the Dazai within her. That part of her had always hated herself, always called herself less than human. A black hole.

As Amelia, she had theorized that Dazai’s ability might have affected his emotions. Perhaps its constant activation nullified his feelings as well, leaving him unable to truly experience life. That emptiness, that void—it explained why he could never find a reason to live.

When she became Dazai, it had been unbearable. She had gone from someone overwhelmed by emotions to someone incapable of feeling them at all. She remembered what it was like to feel—happiness, anger, love, rage. And then it was gone. She could barely grasp the edges of those emotions, pretending to be something she no longer was.

Chuuya had helped. He really had. He had been her anchor, her reminder of what it meant to be alive. But it hadn’t been enough. And now that she could feel again, she mourned. She mourned that she couldn’t give more to Chuuya, especially when he had given her everything. He had been the human of the two of them, despite his origins as a lab experiment. That had always been their joke—he was so human, and she was anything but.

He had even committed double suicide with her. Willingly. Out of love and loyalty.

That was why she observed Lucifer so closely. He exhibited some of the same traits she had once shown. His depression was harsh, his dissociation on some days palpable when she sat beside him. Fighting with him helped. It reminded her of the arguments she used to have with Chuuya, the way his lively reactions had given her a dose of warmth, a reason to engage.

So she did the same with Lucifer. She wanted to rile him up, to draw out his emotions, to keep him occupied and away from the darkness that threatened to consume him. She knew she was one of the few who could truly get a reaction out of him, who could make him pay attention, cling to her.

Lucifer hadn’t realized he had a crush on her yet. That was fine. It didn’t matter how long it took him to figure it out. As long as he was alright, he could take a thousand years.

It had surprised her when she met him that, unlike the canon, he didn’t wear his wedding ring. He wasn’t in love with Lilith. Apparently, her presence had strained their relationship further, and Charlie’s revelations about Lilith’s failures as a mother had extinguished whatever love he had left for her.

Hearing Lucifer tell Charlie that they had genuinely divorced had been a relief. She didn’t need to compete with a woman who wasn’t even there. She didn’t need to erase any lingering romantic feelings because there weren’t any.

Alastor was fairly certain that if Lilith appeared in front of him now, he would attack her for what she had done to Charlie. The thought brought a rare, almost tearful smile to her face. What a beautiful sight that would be.

“You do realize you’ve been standing on the stairs for a while, right?”

The sound of Lucifer’s voice broke through the haze of her thoughts, accompanied by her own static buzzing out involuntarily. The sudden noise made the archangel wince, his hands instinctively covering his ears. Alastor’s neck snapped toward him, startled.

How long had she been standing there? How distracted had she been to not notice him approaching?

“My apologies, my dear” she said smoothly, though her tone carried a touch of embarrassment. She ran her fingers through her hair, attempting to fix the strands that had been mussed during her momentary lapse “I was a little lost in my thoughts.”

And there it was again. That chirping.

Through the airwaves, she could feel it, his gentle yet distressing calls reaching out to her like the persistent cries of a bird trying to reassure her, trying to ask if she was okay. He didn’t realize what he was doing, of course. That unknowing sincerity—that warmth—was what unsettled her the most.

“Must have been some deep thoughts” Lucifer remarked lightly, a soft attempt at humor as he stepped closer down the stairs to join her. His movements were slow and careful, as though he feared she might flee like a startled deer.

Alastor hummed, keeping her expression composed “Just wondering about the Overlord meeting I’ll be attending in an hour.”

“Another one?” Lucifer asked, his eyebrows lifting in surprise as they began descending the stairs together “Didn’t you just have one a couple of days ago?”

A chuckle escaped her lips, tinged with amusement “Unfortunately, there are always matters to attend to” she replied “Something is always happening in Hell that demands my attention—especially now that I’ll be resuming my role as leader of the Overlords.”

“Oh…” Lucifer muttered, his tone shifting slightly as he looked away. His shoulders slumped just enough for her to notice “Does that mean… you won’t be spending as much time here anymore, since you’ll be so busy?”

The chirping grew louder, more insistent.

Alastor felt a pang, though she quickly masked it with a smile “Why don’t you join me?” she offered, her tone as casual as she could make it.

“What?” Lucifer blinked, momentarily dazed by her words “To the meeting?”

“Yes” she confirmed, her voice carrying a hint of playful nonchalance, though he could sense something softer beneath it “Join me for this meeting. And if you find it comfortable enough, perhaps you could join me for more of my duties. I wouldn’t have to be all by myself” she added, her attempt at a disinterested tone faltering ever so slightly.

Lucifer’s heart skipped as he caught the faint warmth in her words.

That buzzing hum she always felt around him seemed to shift, lightening into something more joyous—a whistle of contentment.

“Besides” Alastor added with a knowing smile “As the king, you should be aware of these things, right?”

Lucifer couldn’t help the wide grin that spread across his face “Yeah…” he managed, his voice softer than he intended.

Because all he’d truly heard in her words was, I want to spend time with you.

And how could he deny such a thing? She enjoyed his company. She wanted him there.

His mind wandered briefly to the rubber duck design on his desk. He needed to make it soon—soon enough that she’d have it before she even realized how much it meant to him.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX | PAPERWORK… NOT USELESS

Kakashi Hatake spotted Sakura chatting animatedly near the entrance of the village, her gestures sharp and filled with familiar impatience. But what caught his attention wasn’t her—it was Naruto. ‘Huh. Look at that. The kid was back early.’

He approached casually, hands tucked into his pockets, his visible eye crinkling slightly in amusement “Naruto, I didn’t know you had come back earlier… I thought your trip was supposed to last three years. It’s only been two—did Jiraiya finally get tired of handling your troublesome attitude?”

The fourteen-year-old practically growled at the accusation, pointing a finger at him like he had just committed some grave offense “That’s not what happened! Pervy Sage said he had to talk with Granny” his arms crossed tightly, frustration written all over his face “He got some news yesterday, and then—bam! He insisted we had to return. I kept asking him about it, but no matter how much I tried, he wouldn’t tell me” his voice dropped slightly, his lower lip jutting out in a minor pout.

Sakura shook her head, exasperated “Obviously, he didn’t tell you. If the information was so important that you had to come back, why would he share it with you?” she exhaled sharply, the insult woven effortlessly into her tone “You’d blabber it out in five minutes with that loud mouth of yours.”

Naruto gasped, looking at her like she had just betrayed him “That’s not true, Sakura!” he whined, the offense palpable “I’m better now! I don’t go around spilling secrets! I mean, I haven’t told anyone about that time you accidentally peed yourse—AHHHH.”

He didn’t get to finish. Sakura’s chakra-infused punch sent him flying, his body crashing through the air before slamming into the ground with a spectacular lack of grace. Her face had turned a deep shade of red as she yelled furiously, her voice hitting a higher octave out of pure embarrassment “Shut up, you idiot!” then, she panicked as she whirled around to Kakashi, her expression instantly shifting to something bordering nervous dread “That’s not true, sensei! I didn’t—”

Kakashi waved it off dismissively, his tone impossibly relaxed “Mah, mah… Sakura, it happens to even the best” his eye curved in amusement “I mean, it’s never happened to me… but I’m sure it’s tough holding it in during a mission.”

Sakura stared at him for exactly three seconds before dragging a hand down her brightly flushed face, her voice defeated “Please stop talking, Kakashi-sensei.”

“Sakuraaaaaa!” Naruto wailed, clutching his aching cheek as he stumbled back toward them, his expression a mix of injured pride and exaggerated suffering “I’m sorry… but as Kakashi-sensei said, it’s perfectly no—”

“Just shut up, you idiot!” Sakura snapped, her voice sharp, cutting through his attempt at reconciliation.

Kakashi exhaled lightly, amused by the familiar bickering. Moments like these reminded him of how lucky he was—only two students instead of three. His thoughts were interrupted when a blur of movement caught his attention—Anko Mitarashi, running full speed as she entered the village. Her urgency alone was enough to set him on edge.

“Kakashi” she called his name, sharp, direct “Did you hear the news?”

Kakashi frowned, noting the trouble in her expression “No, Anko… what’s the problem?”

She didn’t hesitate “Orochimaru is dead.”

The world seemed to pause.

Dead? No. Orochimaru was too slippery, too calculated, too obsessed with survival to fall so easily.

Sakura went rigid, her hands tightening at her sides. Naruto’s eyes widened, his body stiffening as if his brain was struggling to process the information “What?” the disbelief in his voice was immediate, raw “The snake guy is dead?”

Anko’s gaze flickered toward Kakashi “Jiraiya sent me a message with the news. He told me to return to the village—I had been scouting nearby” she took a breath before continuing “Lady Tsunade will probably send you and me to investigate the scene.”

Kakashi’s brow furrowed slightly “Why me?”

Anko’s expression shifted, something unreadable flickering behind her eyes before she made a grimace, her voice steady but carrying weight.

“Because it was Sasuke Uchiha who killed him.”

Kakashi stiffened, the name slamming into him like a physical force. His heartbeat hitched, his breath stilled—not from fear, but from the gravity of it.

Sasuke Uchiha.

Even hearing the name carried weight—too much weight. His body reacted before his mind did, his wolf instincts flaring in recognition, like hearing the distant call of something once familiar, now dangerous. It was a subject he never approached lightly, a name too deeply entangled with memories he wished he could bury.

Because he had been there. He had seen the aftermath.

He had stood among the ruins of the Uchiha District after the massacre, had watched as Sasuke’s unconscious body was carried away from the blood-soaked streets, the scent of iron and death still heavy in the air.

She had been seven years old.

A child. A witness to the slaughter of her own family at the hands of her own brother. And if that hadn’t been enough—if watching it unfold wasn’t enough—Itachi had ensured she would never forget it. He had used his Sharingan, had forced her to relive it over and over again, trapping her in a cycle of grief and horror so profound that even Kakashi didn’t want to imagine what had become of her mind after that.

Because Kakashi knew what that felt like.

Itachi had used Tsukuyomi on him once—had trapped him inside an illusion so overwhelming, so painful, that it had shattered all sense of time. Days’ worth of torture compressed into mere seconds. By the time the technique ended, Kakashi had been left comatose, unable to wake himself up, unable to pull himself out.

But Sasuke?

Sasuke had done what he couldn’t.

She had woken up. By herself. Without assistance. At seven years old.

Kakashi's instincts twisted at the thought—the sheer force of will required to survive something like that. He didn’t know how much time she had been subjected to in her own mind, didn’t know how many times she had been forced to relive the slaughter—but she had endured it. Survived it. And come out awake.

That was something else.

A week after the massacre, Sasuke Uchiha disappeared.

The mission to track her down, to bring her back—that had been his assignment. He had clung to the mission like an unfinished hunt, lingering even after all attempts led to dead ends. He had searched, followed every possible lead, but he never found her. And technically, the mission was still ongoing. It had never been officially terminated, never closed, meaning that even now—years later—it still remained unfulfilled.

So yes, Anko was probably right. They would call him in to investigate the scene.

But what struck him wasn’t just the reality of the mission—it was the sheer absurdity of her progress. She had been seven when she disappeared. He had spent years only hearing whispers of her movements, brief sightings that never amounted to capture. She had eluded him at every turn when she had only been a child.

And now—at fourteen—she had killed a Sannin.

A Sannin.

Something coiled in his chest—it was wariness. A predator recognizing another. There was no doubt about it. That girl was going to get her own Bingo Page. A terrifying little prodigy. Just like Itachi. Just like Shisui.

The Uchiha were terrifying when it came to power, intelligence, and calculation. There was a reason their bloodline had always held an edge that unsettled people. There was a reason their name carried weight.

And now, Kakashi found himself wondering—if he encountered her…

Would his chances of winning still be good?

Or had they already disappeared along with her?

***

As they descended the stairs, Alastor allowed herself to indulge in a bit of elaboration, her tone carrying its usual theatrical flair “One of the more tedious tasks involves overseeing the financial aspects of our domain” she explained casually “For instance, the recent extermination has necessitated an increase in taxes—at least, that’s what Stolas informed me.”

Lucifer froze mid-step, staring at her as though she’d just declared the sky was green “Taxes?” he asked, his eyes wide with disbelief “We pay taxes in Hell?”

Alastor chuckled, the sound smooth and melodic, though there was no mistaking the amusement in her expression “Indeed, we do” she replied slowly, letting the words hang in the air for dramatic effect “How else would we fund necessary operations and maintain order? It’s quite an elaborate system, I assure you.”

Blinking, Lucifer tried to process this newfound information, his mind struggling to reconcile the idea of Hell having a bureaucratic financial structure “I had no idea” he murmured, his voice tinged with genuine surprise “Who collects these taxes?”

“Various appointed demons under my supervision” Alastor answered smoothly “During my brief departure, Carmilla and Zestial took over the task. Now that I’ve returned, they’ve been updating me on the matter” she explained with the efficiency of someone accustomed to running a kingdom “It’s essential to keep everything running smoothly.”

Lucifer’s quiet muttering reached her ears as they approached the bottom of the stairs “Do I pay taxes?”

Shaking her head, Alastor allowed herself a small smile “You do not” she replied matter-of-factly “And the reason is more than just you… being the King.”

She watched as his gaze turned to her in curiosity.

“You don’t use money, my dear. Everything you have and consume is produced by your own magic. No taxes for income, property… technically, can’t exactly apply just for wealth since it’s all made by you. Even for mandatory fees, I can’t impose you citizen-based taxes even if you weren’t actively participating in the economy, because you didn’t use public services” she explained, her tone dripping with amusement “It was quite a disappointing surprise back then when the accountants attempted to profile you. I, for one, would have loved to make those magical pockets bleed.”

Her soft chuckle earned a roll of his eyes, which she noted with satisfaction.

The angel sighed, running a hand through his hair as another thought struck him “Wait… does that mean Charlie pays taxes? For the hotel?” he frowned slightly, the revelation setting in “Since I signed it off to her?”

“Indeed, your lovely daughter pays taxes as well” Alastor confirmed, her grin widening slightly “Unlike you, she consumes and had to manage the paperwork herself to register the type of business she was opening.”

She let out a small sigh, the thought lingering “It does make me wonder who taught her how to handle that” she added pointedly, shooting him a knowing look “Since you clearly weren’t aware of this, and Lilith…”

They both grimaced at the name, their mutual distaste palpable.

“I doubt she taught Charlotte” Alastor finished dryly.

"Not to mention" she continued, her voice adopting a light, casual lilt "The paperwork to register the hotel is no small matter. Requesting a permit for operations and paying for it annually are obligations she must fulfill, of course.”

Lucifer didn’t know he was about to get his mind exploded by the information he was about to receive "Then there’s the matter of taxes—several types, in fact. First, the occupancy tax, paid monthly based on revenue from guest stays. With Angel Dust and now Sir Pentious around, that’s bound to increase. Then there's the sales tax, since the hotel provides food, drinks, and other services—paid quarterly.

"The income tax comes next—business profits are taxed annually, though estimated payments might be required quarterly. And finally, the one that hasn't applied yet: payroll taxes. Since Vaggie and I work here willingly without pay, and Niffty and Husker are technically mine, it hasn't been a concern. But if the hotel ever needs official employees, payroll taxes would be paid monthly" she finished with a satisfied grin.

Her words clearly made Lucifer’s head spin, but Alastor pressed on “We may be in Hell, my dear, but civil matters are handled very differently than criminal ones” she assured him “You should feel reassured, though—since your daughter is a Hellborn, the process for permits is considerably less chaotic than what sinners face.”

“Why is it more difficult for sinners?” he asked, curiosity piqued despite his growing headache.

“Sinners tend to lie more often than Hellborns, unfortunately” Alastor explained smoothly, her voice tinged with disdain “To ensure a sinner’s honesty when requesting a permit, the process is lengthier, requiring extensive statements and verification to guarantee they won’t use the permit to disrupt the city.”

‘Holy… that’s a lot of work. And paperwork’ Lucifer thought to himself, the idea weighing on him. But in some strange way, it reassured him. It meant sinners weren’t as chaotic as he had always believed, at least not entirely. If Alastor seemed confident in their adherence to such a system, then maybe Hell had more order than he had imagined.

“Aren’t you excited to learn more about our future duties?” Alastor’s teasing voice broke through his thoughts.

Lucifer glanced at her, trying to muster a smile, but failing miserably “Yeah…” he muttered, his voice drenched in doubt “Nothing sounds more fun than doing… paperwork… and taxes...”

He sighed quietly as he felt a small part of himself die inside.

***

As they descended into the lobby, Alastor’s crimson gaze was drawn to a familiar scene: Carmilla’s daughters delivering a crate of weapons to Pentious. She lingered on the amusing sight of Vaggie stepping in to confiscate the weapons, her movements sharp and decisive as the snake sinner attempted to protest.

“Miss Alastor” came a voice that broke her focus. She turned to see Odette, clipboard in hand, nodding respectfully as a greeting. The younger looking demoness then shifted her gaze to Lucifer, inclining her head slightly “Your Majesty, it’s a pleasure.”

Lucifer offered an awkward but warm smile, nodding back.

“Odette” Alastor drawled, a glint of amusement in her tone “I see you’ve brought a delivery for our little snake.”

“Yes, Miss Alastor” Odette replied as she rifled through the papers on her clipboard “And here is the list in advance that you requested three days ago. Clara and I have managed to finish collecting the statements of the sinners who were majorly injured during the extermination.”

A grimace crossed her face as she added “Unfortunately, the number of injured sinners is higher than anticipated. Our benefits program doesn’t have enough capacity to distribute the proper medicine and care to everyone” she handed over the stack of papers, her tone softening “Mother was going to bring this up during the meeting, but since I found you here first, it seemed better to mention it in private.”

Alastor raised an eyebrow as she accepted the documents, her eyes already scanning them “Any particular reason it needed to be in private?” she asked, her tone calm as she flicked through the first few pages. She noticed Lucifer tiptoeing to read next to her and, with a small hum of amusement, lowered the papers slightly to make them easier for him to see.

Odette sighed, rubbing her arm “Mother allowed the Vees to attend the meeting.”

Alastor’s static buzzed loudly, her head snapping toward Odette with a chilling intensity “What?” she asked coldly, her voice sharp enough to make Lucifer tense beside her “I thought I had made it clear—they are not to attend these kinds of meetings. If the purpose isn’t to discuss territory maintenance, they have no business being there.”

“I understand” Odette replied gently, holding her ground “But… Velvette threatened to post all over social media why sinners shouldn’t join the Hazbin Hotel. Vox has also promised to broadcast that we might be at war and that you’ve been hiding it—along with the King and the Princess—from the sinners.”

Lucifer’s brow furrowed in confusion, glancing between Alastor and Odette “How did they even find out?” he asked “We never made it public, and—”

“You know how, Your Majesty” Alastor interrupted, her tone sharper than she intended. She almost winced at her own words, but she didn’t back down, her focus unyielding.

Lucifer paused, taken aback, but then realization dawned. Of course. It had to have been when Vox infiltrated the hotel, riding on the snake’s arrival. During the first day, Charlie had accidentally let it slip during the introduction. She’d tried to reassure him with her relentless optimism, but the serpent had been wearing that damned watch. He must have heard her.

Lucifer felt his chest tighten as frustration bubbled beneath the surface. ‘Another reason to kill that sinner’ he thought bitterly.

“Yeah… okay” he muttered “But what does this have to do with the program you mentioned?”

“It’s a program” Odette began, her tone serious as she addressed the King “Created by Miss Alastor and Prince Stolas. It’s designed to assist sinners who sustain major injuries during extermination events. These injuries are often severe, requiring specialized treatment that can’t be provided within the typical scope of the ring’s medical facilities.”

She paused before continuing “The necessary medicine and care are procured from the Ring of Sloth, which as you know, it’s known for its advanced medical resources. However…” she sighed “The program has a limited capacity and can only assist a certain number of sinners each year. This year, the number of injured has exceeded the program’s capacity, meaning many will not receive the treatment they desperately need. The resources simply aren’t enough.”

Lucifer’s mind raced as he processed the explanation. He’d never even heard of such a program, and now to hear it was overwhelmed—it made his stomach turn. As he glanced at the documents in Alastor’s hands, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of helplessness. How long had this been going on? How long had she been shouldering this burden, all while dealing with everything else?

But also, that… that was wonderful.

Alastor and Stolas had created a program to help injured sinners? Was that mentioned in Charlie’s report? He didn’t recall seeing it… Had Charlie been unaware, or had he simply missed it while reading?

Lucifer’s gaze lingered on the details the younger looking sinner provided, the weight of her words pressing heavily on his mind. He could see the problem now: limited spaces meant excluding some sinners. Those left out might survive their injuries, but resentment would grow among them. That kind of animosity had the potential to spark larger issues—a scandal, perhaps—especially if this program was supposed to cover the entire ring.

“The medicine and materials are transported from Sloth, as well as the service of doctors and nurses” Alastor explained, her voice carrying a note of frustration “It’s been a month since the extermination, and by now, the lack of resolution could cause more problems.”

Lucifer bit his lower lip, his thoughts spiraling.

“We can’t ask for more since we’ve already reached the limit in our deal with Belphegor” Alastor continued “If I were to push for additional resources, I’d either breach the contract or be forced to offer something else to rewrite the deal” she paused briefly, her eyes flicking toward him “I wouldn’t have any problems doing it under different circumstances, but this is not the right time—not with our situation with Heaven.”

Could he do something? He had to, didn’t he? Surely, as the King, he had the authority to step in—he could demand more medicine from Belphegor. Or at least ask nicely… though that felt like a gamble. He hadn’t seen the Sins in a very long time.

But would it be enough? Demanding more from Sloth might help, but it wouldn’t look good for him as a ruler. He was already a useless king in the eyes of so many—and if he added “tyrant” to that title?

His thoughts spiraled further.

Useless Lucifer.

Can’t even do something like this.

Useless.

No wonder they don’t like him.

Alastor would realize soon enough how worthless he really was.

“Your Majesty.”

Alastor’s voice cut through the fog in his mind. His head snapped toward her, startled. Her hand rested gently on his shoulder, grounding him.

He blinked rapidly, realizing the other sinner was gone. When had that happened? Had he blacked out?

“Are you with me?” Alastor asked softly, her eyes fixed on him with quiet concern “You started to tremble when I mentioned my deal with Belphegor. I told Odette to leave—we’ll discuss it later during the meeting.”

Lucifer took in her expression, her careful tone, the warmth in her touch. He liked her voice. He really liked her voice.

It enveloped him, like being wrapped in a blanket after a long day. Especially when she spoke softly, like she was now—or when she sang.

“…I’m… fine” he said weakly, his voice barely steady. He forced out a fake chuckle, hoping to dispel her concern “I just got lost in my thoughts… Must be contagious, huh? Since it happened to both of us.”

Alastor’s left ear twitched slightly, drawing his attention. His gaze lingered on the fluffy appendage, a fleeting thought passing through his mind… I want to pet it.

Alastor stared at him for a moment, her crimson gaze searching his face. She clearly didn’t believe him “You’re still trembling, Your Majesty” she observed softly, her tone gentle but firm.

The archangel flinched, his hands clenching tightly as he tried to compose himself. His thoughts were spiraling, dragging him into a familiar pit of self-doubt.

“You got overwhelmed, my dear” Alastor’s voice broke through the haze, her tone calm yet deliberate “There is nothing wrong with that. We are both people who can overthink things very easily… it happens.”

Lucifer stared at her, his red eyes flickering with doubt.

“After all” she continued, her gaze steady “Didn’t I have a freak-out weeks ago in front of you?”

“You’re admitting it?” he asked, his voice tinged with surprise.

“No point in denying it with you” she replied with a sigh “You’re the only one who noticed my outburst that night.”

Lucifer pursed his lips, unsure how to respond.

“May I guess what probably overwhelmed you earlier?” Alastor asked, her tone soft but probing.

Lucifer hesitated before nodding.

“Since it happened after my mention of my deal with Sloth and the pressure it puts on me” she began, her voice measured “You probably thought that, as the King, you should be able to do something. But then you started to overthink—wondering if you should, how you would, and whether you even could, given how long you’ve been absent.”

Lucifer grimaced, her words hitting closer to home than he cared to admit “You kinda got it” he muttered, letting out a heavy sigh.

Alastor hummed softly, her static buzzing faintly but with a gentler tone “I’m going to be honest here, Your Majesty… you’re annoying. You have the height and behavior of a child.”

“Why you…” Lucifer growled involuntarily, his frustration bubbling to the surface.

Alastor raised her hand, cutting him off with a calm gesture “Ah… don’t interrupt me” she said, closing her eyes briefly before meeting his gaze again “You don’t know how to cook, and apparently, you’ve forgotten how to read.”

“I will actually hurt you” the angel muttered under his breath, his tone laced with indignation “I don’t care if you’re a woman. I will punch you in the face.”

“But there are four things I know for certain about you” Alastor continued, her grin widening as her cane materialized in her hand. With practiced ease, she lifted his chin with the tip of the cane, leaning in just enough to meet him at a comfortable level.

“Your daughter loves you.”

Lucifer’s eyes sharpened, the intensity of her words striking a chord.

“You are my friend.”

His breath hitched, the sincerity in her tone catching him off guard.

“You are not useless.”

His lips trembled, the weight of her statement settling deeply within him.

“And you are wanted here.”

Lucifer’s eyes watered, before a single tear could escape, he backed away, furiously wiping at his face. He sniffled a few times, his voice shaky as he stuttered “You… you… I still don’t get you.”

“You never will, my dear” Alastor replied with a sheepish smile and a playful wink.

Lucifer let out a soft chuckle, her lightheartedness easing the tension in his chest.

“Do you still want to join me at the meeting, or would you prefer to take a break?” Alastor asked carefully, her tone gentle but firm.

Lucifer shook his head, his voice delicate as he replied “Can I just… observe? For the moment?” he hesitated before adding “If it’s alright… can I shift?”

Ah, that tone. Vulnerable, hesitant. Alastor could hear the anxiety woven into his words. He didn’t want to back out entirely, but he couldn’t face the meeting as himself—not yet. Transforming into an animal was likely his way of coping, a method to handle the weight of his emotions while still keeping his promise to her.

“Of course” Alastor replied with a nod “If you prefer to simply shadow me for the day, that’s fine. I would recommend a small animal—something that leaves you room to hide so you’re not noticeable.”

Lucifer smiled faintly, his gratitude evident. A second later, red smoke enveloped him, and he disappeared from her view.

Alastor felt something wrap around her wrist. She lifted her hand to find a white snake with striking red eyes staring back at her, its body carefully coiled around her wrist and hand.

“What do you think?” Lucifer asked, his tongue flickering as he adjusted his position.

Alastor’s cheeks warmed, her composure faltering for a moment. He was beautiful—so beautiful that she barely noticed the blush spreading across her face.

“Are you blushing?” Lucifer teased, his tone playful “Do you like snakes too?”

Clearing her throat, Alastor dismissed his comment with practiced ease “I just find them enjoyable, as well as cats” she replied smoothly “Anyway… shall we go, Your Majesty?”

“Sure” Lucifer answered softly, wrapping himself more comfortably around her hand.

He felt a quiet satisfaction at her reaction, the warmth in her cheeks a subtle but meaningful response.

He was not useless.

She had said so.

He was wanted.

She had said so.

And that was enough.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN | THE MEETING AND THE VEES

“Vox, be a dear and watch over Stolas while I have a talk with Paimon.”

That was all she said. No greeting. No glance. No context. Just a command delivered in that voice of hers—sweet, calm, and edged with absolute authority. She swept past him in a flash of elegance, her cane clicking softly on the tiled floor, a permanent grin carved into that beautiful face that somehow still managed to convey irritation without ever losing its curve. And of course, trailing beside her like some sanctimonious shadow, was Paimon—expression sour, posture tense, clearly not pleased to be summoned like a common subordinate. Vox barely spared him a glance. He didn’t care about Paimon. He cared about her. He always had. His eyes stayed fixed on Alastor until the door to her office clicked softly shut behind her, sealing her away from him. Again.

And then, there it was.

That damn presence.

He looked down, and the brat was staring up at him. Big, glassy eyes blinking slowly, owl-like in the worst possible way, as if sizing him up—not with malice, just with that open, obnoxiously innocent curiosity that children always exuded. Vox stiffened. He hated that he stiffened, but he did. He could already feel the irritation bubble beneath his skin. Of all the demons in Hell, why did it have to be him? Why that little sponge with wings who'd latched onto Alastor like some kind of lost puppy that refused to be kicked back into the alley it crawled from? It had been a year since this “Stolas” thing entered their orbit, and not a week had passed since where Vox hadn’t been reminded that he was no longer the only one Alastor gave her attention to. Yes, the owl was just a child. Yes, she treated him like some ward, some project that needed guidance and stability. But still. The attention was diverted. Her eyes—fuck, those eyes—lingered on someone else now. And he hated it. He hated him.

He opened his mouth to tell the brat to sit on the couch. To make it clear that the plush, high-backed chair behind the desk was his place. That desk symbolized everything—the hours he put in, the trust she placed in him, the fact that out of all Hell, she had chosen him to be by her side in work, strategy, vision. He was more than an assistant. He was a right hand, a partner, an architect of her legacy. That chair was his. That desk was his stage.

But before he could speak, the little prince walked over and plopped himself into the chair like he owned the place.

Oh, hell no.

Nope. Not today. Not ever.

He cleared his throat sharply, reigning in the twitch at the corner of his eye “Stolas” he began, trying for civility “I’m going to need you to move from that seat. There’s a couch just over there—much more fitting.”

The brat didn’t even flinch. Just looked up at him with all the arrogance of a hatchling born into royalty “Don’t call me Stolas” he said, his voice light but firm “Miss Alastor says I should always be addressed as Prince Stolas.”

Vox nearly choked on his own teeth. That smug little puffball—correcting him? No one corrected him. No one told him what he could or could not say—except Alastor, of course. And that was different. That was divine.

Still, he gritted his teeth, forced a sharp smile, and corrected himself “Prince Stolas” he ground out “Please move from my chair.”

The brat blinked again, then tilted his head “Why? What’s your job?” he asked, in that infuriatingly earnest way only children had “How do you know Miss Alastor?”

Vox paused. The words caught for a moment—not because he didn’t have an answer, but because he always took care with how he spoke about her. There was pride in it. Sacredness. Reverence that didn’t deserve to be trampled by a toddler’s attention span.

He adjusted his bowtie, smug smile returning with slow precision “Alastor and I” he began, voice velvety and smooth “Are very close. I am her business partner, her assistant, her confidant. I ensure every project runs to the rhythm she sets. Every paper, every transaction, every meeting—it all flows through me, perfectly curated to her preferences. I am... one of the few she trusts completely” he leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice into something conspiratorial “I’m also an Overlord, as you may have heard. Not that titles matter much when you’re already irreplaceable.”

Of all the things he expected today, being lectured on power by a four-year-old owl was not one of them.

He hadn’t even finished his grand, theatrical declaration—chin tilted high, voice laced with that usual flourish he took such pleasure in—when the brat tilted his feathery head and asked, quite plainly “Are you?”

Vox’s thoughts derailed. He blinked once. Twice. Glitched. The tone was childish, yes, but not in the way most children babbled nonsense. There was doubt in it. The kind of pure, honest skepticism that only the very young were bold enough to wield without hesitation “You don’t seem like it” the prince added with that maddening, sweet little voice.

He laughed. It was too high-pitched. Too quick. It sounded fake even to his own ears, and he hated that “I am” he insisted, straightening his collar and lowering his voice to a confident purr “I am an Overlord. The Overlord of visual media. Television, in particular. All the screens you see around you? That’s me.”

But of course the brat shook his head. That innocent, condescending little shake that made Vox want to snap a remote in half “That’s not true” Stolas chirped matter-of-factly “Miss Alastor’s in charge of media. All of it. That means she’s in charge of visual stuff, too. So you can’t be the Overlord of it.”

Child logic. The worst kind. Simple. Unshakable. Infuriating.

Vox glitched again. He could feel the tic forming in his static. But he recovered. He forced a controlled smile, steady breath, and replied with affected patience “Technically, yes. But she—Alastor—delegated visual media to me. Gave it to me, because she trusts me with it. And that makes me an Overlord. I’ve got the power to prove it. I have a whole arsenal of souls I’ve collected through deals. Thousands.”

The brat didn’t blink. Didn't gasp. Just offered a bland, unimpressed “That’s silly.”

That word.

“Silly.”

He clenched his hands into fists.

“Miss Alastor told me that having lots of souls doesn’t make you strong. She only has two, and she’s way stronger than you.”

It wasn’t untrue. It wasn’t incorrect. But Vox was ready to leap out of the nearest window.

He composed himself again, just barely “She’s... exceptional. She's not comparable. She's Alastor. But among the rest of us—among her circle of Overlords—I am the strongest. Just below her.”

The owl blinked, seeming to consider this seriously for a moment, and Vox leaned in, letting his voice drop slightly—low and rich, eyes gleaming with exaggerated pride. Theatrics always worked. He had an image to maintain, after all.

“So...” Stolas asked, wide-eyed “Are you stronger than Rosie?”

That nearly knocked the wind out of him. His back stiffened involuntarily. That woman again. So the little pest had already met her. Of course he had. Probably holding Alastor’s hand while she smiled and cooed over him. Rosie was too close. Far too familiar. She always hovered around Alastor like a fly near something sweet. She didn't deserve that place in her orbit.

But Vox smiled. Carefully. Politely. His voice syrupy and certain “Yes. I’m stronger than Rosie.”

The brat’s response was unexpected. A solemn little nod, like he’d just approved something of serious weight “Okay. That means you can call me just Stolas. No title.”

Vox blinked slowly “What an honor” he replied dryly, barely keeping the bitterness from seeping into his tone.

But the child went on, his voice chipper again, oblivious “It is an honor! Miss Alastor told me that I’m important. So important that everyone has to call me by my full title unless I say otherwise” he puffed up proudly, feathers bristling in a way that made Vox’s fingers itch “She said that if someone is really important to her, it already makes them better than everyone else.”

The words struck a nerve. A pleasant one, then a very unpleasant one.

Stolas tilted his head, calculating in the way only a small child trying to mimic grown-up logic could be “So if you’re strong and you’re her friend and she says you’re important, then I guess you are special too. So you can just say ‘Stolas,’ right?” he paused, then added, a little too smugly “But I still like radio more than television. At Miss Alastor’s place, I always listen to her play her radio. It’s better than the TV at my father’s.”

Vox stared. Just stared. Blank-faced. Hollowed out by a four-year-old’s condescending review of his entire legacy.

He blinked once, smiled thinly, and said “Well. Since we’re such dear companions now, would you kindly move from my chair so I may return to my very important duties? Duties Miss Alastor expects me to complete.”

The owl stared back. But then, mercifully, nodded. He slid off the chair and walked toward the couch without a word.

Vox exhaled slowly “Thank you” he muttered, slipping into his rightful place. His throne. He pulled out the stack of reports Alastor needed signed, already sorting through them with mechanical precision. Finally. Work.

Then came the voice.

“What are you doing?”

The pen in his hand paused mid-scratch. His head dropped slowly, forehead thunking against the polished wood surface of the desk. He was sure he heard a crack of his screen.

But he didn’t care anymore.

He considered chewing through a cable.

***

“Are these sinners killing themselves just because of your presence?”

The words slipped from between his fangs before he could catch them, coated in disbelief and a hiss of secondhand dread. He had seen many things in his ageless existence but this was grotesque in its simplicity. Not torture, not punishment, not judgment. Just fear. Pure, unreasoning, mind-breaking fear of her. Some sinners bolted into alleys, skittering like insects before a storm. Others… others didn’t run. Others made themselves into effigies, soaking flesh and bone in gasoline, striking matches like twisted prayers offered to oblivion. And the flames answered.

Lucifer recoiled. In this form, his movements were fluid, a silk ribbon gliding over her wrist and up the line of her arm. She didn’t flinch, didn’t bat an eye. But he felt it. The tension beneath her skin. Muscles locked in sudden stillness. Her static buzzed, no louder than before, yet the air seemed to contract with it. A sonic blade. The sinners around them responded like prey sensing the strike of a silent predator. Their flinching made his skin crawl.

He slowed only when he reached the curve of her shoulder, nudging his head through the crisp edge of her collar. Cool air kissed his face as he peered up at her with wide, searching eyes.

“Your Majesty.”

Her voice cut through the charged atmosphere, precise and cold. Lucifer winced at the piercing noise. Her crimson eyes had darkened, her smile sharpened into something unyielding.

“Do warn me before you do something like that again” she said, her tone carrying a sharp edge.

Confusion flickered through him for a moment, but then he truly noticed the way her body had stiffened under his movements. Realization hit like a shockwave, and his small eyes widened. He hadn’t thought. He hadn’t asked.

“I didn’t mean to—” he stammered, the words tumbling from his mouth like pebbles loosed in a landslide “I wasn’t trying to— I didn’t see anything—promise—” he curled closer to himself as he spoke, wrapping guilt into every syllable “I should have asked for your permission. I wasn’t even thinking, I’m sorry, I—”

His voice cracked in his own ears ‘I wasn’t even thinking’ that was the truth. She had been so warm. So steady. The hum of her presence had lulled him like a hearth in a void. He had just moved. Instinct. Comfort. Reflex.

Now she probably thought he was some sick voyeur ‘She’s going to think I’m a pervert’ he thought with mounting horror “I didn’t even mean anything by it. She was just… so warm.’

Alastor’s sigh slid through the static, her grin softening—slightly. The jagged edges of her tension dulled, her tone gentler now, though still watchful “As I said… do warn me before you do something like that again.”

By the time they reached the building—one she had very purposefully taken possession of, purchased for convenience, dominance, and the simple pleasure of walking into meetings she owned—her ears twitched. Voices. Rosie, bright and lilting with that constant buzz of affection she wielded like a weapon; Carmilla’s huskier cadence; and Zestial, his way of speaking too unique for her to forget. Familiar sounds. She didn’t slow down. The elevator doors welcomed her like old friends. Gratefully, the Vees were absent. Delayed, perhaps—a lucky interruption in Hell’s chaotic rhythm.

“Alastor!” Rosie called, all velvet and sunshine and too-familiar warmth.

Alastor stepped through the door and into the room without hesitation. She didn’t quicken her pace, didn’t falter. Rosie’s smile hit her like always—brimming with too much affection and just enough danger to keep it interesting.

“It’s so good to see you again, darling” the Cannibal Overlord beamed, drawing close, arms parting for the briefest of embraces.

Alastor let the hug happen—for precisely one second—then slipped back with practiced precision. Her voice was crisp, layered with amusement “Rosie, we saw each other four days ago. Surely you haven’t grown that desperate.”

“Nonsense” Rosie laughed, brushing off the quip like smoke “I miss you every day, my dear. Especially after seven long years of separation—we have such catching up to do.”

Alastor snorted lightly, tilting her head just enough to give Rosie that familiar look. One eyebrow arched with rehearsed theatricality “You’re going to use that excuse for everything, aren’t you?”

“Of course” Rosie’s grin spread wider, the corners of her eyes creasing ever so slightly in amusement—until they caught sight of him.

Her expression flickered.

A blink. A slight pause in the rhythm of her performance. Her finger rose.

“I didn’t know you got a pet.”

Alastor laughed—light, airy, utterly unbothered. She brought her hand up, running fingers gently along the length of the white serpent curled around her neck. The crown of his head met her knuckles, and she pressed them there, a small, deliberate pat “Isn’t he the loveliest thing you’ve ever seen?”

Lucifer felt his cheeks heat up in embarrassment, his red eyes glancing away briefly. Of course she would say that.

But Alastor was already moving forward, tone darkening like a curtain being drawn over the light.

“No distractions though” she said flatly, the warmth evaporating from her smile “There’s much to address before the usual pests arrive.”

Rosie’s smile didn’t fall so much as it folded in on itself—smoothed down, tempered, a silent concession. She gave a single nod “Understood.”

 ***

Thirty minutes.

For thirty minutes, Lucifer had witnessed Alastor resolve problem after problem with a precision and efficiency that left him quietly astounded. From what he understood, the cannibal lady—Rose, he thought?—was struggling to ensure her deliveries of meat made it to Wrath. The older sinner, Carmen, or was it Carmilla?—had reported stolen weapons. Then there was the issue of the project to assist injured sinners. Alastor had essentially resolved that one by instructing the kaiju-looking sinner—Zis, was it?—to arrange a meeting with Belphegor. Lucifer vaguely recalled owning that sinner’s soul but couldn’t quite remember the details.

The bulk of the time, though, had been spent discussing preparations for the possible war—a tense and sobering subject. Toward the end, the spider-like sinner, apparently responsible for gathering intelligence, had informed Alastor about the recent damages caused by the Vees.

Before anything else could be addressed, Lucifer felt Alastor tense beneath him. He instinctively stilled, his scales alert to the buzzing of static. But this wasn’t her static—it was darker, repulsive, carrying a disgusting, invasive energy.

The door swung open roughly, revealing Vox and his infuriating screen face. The sinner oozed smugness as he entered, his presence immediately warping the atmosphere of the room. It wasn’t just confidence—no, Lucifer had seen true confidence. This was something smaller. Petty. Pathetic. Like a parasite puffing itself up to seem larger than its host. His attention went straight to Alastor, as if no one else existed, and Lucifer’s coils tightened. Not enough to draw notice, but enough to ground the temptation to bare his fangs. He bit back the urge to hiss, glaring as two others entered behind Vox: a tall moth-like demon and a petite girl with doll-like features.

‘Ugh, what is that smell?’ Lucifer thought, gently shaking his head ‘It’s that moth… are those pheromones?’

The television-headed pest sneered, glitching faintly with every syllable “And here I thought we’d been invited to this meeting” he said sarcastically, settling far too close to Alastor’s side, as if proximity earned relevance “You seem to have started without us.”

Lucifer’s gaze snapped to her face, tracing every flicker of expression with a scholar’s precision. Her smile was there—but it was brittle. Tight in the corners. Not the full, feral grin she wielded like an instrument of domination. This one was a mask. And he saw through it instantly.

Vox pressed further, tone silk-wrapped in static “And being rude isn’t something you are, right, Alastor?”

Her name in his mouth sounded wrong. Too familiar. Too possessive. Lucifer seethed.

Alastor’s reply came with that theatrical disinterest she’d honed to perfection. She lowered her gaze to her nails, inspecting imaginary imperfections as she said “I clearly remember assigning the meeting at twelve o’clock.”

Then, with the faintest tilt of her head and a voice as sweet as it was serrated, she added “It’s twelve thirty. You are the ones arriving late.”

The air thickened, brittle with unspoken tension. Lucifer did not move. He did not blink. But a single, searing thought pulsed through his mind like a drumbeat.

‘How dare they speak to her like that.’

“That’s a fucking lie” Velvette hissed from her seat, her petite frame trembling with indignation “The old hag said to be here at twelve thirty.”

“Did I?” Carmilla interjected, her dry tone cutting through the tension. Her blank expression shifted toward Alastor, her gaze steady “It seems that I made a mistake. I will accept whatever punishment you see fit, Alastor.”

Alastor’s sharp smile softened into one of amusement, her static buzzing faintly in approval “Oh, Carmilla… I guess, since I’m sure it was an honest mistake, I can let it go. Just this once.”

Velvette looked ready to speak again, her fury fresh and bubbling, but Vox moved. Just one hand raised—smooth, deliberate, silencing. Not for the room, not for diplomacy. No. His focus never once strayed from Alastor. His screen face betrayed nothing, but Lucifer saw the hunger etched in the gesture. That twisted need for attention. For recognition. Vox wasn’t interested in peacekeeping. He simply didn’t want anyone else making noise when he was about to perform.

“I’m sure that mistake will never be repeated” Vox drawled, oozing condescension beneath a thin veneer of charm. He laughed, a static-laced chuckle meant to feel light but stinking of calculation “So why don’t we continue the meeting? There are several things I…”—he paused, and Lucifer heard the breath he didn’t take, the deliberate correction, the shared illusion of teamwork— “We wanted to discuss.”

Alastor’s gaze remained steady, her sharp smile perfectly rehearsed. She gestured toward the center of the table with deliberate elegance, her tone laced with faux warmth “The floor is all yours, Vox” she said smoothly, masking the irritation building faintly beneath her composed exterior.

Vox rose from his chair with a flourish, pulling a sleek device from his bag. Placing it on the table, he activated the mechanism, and holographic projections burst forth—a cascade of charts, graphs, and dazzling visuals meant to captivate.

“Ladies and gentlemen” Vox began, his voice brimming with the practiced confidence of a showman. He gestured toward the holographic display as though unveiling a masterpiece “I present to you the latest data on the number of souls we’ve been collecting over the past few years. As you can see—” he pointed to a sharply climbing line graph, his tone rising with pride “There has been a significant increase in our collection rate, thanks to our enhanced strategies and innovative methods, of course.”

A chuckle slipped through his ‘charming’ tone as he continued “Due to our influence expanding, one could say that our current position in the hierarchy deserves reconsideration” the faint disinterest in his tone was a transparent attempt to feign humility while drawing attention to his growing power.

Perched comfortably on Alastor’s collar, Lucifer’s eyes narrowed as he watched Vox’s performance unfold. He could feel the tension humming faintly from Alastor—the way her hands were starting to clench, her smile strained ever so slightly. She wasn’t reacting, but he knew her well enough by now to see the subtle signs of irritation.

‘What’s his angle here?’ Lucifer thought, his coils tightening slightly as Vox’s presentation grew more elaborate.

“And now, for the main event” Vox announced, his tone shifting to something more theatrical, a sly smile playing on his lips. The holographic display transformed, showcasing sleek, polished designs of angelic weapons.

“I am thrilled to introduce our new project at VoxTek Enterprises: VoxTek Angelic Security” he declared, relishing the murmurs of surprise rippling around the table “This initiative involves the distribution of angelic weapons to the public—for a price, of course—ensuring that everyone has access to the best means of protection.”

Alastor’s crimson eyes narrowed imperceptibly, sensing the dubious nature of Vox’s proposition.

“In essence” Vox continued, his tone carrying an edge of smugness “This project aims to revolutionize our approach to security and defense, making it accessible and affordable for all.”

He turned his attention deliberately to Carmilla, whose eyes flashed with anger “And of course” Vox added, his smile widening “We will ensure top-notch quality and service—surpassing anything currently available on the market.”

“How fascinating, Vox” she murmured, each syllable clipped and sweet, her tone so honeyed it nearly oozed “You’ve certainly been… busy. I’m sure the implications of your new venture will be thoroughly discussed.”

Noting Alastor’s irritation, Vox pressed on, a glint of satisfaction flickering in his screen face “And now, for another critical aspect of our plans” he announced, feigned earnestness coloring his tone “Given the sudden declaration of war against Heaven, it is imperative that we, as leaders, take proactive measures. Therefore, I propose that VoxTek Enterprises be officially included in the preparations for the upcoming war with the angels.”

Lucifer felt Alastor’s shoulder tense beneath him, her static buzzing faintly once again. He tilted his head slightly to observe her reaction, catching the twitch in her eye as Vox continued his spiel.

“You cannot afford to refuse such vital assistance” he insisted, his voice rising with something he probably thought passed for inspiration “To do so would risk appearing negligent in our duties. After all, the public would undoubtedly question the commitment of our esteemed Overlords…” then the pause. The emphasis. The glitch in his voice meant to linger like perfume “Especially you, Alastor.”

Lucifer’s pupils narrowed into red slits.

“And, of course” Vox concluded, turning the knife with the same smug ease he used for every pitch “The King of Hell. And the Princess herself—should we fail to utilize every resource at our disposal to protect the sinners.”

The room fell silent, tension crackling in the air like static before a storm. Alastor’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, though her sharp smile remained fixed in place. It had grown strained, a quiet but deliberate response to Vox’s audacity.

“How thoughtful of you, Vox” she said at last, her voice sliding out like a polished blade wrapped in silk. The sarcasm in her tone was cultivated, elegant, so refined it nearly sounded like praise “I’m sure your contributions will be… invaluable.”

Lucifer watched the way Vox's glitching visage distorted in delight, the way that smug little shimmer crept into the corners of his display. The television-headed nuisance had no idea what he was toying with. Or maybe he did—and simply believed himself immune.

“I’m glad you agree” Vox crooned, that saccharine glitch woven through every word like rot beneath sugar “Together, we’ll ensure Hell remains unassailable.”

Hidden beneath Alastor’s collar in his serpent form, Lucifer’s eyes gleamed with fury as he listened to Vox’s audacious proposal. His cold scales pressed firmly against her skin as his anger simmered. The nerve of Vox to so blatantly encroach upon their territory, to threaten Alastor with thinly veiled arrogance—it was almost too much for the angel to bear.

Every muscle in his serpentine body tensed, his instincts screaming at him to strike, to transform back and give Vox the beating he deserved. Yet, he held himself back, a promise to Alastor keeping him grounded.

His gaze flickered to her strained smile, a sight he hated to see. Alastor had always been strong and composed, yet Vox’s words were pushing her closer to the edge. Lucifer felt a pang of helplessness, an ache born from his inability to act, to shield her from this vile sinner’s presence. Lucifer’s anger grew with each word that fell from Vox’s glitching mouth. How dare he try to manipulate the situation? How dare he push Alastor to the brink like this?

Lucifer tightened his tail slightly around Alastor’s neck—a silent, wordless promise that he was there, ready if she needed him. Though he had vowed to lay low, he swore silently that Vox would pay for his arrogance. When the time was right…

Alastor was seconds away from terminating the meeting with the phrase—If that is all—when Valentino’s voice rang out, dripping with false politeness and cutting through the silence.

“Alastor, if I may” Valentino began, his booming voice commanding attention as the moth sinner leaned forward, his smirk widening.

Alastor raised an eyebrow, her patience visibly waning as she turned her piercing gaze toward him “Yes, Valentino?” she responded, her tone icy and precise.

“I have a concern” he purred, leaning forward just enough to feign intimacy while staging his little performance “I need to know whether you’re planning to linger near Angel Dust” the name dropped like bait “As you’re aware, his soul belongs to me, and your proximity creates… complications.”

Lucifer's jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. There it was. The challenge. Not even cloaked. Not subtle. A direct attempt to undermine her, to reduce her, to strip her of legitimacy in front of them all. And beneath it all was that sly little power play—framing it as a dispute over property. He wasn’t just questioning her right to act—he was threatening her integrity by pretending it was his to protect.

The room shifted again, that same sick silence wrapping around them like a noose. Alastor didn’t react—not in any overt way. But her jaw flexed just slightly, and her fingers tapped once against her thigh. To the untrained eye, she remained composed. Untouched. But Lucifer wasn’t untrained. He saw the storm moving behind her eyes.

“I assure you, Valentino” she began, her voice steady and deliberate “I have no intention of overstepping my boundaries. My respect for the hierarchy and the possessions of other Overlords is unwavering.”

Satisfied with his attempt to cast doubt on her intentions, Valentino’s smirk widened, his satisfaction thinly veiled beneath his cocky demeanor. He didn’t push further, knowing he had achieved his goal for the moment.

Alastor maintained her composure, her gaze sweeping across the room “If that is all” she said finally, her tone carrying the weight of finality “This meeting is over.”

The moment the others began to leave, dispersing like the dust they so resembled—cheap perfume, lingering static, overdone cologne and click-clack heels—Alastor exhaled softly through her nose. Not a sigh, but something just shy of it. Only Rosie lingered, of course. Ever the sentinel cloaked in silk and sly humor, staying just long enough to watch her friend unwind. The Cannibal Overlord’s voice, light as always but not without its bite, echoed across the room’s sudden quiet “Well… that went better than I thought” she said, a relieved lilt threading through her amusement.

Alastor’s eyes narrowed instinctively “I don’t understand how they get on my nerves like this” she muttered, a scoff curling at the edge of her words “All the time. No one else does. Just them…” her tone had unraveled into exasperation without her permission, and she detested that it showed.

“We both know it’s not them” Rosie said gently, without missing a beat. Her tone softened—still amused, still pointed “It’s him.”

And there it was. Predictable. Inevitable. Of course Rosie would seize the chance to needle into Vox’s name as if it were somehow still a topic that needed addressing. Alastor could feel the words lining up in her mouth, something sharp and dismissive perhaps—but she interrupted herself with a more elegant redirection. Her hand moved lightly to her collar “Your Majesty” she said aloud, smoothing her tone into something almost indulgent “Be a dear and come out.”

At her call, Lucifer shifted back into his usual form. The sudden appearance startled Rosie, who blinked in surprise as she turned to Alastor, a curious expression playing on her face.

“Has the King been hidden there the entire time?” her voice danced with astonishment, laced with laughter waiting to bloom “Did you really let the King hide under your clothes? You, of all people?” she added, the playful mischief practically dripping from her lips as she waggled her brows.

Alastor rolled her eyes without urgency, a sardonic smile cutting across her face like the glint of a clean blade “Rosie, darling, I’d appreciate it if you let go of such fanciful notions” she replied with gracious mockery, each word dipped in honey and venom “His Majesty simply understands the need for discretion in meetings of this nature. Nothing more, nothing less” she didn't bother trying to make it sound platonic. It would only embolden Rosie further.

Rosie’s smirk didn’t fade “Sure, sure” she cooed as she turned toward the King, dipping into a curtsy “It’s a pleasure to meet you, my King” her gaze sharpened ever so slightly, narrowing into something teasing “Alastor has told me so much about you. She never shuts up” the laugh that followed rang light and unbothered, but Alastor could already feel her static beginning to twitch.

“Rosie, please” she muttered beneath her breath, reaching up to press her fingers gently against her forehead. The fatigue wasn’t real, but Rosie didn’t need to know that.

Lucifer, ever the careful gentleman when not fuming like a sun about to collapse, chuckled awkwardly and nodded “My pleasure too. Alastor’s told me you’re her best friend” there was something almost tentative in his tone, a softness that grew warmer when he added “I’m glad she has someone like you—someone who appreciates her… and tolerates her” the last words came lightly, a careful jest that made Alastor pause for just a fraction of a second.

Rosie tilted her head, eyes flicking between them as if connecting the strings of a puzzle only she could see. Then, with maddening serenity, she smiled—wide, knowing, obnoxiously pleased with herself “It seems my search is over.”

Lucifer blinked, brow creasing slightly “What… search?”

“Rosie” Alastor said, flatly. Her tone dropped, her words no longer threaded with amusement. The faintest buzz of static stirred the air, subtle but sharp. Rosie heard it. She always did.

“Oh, nothing. Nothing, Your Majesty” she said sweetly, brushing it off with a wave of her hand, her grin unmoved “Just a little inside joke between old friends.”

She turned smoothly, moving to stand beside Lucifer, eyes bright with the dangerous charm of someone planning to misbehave. Her fingers curled around his arm with practiced ease, tugging ever so gently as she smiled up at him “Now” she said, voice silky “Why don’t you tell me what I’ve missed so far? Since I don’t live with her like you apparently do” she leaned in, just enough to make it conspiratorial “What kind of trouble has my dear Alastor been getting into?”

Alastor rolled her eyes, though her expression softened as she observed the interaction. She noted how Lucifer, for all his earlier tension, seemed to relax slightly, becoming more open as Rosie’s playful energy distracted him from Vox’s earlier provocations.

‘You better not blurt anything out, Rosie’ Alastor thought, the faint hum of her static buzzing quietly in the background.

Chapter Text

*****

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT | ARE YOU SATISFIED? WITH AN AVERAGE LIFE?

“I’ll be having the royal roast duck.”

There was a lilt in her voice, high and pleased, like someone humming to themselves after a particularly satisfying day. Vox barely needed to glance up from the menu to know Alastor was in a good mood. She only ever ordered that dish when she felt indulgent—when she believed she'd earned a small, edible reward for something unseen, some private triumph she saw no need to explain to anyone but herself. And it wasn’t just the duck. It was everything: her tone, her smile, the languid way she moved as though her entire body was humming with restrained glee. Whatever had happened during that meeting with Paimon had left her radiant. Paimon, who’d stormed out of her office with all the grace of a kicked owl, muttering curtly to his son that a servant would pick him up in the morning and that he was, for the night, to remain under Alastor’s care. Just brilliant. More time for the little prince to flutter around her like some insufferable mascot while Vox stood quietly to the side, ignored, observing like a spare ornament.

He couldn’t stand that owl. Couldn’t stand the look on his face—the excitement, the eager, childish joy at being allowed to linger in her space. And yet, the following morning had brought an unexpected reward. Alastor herself had personally returned the child to his home rather than waiting for some lackey to collect him. She had returned glowing. Practically singing. And then, casually—like it meant nothing at all—she had invited Vox to lunch.

Maybe that little prince was good for something after all.

She ordered the duck. Heavy for midday, but it was one of her favorites—of course it was. Rich, thick, unapologetically indulgent. A meal for those who didn’t fear appetite. It made sense, considering the curse she carried—cannibalism woven into her soul like a curse stitched too tightly to be removed. No matter how much she ate, it was never truly enough. Still, she treated that dish like a celebration. Vox smiled faintly, eyes flicking across the table, but before he could sink too far into his thoughts, her voice pulled him back.

“James.”

His brain glitched.

She said it so sweetly, fingers interlaced under her chin, elbows on the table, head tilted just so. That was her good tone—the syrupy one, the one that dripped like poisoned honey when she was pleased. Not the bad sweet tone, the one that coiled around your neck like velvet and whispered threats just before the snap. No—this was genuine. Amused. Playful. Dangerous only in how addictive it was.

“Stolas mentioned you at dinner last night” she murmured, and Vox immediately sat straighter, every nerve alert “He said you called him by his name. That he let you” her smile curled, crimson eyes narrowed with curiosity “He said he told you you didn’t need to use his title anymore. That’s quite an honor, don’t you think?” she purred his name again—his real name “What did you say to him, James, that left such a good impression?”

He froze.

She called him that so rarely. And only she was allowed to. He never heard it from anyone else’s mouth. It sounded right when she said it. Sacred. He scrambled mentally, reaching for composure like a lifeline “It was nothing” he said quickly, smoothly—too smoothly “I just told him I was your close associate. That I work beside you. That I oversee all visual media, that I’m the Overlord of it, really. That I had... power.”

The words came faster now, confidence slowly rebuilding as he recited the pieces of his resume like armor “I told him I was the second strongest Overlord” he added, eyes flicking up to meet hers for just a moment “Naturally beneath you, of course. But still... significant. Strong enough to earn his trust. He seemed to think that made me worthy to use his name” he paused, then pushed a little further “He even said something interesting... about the ones closest to you. About how you deem them special. Worthy.”

She stared at him, and that was all it took. No words. No expression. Just her gaze holding his with quiet intensity—cool, surgical, composed—and it was enough to send a flush of static pink across his monitor’s edges. He hated that. Hated how easily she could pull a reaction out of him with the simplest things. Just a glance. Just silence. He almost scrambled to speak, to fill the air with anything that could buffer the weight of her attention, but the moment was saved by the arrival of their food. Her plate was set in front of her, steaming and elegant. She clapped her hands together softly, that pleased, gracious smile spreading across her face as she thanked the server in that charmingly practiced way she always did, like royalty who still remembered how to flirt with mortals. And then she picked up her knife and fork and took a bite.

The sound she made—soft, satisfied, indulgent—rattled him more than it should’ve. Vox stared down at his own plate, appetite wilting slightly. This wasn't going to work. The hums she made, the way her teeth bit delicately into the crisp skin of that ridiculous royal roast duck—it was too much. Too intimate. Too Alastor. He reached for his wine without hesitation and took a long sip, the kind that burned down and settled like armor. Fuck it. Midday or not, alcohol was a necessity in her company, not a luxury. Hell, she didn’t even drink. Not that he’d ever seen. Once, he thought she had a glass of red wine, but of course not—blood, naturally. Of course it had been blood. Water now sat beside her plate, utterly ill-paired with duck, and yet she looked as pleased as if it were the finest thing Hell had to offer. He’d given up trying to understand her palate ages ago.

He nearly choked on a piece of lamb when she spoke again—her voice smooth and disarmingly pleasant “Are you sure, Vox” she said with that saccharine lilt that always walked the line between amusement and baited hook “That you're currently the strongest Overlord beneath me?”

The silence between them tightened like thread pulled taut. Carefully, he swallowed and set down his fork “Yes. I am” he offered it with full confidence, though her expression did little to reassure him “Last count, from the meeting two weeks ago... the one where everyone’s souls were logged, territory measured, influence compared” he rested his elbow lightly on the table “I hold the most souls, by a considerable margin.”

He continued, watching her for any sign of shifting reaction “As for territory—well, technically, no. I don’t claim one. I have a residence, a house I keep for myself, but the rest is offices, studios… I operate from movement. Like you” he smiled thinly “Territory’s a static concept in a broadcast world. Influence is the real currency, and mine reaches every ring. All of Hell. The signal is everywhere” he let the words hang there, then softened—just slightly “But only because of you.”

That wasn’t flattery. That was fact.

“You allowed me to stretch beyond Pride. You made it possible to conduct my frequency across each ring. Alone, I couldn’t have reached that far, not cleanly, not without distortion. But you refined it. Made it compatible. You amplified it, when you needed to.”

And that, right there, was why none of the others mattered. None of the other Overlords. None of the petty, territorial parasites playing at power in corners of Hell that she could erase with a smile. Only she could cover Hell in its entirety, unaided, uninterrupted. It was obvious to him. Obvious to anyone with intelligence. She should’ve been Queen already—was Queen already, in fact if not in name. Not Lucifer. Not Lilith. Those two hadn’t shown their faces in the public eye in ages, not where it mattered. They were myth now. Absentee royalty. Alastor was present. Alastor moved.

And Vox... Vox was sure of his place. Among the Overlords who followed her will, he was the strongest. And if she ever offered more?

He’d be waiting.

She hummed at his answer—just a small, thoughtful sound behind the edge of her fork. And then, as if his certainty were merely another puzzle piece to toy with, she tilted her head and said, almost too gently “I wouldn’t be so sure of it, if I were you.”

That sentence alone was enough to make his fingers still, the fork halfway to his mouth. Then she took a bite of duck—leisurely, graceful—and only after swallowing did she speak again, voice casually slicing open the illusion of security he’d wrapped himself in moments earlier “Zestial told me something the other day. Something interesting. It seems Zeezi”—and she said the name like a joke she wasn’t ready to explain—“Has recently received an upgrade” another bite. Another pause “Apparently, she sold her soul to the King of Hell for more power.”

Vox blinked slowly, fork hovering in midair as if suspended by disbelief alone. What.

Alastor sighed, the sound lined with weary amusement, her grin somehow sharper even as it stayed unchanged “It's getting inconvenient, you know? How often everyone around me ends up talking to the King or Queen, and yet... here I am” she spread her hands slightly, theatrically, like a performer presenting the absurdity of her own punchline “Still no encounter. Not once. I’m starting to think there’s some magical law of probability that makes them miss me on purpose.”

And then she shrugged, her shoulders lifting with such practiced elegance that he almost missed the venom beneath her tone “You might want to double-check the numbers next recount. See if you're still holding second place.”

He stared at his plate like it had personally betrayed him. The lamb looked limp now. Tasteless. It took all his effort not to glitch visibly from the sheer, crushing absurdity of it. What the actual fuck. Competition was bad enough when it came from bloated demonic egos with inflated stats, but now a kaiju-shaped disaster zone had apparently jumped the ranks by making a deal with Lucifer himself? That wasn’t just inconvenient—it was catastrophic. He already had to claw for every ounce of respect from the other Overlords who sneered and whispered that he was just a glorified butler in a very expensive suit. The only thing that shut them up was power. The cold, provable weight of it. And now he might not even have that.

Still reeling, he processed the second half of what she’d said—about the King and Queen, about never seeing them. His screen flickered briefly as he frowned, words forming before he could stop them “Why would you even want to meet them?” he asked, trying to sound dismissive but coming off more confused than he liked “They don’t even do their jobs, and you’ve told me yourself how incompetent the King is.”

She rolled her eyes, tilting her head toward him with that look she always gave when he said something painfully shortsighted “Exactly” she replied, her voice dry “The King hasn’t been seen in public in what? Decades? Maybe a century? So then explain this—how did Zeezi do it? Did she go looking for him? Did he appear to her? Was she lucky enough to catch him on his one hour of availability this millennium?” Alastor’s fingers tightened around her glass of water, her perpetual grin never shifting but her irritation unmistakable now “It doesn’t make sense. None of it does. And somehow it’s always around me.”

He couldn’t meet her eyes.

Not because he didn’t want to—but because in that moment, what she said made far too much sense. She was right. They were the eyes and ears of Hell—he had eyes across every ring, and she could hear a whisper buried under stone. If anyone should’ve seen signs of the King or Queen, it should’ve been them. And yet all the news came secondhand. Zestial’s updates, Satan’s offhand calls. Vox never caught anything himself. No sightings. No leaks. Not a whisper of celestial presence unless someone spoon-fed it to him.

He stared at his wine glass, unsettled.

It truly didn’t make sense.

***

“Your friend was nice.”

Lucifer murmured as they stepped through the double doors of the hotel, his voice casual, though he wasn't entirely sure why he felt the need to say it. Maybe it was the way the tension had melted, finally, in the aftermath of that cursed meeting—the way the Cannibal Overlord, of all demons, had injected levity into the room like a carefully timed sedative. Maybe it was the warmth she carried, that disarming blend of charm and chaotic affection, so different from the sharp, refined severity that clung to most of the Overlords like ceremonial garb. Despite himself, he’d enjoyed that part—the reprieve. He could see it now, why Alastor kept her close. She wasn't like the others.

“Indeed” Alastor replied with a hum, casting a glance his way, her expression unreadable at first—but then, her lips curled at the corners, ever so slightly “And what is her name?” she asked, head tilting just slightly, voice light and laced with dry humor.

He froze.

The heel of his boot caught awkwardly on the marble tile as his body hesitated mid-stride. His smile faltered, stiffening around the edges, and in the pit of his stomach something heavy sank with a quiet, embarrassed thud “...Rose?” he ventured, though the name caught awkwardly on his tongue. It didn’t feel wrong, not entirely, but it didn’t feel right either. There was a pause—a soft, slow moment where he almost hoped she'd let it pass.

But of course she didn’t.

“Close enough” she said, one brow arching delicately as she turned to fully face him “Her name is Rosie” the amusement that curled at the edges of her mouth was subtle, but unmistakable—low and blooming like smoke. Her voice, however, held something sharper beneath the surface “I’m curious—how is it that you can’t seem to remember names? So far, Charlotte and I are exceptions. Your daughter, I can understand. But you never stumble with my name. And yet, you still call Charlie’s partner ‘Maggie.’”

She didn’t hide the disbelief, only shook her head slowly before adding “Her name is Vaggie. I’d hoped by the third correction, it might’ve clicked” there was a pause, and then a sigh, heavier than she likely intended “For a time, I wondered if it was a matter of newness. A failure to retain names of people you haven’t known long. But then again… you’ve never had any trouble remembering mine.”

A grimace crept across Lucifer’s face at the reminder of getting Charlie’s girlfriend’s name wrong—a mistake that had earned him plenty of annoyed stares from both women. He had a lingering suspicion about the inconsistency: perhaps he only remembered the names of those he truly cared about. Yet, even that didn’t fully explain why names of people he’d met long ago seemed etched into his memory while new ones constantly slipped his mind.

And then there was Alastor.

He couldn’t explain it. Not logically, anyway. Never—not even once—had he forgotten her name. That might’ve seemed trivial on the surface, even flattering, but it sat in his chest like a question he couldn’t answer. It didn’t make sense, did it? He could clearly recall their first meeting. Not fondly. In fact, he’d considered her more of a threat than anything else—presumptuous, arrogant, unsettling in that uncanny way her grin never quite wavered. Small physical attraction aside, he hadn’t cared about her back then. Or at least, that’s what he told himself. Because anything else would be… ridiculous. Utterly laughable. Completely insane. He didn’t just care for people—especially not quickly, and especially not those who riled him like she did.

But maybe care wasn’t the right word. Maybe it was something more visceral. Maybe Alastor just… couldn’t be ignored.

She was like a siren dressed in firelight, a glaring red silhouette against everything mundane and expected. She was unmistakable. Loud without shouting. Commanding without lifting a finger. Her presence had gravity. Her voice, her unnerving smile, the carved edge of her posture—each a note in some strange symphony that wormed its way under his skin. She was a frequency he couldn’t tune out. And he didn’t like that. Not one bit.

Which was why he certainly couldn’t tell her any of it.

So instead, he shrugged, lips curling into something mock-casual “I don’t know” he said with a practiced air, voice drifting off like a breeze that didn’t quite care where it landed “Maybe it’s because you’re just too egocentric. I’ve probably exchanged your name for that word instead.”

It would’ve ended there if he hadn’t opened his mouth again. He started to ramble. It happened sometimes—when he felt the heat beneath his collar and needed to deflect “When I think someone’s egocentric, I’ll just say, ‘Aren’t they so Alastor?’ I mean, if I opened a dictionary and looked up the word—honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised to see your—”

“Breathe, my dear” her voice was smooth, cutting gently through his spiral like the rim of a wine glass struck with a silver spoon.

He froze mid-sentence, mid-thought, the rhythm of his speech collapsing in on itself. A blink. A pause. Then a shallow breath as he brought a hand up to his chest “Yeah… that…” he muttered, throat dry, embarrassment flickering low in his voice.

“I appreciate the compliment, though” she replied as that earned a double blink. She smiled serenely, closing her crimson eyes for a beat as if letting the praise settle in her bones, luxuriating in it like a cat soaking up sunlight.

“It wasn’t a—” he started, but didn’t get far.

“Ah, ah, ah” she tsked, raising a finger and wagging it playfully just shy of his face, her expression drenched in theatrical delight “It doesn’t matter if you didn’t mean it as a compliment. I chose to take it as one.”

She lifted her chin, exuding that deliberate grace that so often danced the line between poise and provocation “Besides” she said with a loose shrug “Can you imagine who I’d be if I wasn’t this egocentric?” a laugh spilled from her lips—bold, musical, unapologetically genuine “The arrogance, the egocentrism, the entitlement I display on a daily basis—how could I not embrace it? It’s gotten me this far.”

He eyed her, top to bottom, slowly. Her presence didn’t shrink under his scrutiny—on the contrary, it only seemed to sharpen “You’re actually a sociopath” he remarked flatly, his voice laced with reluctant wonder “And you’re… actually satisfied with that?”

She stepped forward, not with menace, but with gravity. Her gaze found his and didn’t waver. In that instant, the teasing faded—not entirely, but enough to bare something deeper beneath it. Her voice was lower now. Intimate. Unflinching.

“Are you?” she asked, and it wasn’t rhetorical.

It was a mirror, clean and cold, held up with unnerving stillness.

“Are you satisfied with this life?”

Before he could answer—before he could even draw breath to deflect her question—Alastor seized his arm, and suddenly, they weren’t just standing in a hotel corridor anymore. She spun him. Graceful, deliberate, like the two of them had rehearsed a thousand times. The world blurred and twisted around them, a shift not just in space but in everything: color, weight, tone, even gravity. Music echoed somewhere far off—no, close. Inside his ribs. Around them, a room bloomed into existence, more stage than chamber. The Sins appeared, scattered like chess pieces as Alastor stood center stage, her smile carved in crimson certainty.

Her voice rang out, ethereal yet piercing, cutting through the surreal scene around him.

“I was pulling out my hair
The day I got the deal, chemically calm
Was I meant to feel happy that my life
Was just about to change?”

Her eyes locked on his. She didn’t blink. She didn’t need to. One by one, she handed contracts to the Sins, her grin widening with every signature. The ink hadn’t even dried and she was already reshaping the stage.

The scenery twisted again, a kaleidoscope of memory crashing into his vision. He recognized the streets—old, chaotic, Hell’s welcome mat in all its filthy chaos. A younger Alastor, that had just arrived to Hell, strode forward through the distortion, smaller perhaps, but lacking nothing in intent. The other demons sneered. They doubted her. Dismissed her. And yet her voice carved a path straight through them.

“One life pretending to be the cat who got the cream
Oh, everybody said, "Alastor is a dreamer"…”

Lucifer’s breath caught as she turned sharply toward him, stepping closer with a conspiratorial air, as if this performance was solely for his benefit.

“People like to tell you what you're gonna be
It's not my problem if you don't see what I see.”

An arrogant smirk stretched across her face, her movements confident as she strode through the memory’s streets, dismissing the whispers with a mere flick of her wrist.

“And I do not give a damn if you don't believe
My problem, it's my problem
That I never am happy
It's my problem, it's my problem
On how fast I will succeed.”

Her smirk widened as she pointed directly at Lucifer, her eyes gleaming with challenge.

“Are you satisfied with an average life?”

She gestured to herself with an indifferent shrug.

“Do I need to lie to make my way in life?”

Lucifer startled slightly as Alastor suddenly appeared beside him in a flash, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him close. Her energy was overpowering, almost magnetic.

“High achiever, don't you see?
Baby, nothing comes for free.”

She crooned, shaking her head knowingly.

“They say I'm a control freak
Driven by a greed to succeed
Nobody can stop me.”

She leaned in closer, her nose brushing against his for a fleeting moment, her excitement palpable.

“Cause it's my problem if I want to pack up and run away
It's my business if I feel the need to smoke and drink and sway.”

With another spin, Alastor sent him reeling through the air, the scenery morphing around them. When his feet landed, he recognized his palace—pristine but stiflingly familiar.

“It's my problem, it's my problem if I feel the need to hide
And it's my problem if I have no friends and feel I want to die.”

Before he could regain his bearings, Alastor guided him with a steady push straight into his old room, filled to the brim with rubber ducks.

“Are you satisfied with an average life?
Do I need to lie to make my way in life?”

She gestured to the ducks, her pointed look heavy with meaning.

“Are you satisfied with an easy ride?
Once you cross the line, will you be satisfied?”

And then, the mirror. She planted him in front of it as if daring him to look. His reflection stared back, tired and stiff and silent. Her arms snaked around him from behind, lifting his hands as if in prayer, the glint in her eyes daring him to deny what she already knew.

“Sad inside in this life, unsatisfied, praying.”

The mocking turned sorrowful, the tempo slower now. A sadness threaded through the sound, veiled in sarcasm, cloaked in questions that weren’t truly rhetorical.

“Sad inside in this life, unsatisfied, waiting.”

She tilted his head to the side, and the room shifted again. Now, he was standing before his throne. Alastor walked in front of him, arms open as if inviting him to take his place.

“Are you satisfied with an average life?
Do I need to lie to make my way in life?
Are you satisfied with an easy ride?
Once you cross the line, will you be satisfied?”

She circled him, her presence wrapping around him like a net. When she stopped, she stood behind him, her chin resting lightly on his hair. A small crown materialized in her hands, glinting faintly. She raised it into his line of sight.

“Black, white (are you satisfied, are you satisfied, are you satisfied?)
Black, white (are you satisfied, are you satisfied?)
Black, white (are you satisfied, are you satisfied, are you satisfied?)
Black, white (are you satisfied, are you satisfied?)”

He stared at the crown with a sad smile, the weight of her words settling in as the surreal world faded. They stood now in the hotel corridor, reality slowly seeping back in.

The little crown sat in his hands like a riddle. Small, unassuming, deceptively weightless—and yet it felt heavier than anything he’d carried in centuries. He stared at it in silence, its glint catching the soft glow of the corridor lights, reflecting his own hesitation back at him. His voice, when it came, was quiet. Unarmored “So you’re basically telling me that I’ll be satisfied with my life… if I start acting like the king I’m supposed to be?”

She didn’t press. She never did when it mattered. Just offered the kind of shrug that didn’t dismiss the thought “I’m telling you to try everything if you have to, until you find what satisfies you in life” her voice had softened, all of its usual theatrics stripped away, leaving something raw and real in its place. She met his gaze without flinching, her smile faint but rooted in truth “You could start with fulfilling your duties as a king. And…” she paused—barely, but enough for him to feel the weight of what she hadn't yet said “And if you’re still unhappy… we’ll try something else. And then something after that. And so on.”

It wasn’t a promise. It was a pact.

She continued talking “Anything… as long as you don’t lock yourself in your room again. You know that’s not good for you.”

He swallowed hard at that. There was no accusation in her tone, only concern threaded through quiet certainty. His room… that damn room with its cold silence and unblinking walls. A gilded cage he’d built himself, convinced it was safer in solitude, that rot spread slower in isolation. But she—she kept pushing the doors open, kept letting light bleed in where he wanted shadows.

His fingers curled slightly around the crown. He heard the word come out of his mouth before he even realized what it meant “We?” it was barely more than a breath, but the vulnerability in it hollowed his chest, stretched something taut behind his ribs.

She didn’t miss a beat “We” no flourish. No irony. Just that—spoken with calm conviction as she stepped closer, smoothing a hand gently through his hair, careful not to disturb the choice he was about to make.

So he made it.

He lifted the crown and placed it lightly atop his head, not with reverence but with a quiet kind of resignation—like slipping into a pair of shoes he hadn’t worn in ages and wasn’t sure still fit. He looked at her then. Really looked. And for the first time in too long, he smiled—not with pride, not with amusement, but with warmth. Quiet, grateful warmth.

And for now, that was enough.

***

They weren’t listening to him.

Not really.

Not the way he needed them to.

Words left his mouth and vanished into the static haze of choir-light and smug, celestial certainty. They weren’t hearing him because they didn’t want to. Because it was easier to pretend they already knew everything. Easier to stand on their gleaming pedestals and parrot protocol and divine purpose than admit even the faintest sliver of fear. So they brushed him off. Dismissed his warnings. His loss. His fucking missing arm. As if it were all just a smudge on parchment. As if it were nothing.

Michael... that bastard. That polished, golden bastard. Had he not been there? Had he not the same pressure closing in like the jaws of something unspeakable? Had he not tasted humiliation the way Adam had—choking on it, bleeding with it, burned by it? How could he sit there and call her—Alastor—just a "brazen sinner"? He said it like it was a joke. A flea. Not a threat. Not an anomaly. Just another bullet point in a meeting agenda he couldn’t be bothered to actually read. And then, with all the grace of a man flicking lint off his robe, he handed Adam his orders. "Another extermination. Six months. Take her down this time." As if they'd just forgotten to cross her off the last list.

Did he think this was still about targets and quotas?

A laugh ripped out of Adam's throat, sudden and jagged. It echoed down the marble hall, a hollow bark of disbelief. Was Michael serious? Was this real? Did he actually expect them—him—to go back down there and do it again? With that? His arm was gone. His fucking arm. And the fact that Michael hadn't been able to put it back—that, right there, was the point. That was the whole damn point. This wasn’t a typical sinner. This wasn’t anything they were prepared to face. And yet Michael just handed it down like a shopping list and moved on.

So Adam had gone to Sera. Himself. Alone. Just desperate, raw conviction in his voice, trying to make her see. He’d laid it out—every detail. Every broken piece of protocol. Every terrifying glimpse of something far beyond a sinner with a grudge. This wasn’t Hell politics. This wasn’t retribution. This was a declaration. War. But even Sera, swathed in her marble stillness, had looked at him with that same condescending calm.

Like he was emotional. Unstable. Exaggerating.

Fucking bitch.

“She’s not human” he muttered under his breath, pacing like a tethered dog in the empty corridor, boots pounding against the polished floors “None of them fucking are” the words burned in his mouth “The fuckers won’t get it until they’re dead…”

It struck him then—not like a blade, but a slow-sinking stone. The realization that no matter what he said, it wouldn't matter. Not until blood was spilling. Their blood. Until heaven’s walls rang with screams they’d never expected to hear. Until the white light started flickering.

He let out another laugh, this one quieter, more guttural—something torn from the belly and left to rot. It wasn’t funny. Not really. But how else was he supposed to cope? Angels... they lived in ivory towers, built on the assumption that divinity meant dominance. Untouchable. Infallible. And yet, they were blind. They’d never understood what humans were. Not really. They’d called them fragile, lesser, soft. But that softness was a lie.

But Adam knew better.

As a human, he had known desperation. Real desperation—not the paltry fear the angels whispered about in their white-gold sanctuaries, but the kind that wrapped itself around your bones and reminded you how breakable you really were. He knew what people became when the walls closed in. He’d seen men claw each other apart for breath, for dignity, for the last flicker of hope. Humanity had always lived shoulder to shoulder with danger, bred in dark corners and cold nights, and because of that, they’d evolved. They’d learned. They’d grown teeth and instinct and terrifying resolve. There was no elegance to it. No sanctity. Just raw, tangled will to survive. And that—that—was something angels would never understand. How could they? What did they know about fear that didn’t melt at the feet of their own righteousness? What did they know about weakness?

He wasn’t stupid. He knew what was coming.

Humans were dangerous because they had to be.

And now, when faced with something that should have frozen every choir into prayer and panic, all the Host could do was yawn.

“They didn’t listen, huh?”

The voice crashed through his thoughts like a shard of glass. He turned on instinct, body snapping to attention, breath catching halfway up his throat. Lilith stepped out from the shadows of the nearby pillar, casual as you please. His eyes darted through the corridor, scanning for movement, for light shifts, for anything—anyone—that might’ve seen her.

“What the fuck, Lilith?” he hissed, storming toward her with his voice pitched low and tight like a wire ready to snap “You’re supposed to stay hidden. That was the entire point of our deal” his hand raked down his face, half in disbelief, half to keep himself from hitting something “I let you into Heaven on the condition that you stayed out of sight. You think Sera or Michael would just shrug it off if they saw you strolling through the halls like a tourist?” he scoffed bitterly, voice dropping into something darker “Straight down you’d go. Right back with your second ex-husband.”

She rolled her eyes—not just unimpressed, but bored “Calm down” she said, brushing his panic away like lint from a sleeve “I checked. No one’s around.”

He opened his mouth to bark something sharp in return, but she held his gaze. And then she sighed—something soft, almost human—and her tone shifted “Answer me. They didn’t believe you, did they?”

He clenched his jaw, bit down on the roar in his throat, then let it out as something flatter “What do you think?” he snapped, sarcasm staining every word “Michael’s acting like I stubbed my fucking toe. He was there, Lilith. He saw what she did. That bitch caged us like dogs and he still calls her a ‘brazen sinner’ like that means anything” he looked away, jaw tight, hand flexing at his side “I went to Sera. Figured maybe, maybe, she’d take me seriously if I cut past all of Michael’s glowing bullshit and just told her what I saw. What I felt.”

His breath hitched on the laugh that followed. It was hollow. Cold.

“She thought I was exaggerating.”

He looked down at the space where his arm used to be and didn’t say anything for a long moment.

“They’re not taking this seriously” he said finally, and the words tasted like copper. Like failure.

“Of course they’re not” Lilith replied, her sardonic smile cutting through the tension “Because a tiny little human could never hurt an almighty, all-powerful archangel” she scoffed, her tone laced with bitterness.

He glanced at her sidelong, that brief flicker of acknowledgment like a gust across dry coals. Her expression shifted, seriousness descending over her like a veil. She met his eyes, something colder now staring back “Although… I told you before—I don’t think Alastor is just a simple sinner” she said, her voice lower, deliberate “She’s something else. We can’t think of her as a human either. I don’t know what the hell she is.”

The words found a seam in him and pressed, not cruelly—but firmly, undeniably. He grimaced. Not because he disagreed, but because she’d said out loud what he still hadn’t figured out how to admit to himself “I did think about it” he muttered, voice tight, unwilling to meet her gaze fully “But I still feel like she’s human. Just…” he let the word hang for a beat, rolling around in his mouth like a prayer he didn’t believe in “More.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, hand tense, eyes flicking toward the floor as if it might offer language for what his gut couldn’t articulate “She’s got that thing. That feeling. The one I get when I look at people like me or you—people with skin that used to sunburn and bones that used to break. That thing God gave me because I was the first. I can still sense them—the humans, even when they’re long gone” he waved his hand dismissively, as if brushing off theology he didn’t have time to explain “So… yeah. I still feel her as human. But she’s just... louder. Like her existence got turned up by eight. I don’t know why it’s that number, but it’s there. Like standing in front of a person made from eight other people. All of them screaming from inside the same skin.”

Lilith’s eyes narrowed, her lips parting as if she were trying to untangle the logic beneath his madness “That still doesn’t explain what she is” she said slowly, her voice taut with curiosity “A human… times eight. You saying her power’s eight times what a sinner’s should be?”

“No” he replied quickly, exasperated. His head dropped back against the pillar with a dull thud, and he let out a long, annoyed sigh “It’s not that simple. It’s not fucking math. I can’t explain it because it’s just... a thing I feel. And it only works for me. You wouldn’t get it” his fingers flexed uselessly at his side, the ghost of his missing arm aching in protest “Back at the meeting, standing in front of her… it was like I wasn’t alone. It was like there was a crowd inside her. Eight distinct presences shoved into one body. All thinking. All watching me. All her.”

Lilith sighed, the breath leaving her like defeat, shoulders lowering with the quiet weight of it “What are we supposed to do then?” she asked, her voice quieter now, laced with resignation “She’s already got my sorry excuse of a daughter and that useless bastard of an ex-husband on her side.”

He barked a bitter laugh, the kind that felt like it scraped raw across the back of his throat “I don’t know” he said, and for once, the sarcasm didn’t shield the vulnerability underneath “Give up and die?” it came out more honest than he’d meant, and he hated it. He ran a hand through his hair, muttering darkly “Can’t believe I’m saying this, but I guess I’ll have to actually do some research. That stupid damn library better have something useful buried under its forty feet of angelic pretension.”

His thoughts darkened as he muttered under his breath “And fucking God is not answering for shit.”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE | I LIKE THAT YOU… I DISLIKE THAT YOU…

“Are we going to visit the bad kitty you talked about, Miss Alastor?”

Alastor heard Niffty’s voice from behind her. It was only recently that she’d caught wind of Husker’s apparent ascent. Somehow, in the whirlwind of soul audits, contract confirmations, and ring squabbles, she’d let him slip through the cracks. All she remembered from her past life as Amelia was that Husker had arrived in Hell sometime in the seventies, details vague at best. She would have preferred to approach him right as he dropped, to snatch him up before inertia and vices calcified into something messier. But Hell rarely made room for ideal timelines. It was Rosie, bless her eternally polished soul, who’d brought it to her attention first—an odd little casino tucked away in a forgotten corner of the city that had been pulling a surprising amount of foot traffic. 

Apparently, Husker had taken to gambling souls. His own, specifically, which he wagered only in games he knew he could win. And as a rule, losers surrendered theirs. Simple. Effective. Incredibly reckless. It wasn’t a forbidden practice exactly, but it wasn’t common either. And when sinners started noticing he was amassing power with each win, that his list of claimed souls had begun to rival even lesser Overlords, the buzz turned into something louder. If he continued unchecked, the balance she had worked so diligently to establish would buckle under the weight of his volatility. She had built structure here—rules, etiquette, recognition systems, legitimacy. She had burned half of the old to the ground to make this place run, and she was not about to let it unravel because one mangy cat had decided to shortcut his way to power via poker chips and whiskey.

Vox, dutiful if chronically smug, had delivered a full report without being asked twice. His conclusions had been appropriately dire—anger issues, authority issues, gambling addiction, and a penchant for telling anyone within earshot to piss off. In other words: a walking liability. Which was why she now found herself making her way toward the casino’s entrance with both Vox and Niffty in tow. Vox because he was her glorified antenna, and Niffty... well. That one was a bit more personal. She’d seen the twitching, the restless energy, the irritation she couldn’t quite name. Something had been off. And Alastor, for all her delight in chaos, preferred her companions sharp—not frayed.

Behind her, Vox scoffed “Are you deaf, Niffty?” he snapped, sweeping past Alastor with his usual flair. He wrenched the door open with exaggerated courtesy before leveling a deadpan look back over his shoulder “She already said this. Twice.”

Niffty’s head whipped to him, her smile gone in an instant “I asked Boss, not you, screen-face” she said, stepping through the doorway with a glare so narrow it could’ve slipped through a crack in the wall “It’s not of your concern.”

“Oh, it is my concern” Vox shot back, slamming the door a little too forcefully once Alastor had crossed through “When your constant chirping makes her repeat herself like she’s auditioning for a radio loop.”

“You’d know all about loops” Niffty hissed, fluffing her apron “You’ve been stuck repeating the same three catchphrases and brand slogans since the fifties.”

Vox laughed, the sound sharp and glitchy “That’s rich, coming from someone who dresses like a haunted oven mitt and cleans like she’s trying to erase her sins.”

“At least I clean” she snarled “Maybe if someone scrubbed that screen of yours once in a while you’d see things clearly for once.”

Alastor stopped walking, her eyes sweeping over the interior as though none of it surprised her. The glow of slot machines. The clatter of chips. The low thrum of hazard hidden in revelry “Children” she said dryly “Enough” her voice, though light, held an edge of steel.

The two of them froze. Vox folded his arms tightly, lips pressed into a hard line. Niffty hummed innocently, though the glare she threw his way could’ve drawn blood. Alastor continued “Yes, Niffty, we’re here for the cat sinner. And Vox, how many times must I tell you not to be rude to Niffty? I brought you both to observe, not to audition for a telenovela.”

Behind her, Vox muttered something under his breath about irrational sidekicks, and Niffty stuck out her tongue with the grace of a child and the intent of a knife.

The noise from deeper within the casino stole her attention then—cheers, shouting, the distinct rhythm of risk and loss—and when her eyes finally settled on the raucous ring of sinners clustered around the central table, she didn't need to guess who sat at its center. The roar of the crowd made it obvious. She smoothed her coat, exhaled softly, and made her way toward the commotion. Ah, she needed to determinate whether this little casino was an asset in the making… or a problem waiting to be erased.

The sea of noise grew louder the closer Alastor walked. Cheers rang like broken bells, sinners pressed against the table like gamblers possessed, all shouting with the fervor of the damned for the final reveal. She arrived with steady steps, her crimson gaze sweeping across the chaos and landing, unerringly, on the centerpiece of the spectacle: Husker. He lounged with one arm resting casually on the table, the other tipping a nearly empty bottle to his lips with practiced ease. His eyes gleamed with smug satisfaction, a sharp contrast to the jittery wreck seated across from him. The other sinner—a gangly, sweat-drenched figure with shaking hands—held his cards tight, knuckles white, his expression pulled taut between defiance and dread.

“C’mon already!” one voice hollered from the crowd “Just show your damn cards!”

“Quit stallin’, ya bastard!” yelled another.

The frenzy built like static. Alastor folded her hands behind her back and tilted her head slightly as Husker leaned forward, his words drenched in liquor and mockery “What’s wrong, hotshot?” he purred, his grin stretching too wide “You were all bark earlier when you threw your soul into the pot. Not so confident anymore?” he took another swig straight from the bottle, smacking his lips and chuckling as the sinner across from him glared down at his hand, jaw clenched.

Finally, with a jerk of resolve—or perhaps desperation—the sinner slapped his cards down. Two pairs. Sevens and fours. A murmur rippled through the crowd, rising into disappointment and jeers. Husker, without missing a beat, let out a dramatic scoff and fanned his cards one by one onto the table: three tens, two jacks. A full house. Perfectly played. He threw his head back with a bark of laughter as sinners erupted into cries of disbelief, some cheering, others groaning in frustration.

“Hah! Like taking candy from a baby” Husker boasted, lifting the bottle in mock salute. Alastor didn’t react. She simply watched.

Vox, behind her, let out a sharp, static-flecked sigh “Ugh” he muttered, arms folded “Kill me now.”

“Whooo! Get him, kitty!” Niffty cheered gleefully beside him, clapping her hands like a spectator at a bloodsport match. Her eye glittered with manic delight, clearly enjoying the cacophony more than the cards.

The defeated sinner bolted from his seat, panic overriding pride. But he didn’t get far. Alastor’s eyes flicked to the movement just as a green chain burst into view, glowing with arcane weight and latching tightly around the fleeing man’s neck. The other end slithered through the air, curling straight into Husker’s outstretched hand. With one hard yank, the cat sinner pulled his prize back to the table, laughing so loud it echoed. The crowd roared in response, feeding off the cruelty like it was theater.

“Where you think you’re going, champ?” Husker cackled, slamming the bottle on the table and towering over the trembling sinner “You made the bet. You lost. That shiny soul of yours is mine now.”

He leaned in, eyes glinting with inebriated glee “Now go be useful for once and buy a round for the table—drinks for everyone!” he shouted, throwing his arms wide to the cheer of the crowd. The mob responded instantly, howling and pounding fists against the table in celebration.

Alastor watched in silence, unreadable, hands still neatly tucked behind her back. Husker basked in his moment, downed the last of his bottle, then slammed it down with dramatic flourish. He turned, grin crooked and eyes half-lidded with intoxication.

“Who’s next?!” he bellowed, slurring slightly as he gestured wide “Come on! Anyone got the guts to play against me? Don’t be shy—I got time to kill and souls to win!”

The room burst into another roar.

The moment Alastor stepped forward, her heels tapped the tile like punctuation marks, sharp and certain. She stood tall, her crimson eyes gleaming as the corners of her smile tugged upward with unsettling charm, perfectly controlled “My, my… it really does seem like everyone here is having such fun” she cooed, her voice sweet just enough to draw every head toward her “It would be so cruel of me not to take part in it.”

The effect was immediate and suffocating. Half the room fell dead silent, it wasn’t just the crowd that was surrounding Husker had heard her, it had been everyone. Cards froze midair, drinks paused inches from lips, laughter choked itself into awkward coughs. The noise didn’t just die—it collapsed. Those who knew recognized the voice first. The Radio Demon. The myth turned flesh turned ruler. The one who rewrote the laws of Hell like sheet music and made the Sins bow whether they liked it or not. She was here, in the flesh. The same monster who’d split a ballroom in half with a grin and redrew territories with a wink. And she’d just spoken with that same polite lilt—casual, charming, and soaked in barely veiled power.

The sinners that didn’t freeze—mostly street dwellers or dazed newcomers—merely blinked, confused by the sudden tension in the air. A ripple of unease spread as others began to edge away from the table. But Husker, blissfully ignorant in his perfect mixture of half-knowledge and half-cockiness, simply leaned back, grinning as he flicked his cards against the felt “Well damn” he drawled, raising a brow “Pretty lady’s definitely welcome at the table. Plenty of room for you.”

Several sinners gasped. One actually whimpered. Another spun on his heel and bolted, bumping past onlookers as he muttered “Nope, nope, fuck this, I’m not dying today.”

“What? Who is she?” a voice whispered near the bar.

“Shut the fuck up” another sinner hissed, grabbing the first by the collar and dragging him back “Don’t say a damn word. Don’t even breathe in her direction.”

A third tried—and failed—to whisper quietly “The Radio Demon really is hot though…”

A choir of panicked “Shhhh!!” followed.

Alastor’s chuckle rolled out slow and bright, but it dripped with annoyance like honey over broken glass. She approached him without breaking stride, eyes locked on Husker with a radiating calm that dared him to look away. She didn’t appreciate the greeting—oh, she rarely did—but she let it pass. For now. She slipped into the seat across from him, legs crossed, expression unreadable “While I’m sure playing would be... invigorating” she said smoothly, voice crisp with intent “I’m actually here on business.”

Husker snorted and waved her off, tipping the new bottle to his lips again “You’re killing the mood, lady. Scaring off my customers” he nodded toward the front, where three more sinners were already halfway to the exit, panic fully setting in.

One of them shouted without looking back “Fuck this—I’m not risking it!” and fled into the smoke-hazed crowd, now thinning at the edges with growing survival instinct.

Alastor hummed lightly, her tone lilting with amusement. She raised one hand “Vox, dear” she said without looking away from Husker “Please don’t let the riffraff scatter.”

With a devilish grin, Vox lifted a hand and snapped his fingers toward the ceiling. Instantly, the casino groaned as power shifted—lights above popped and flickered. Sparks snapped to life inside the walls. Electrical wiring broke free with a shriek of tearing plaster, slithering down from the rafters like metallic vines. They wove together at the front entrance, forming a sparking barrier of twisted metal and charged arcs—a shimmering gate of threat and promise. Anyone foolish enough to test it would fry on impact.

Gasps filled the room. Several sinners backed away from the door like it had grown teeth. A few collapsed into chairs, pale and defeated.

Alastor’s grin widened as her full attention was on Husker. His glare had sharpened, bottle clenched tighter now, irritation creeping across his face in deepening lines “I’m afraid you’re mistaken” she said sweetly “I can be quite entertaining—even while discussing business” her eyes gleamed “You just have to listen very carefully.”

Husker slammed the bottle on the table, a snarl coming out “If you think I’m going be intimidated by a few magic tricks, you’ve got another thing coming” he opened his hand, a flick of energy summoning razor-edged playing cards into existence “You’re not the only one with party tricks.”

Alastor sighed softly, tilting her head, a delicate motion of regret “Mm. You really are so much more troublesome than I hoped you’d be.”

Her pupils twisted as her Sharingan flared to life, tomoes spinning slowly—measured, precise. She locked eyes with him.

“Sit.”

Husker didn’t get a chance to blink. The cards in his hand disintegrated into ash. His knees buckled, arms jerking uselessly to the sides. He collapsed into the seat across from her like a puppet dropped by its strings. The moment his spine touched the chair, control returned to him—but only barely.

“What the—?! The fuck was that?!” he barked, snarling as he tried to stand again, only to freeze beneath her gaze.

Still with her eyes glowing, Alastor smiled—sharp, quiet, patient “Be a good kitty” she said, voice lowered to a murmur “And listen to what I say.”

The room didn’t breathe.

Not until she decided it could.

***

“So… as I explained the rules” Charlie began, her hands clasped together as she addressed the group sitting in a circle before her “Everyone will say something they like about the person to their right and something that… Mmm… might upset them about the person to their left” her bright smile faltered slightly as she added “Then we’ll do the opposite: a nice thing for the person to your left, and an annoyance for the person to your right.”

She paused, taking a deep breath as her smile grew more nervous “Please be mindful of your words.”

Alastor let out a long, theatrical sigh, folding her hands neatly in her lap. Forced into yet another group activity. She cast a glance to her right—Lucifer, posture ramrod straight, eyes brimming with polite dread—and then to her left, where Husker sat slouched and scowling as if this entire circle-of-sharing had personally offended him. Lovely. This was going to end in chaos. And yet… how she would’ve preferred to be seated next to her darling Niffty, if only for some excitable commentary or enthusiastic praise. At least then she’d have entertainment.

Charlie started, naturally—taking the plunge herself, if only to drag the rest of them in behind her. She turned to her right with that sunbeam of a smile fixed tightly on her face “I love that you give me massages when I feel too stressed” she said to Vaggie, voice warm and affectionate “It really calms me down.”

Vaggie chuckled softly, returning the smile “It’s nice to know you like them, even though you’ve told me that countless times.”

Then Charlie turned left. Toward Lucifer. And her smile faltered by half a degree.

“Dad…” she began, voice laced with a nervous laugh and the quiet, inevitable regret of realizing too late that sitting beside one’s father in an honesty circle was strategic suicide “I… kind of dislike—uh, but you can still do it if you want” she rushed, visibly panicking as she saw his brow twitch “It’s just—when you come into my room to wake me up super early in the morning… could you maybe knock first? Since I… uh… sleep with Vaggie. Please?”

Lucifer sputtered slightly, reaching for his collar like it might save him “Right… of course. You are… a grown-up” he managed, clearly recalibrating as he stumbled through a flustered laugh “I should knock. Yep. Got it. Never doing it again.”

The silence that followed was thick with secondhand embarrassment. Charlie gave him an encouraging thumbs-up, eyes wide with relief, and quickly turned to Vaggie “Your turn.”

Vaggie nodded, always the brave soldier, brows drawing in as she turned to Sir Pentious on her right “…Umm…” she began, visibly digging for something sincere to say “I like that you’re taking redemption seriously. That you’re actually working on becoming a better person” she seemed proud of that answer.

“Thank you so much, Miss Vaggie” Sir Pentious replied with an exaggerated hiss “I am feeling very accomplished with my efforts thus far.”

“…Charlie…” Vaggie began hesitantly, glancing at her girlfriend. Seeing Charlie’s reassuring smile, she relaxed slightly “I love you, but… maybe leave the cooking to someone else?”

“That’s fair” Angel Dust chimed in, unable to resist a snort of laughter.

Charlie smiled sheepishly, shrugging “I know, I know” she looked to Sir Pentious “Your turn.”

The snake demon tapped his chin thoughtfully “Uhh… I guess I like that Angel Dust occasionally gives me fashion advice” he said, sounding surprisingly genuine “It’s good to stay, as they say, on trend.”

He turned to Vaggie then, expression still a touch performative but not unkind “Miss Vaggie, you are rather stern” he observed, voice crisp “Not a bad thing, per se, but it can be… unsettling to some.”

Vaggie grimaced slightly but nodded in understanding. Charlie patted her arm reassuringly “Great work, Sir Pentious. Angel, you’re up.”

Angel Dust let out a sigh, the sort that carried the weight of a dozen group exercises and not nearly enough drugs. His gaze slid toward Niffty, who seemed to be vibrating in her seat with her usual rabid enthusiasm. He scratched the side of his head, clearly stalling “Niffty… Uh… Damn” a pause “You’re really good at… uh… killing bugs before they even notice you?” his tone climbed uneasily, dangling somewhere between compliment and question, as if unsure which would keep him safest.

Niffty didn’t hesitate. She let out a cackle, sharp and delighted, her posture straightening as her hands twitched in anticipation “Well, of course! I always pounce from above—so sneaky! They never hear my teeny-tiny steps” she chirped, head swiveling slightly as her eye darted to the floor in search of any potential victims. Even her glee had a macabre flavor, charming and deranged.

“Right” Angel muttered, deadpan, before turning to Sir Pentious with more direct irritation “Okay, Pentious, find another hour to do your shit, will ya? I’m trying to sleep, and I can hear you banging around at two in the damn morning.”

The snake demon looked down apologetically “I’m sorry… It’s just that my motivation to invent tends to strike late at night.”

Lucifer, across the circle, gave a solemn nod—clearly understanding the affliction of inspired insomnia. Alastor resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Of course those two would bond over inconvenient ambition.

“Well…” Charlie’s voice rose, trying to redirect with a tight-lipped smile that had started to twitch with restraint “That was blunt, but I think it’s good Sir Pentious acknowledged Angel’s concern. Niffty, your turn.”

Niffty’s entire posture shifted as she crossed her arms and puffed her cheeks in exaggerated offense “Aww, but I don’t have anything nice to say about Husker” she declared, her voice lilting “He never listens to Miss Alastor—what an ungrateful little kitty” she huffed and turned her body dramatically away from Husker’s vacant stare.

Charlie offered a nervous chuckle, folding her hands like they might keep the moment from fraying “Niffty, are you sure? You guys have known each other for a long time… there must be something.”

“Niffty, my dear” Alastor interjected smoothly, her grin sharp and her tone cheerful “You enjoy collecting Husker’s feathers when he drops them as he walks about, do you not? Surely, that’s something pleasant to share” she added, her crimson gaze flickering toward Niffty knowingly. She was well aware of how this version of her held a certain disdain for the cat.

Niffty lit up instantly “Ooh, I love his feathers” she squealed, bouncing in her seat “I collect them, you know—sometimes I use them for my dolls” the sentence hung in the air like a freshly lit match.

Then her head jerked sharply toward Angel Dust, eye narrowing though her tone remained deceptively bubbly “And you, mister, are the absolute dirtiest of everyone here.”

A beat. A pause. A perfectly sharpened silence.

Alastor let out a low, amused snort. Vaggie’s lips twitched toward a smile before discipline returned to her expression. Sir Pentious looked away, shoulders shaking slightly with silent mirth.

Angel Dust opened his mouth, looked like he had a retort forming… but it fizzled. He sighed, shoulders deflating, and muttered “Yeah… once again… fair, I guess.”

Charlie’s smile was tinged with quiet amusement now, clearly aware of the absurd equilibrium she was balancing this room upon, yet committed to seeing it through “Husker, your turn” she said warmly, trying to keep the energy optimistic—though the tension lingered like a stubborn fog.

The cat gave Alastor a side-eye that radiated pure resentment. She met it with a perfectly curved smile, all edges hiding the razors beneath. It didn’t need to be wide. Just sharp. His ears twitched involuntarily, like prey sensing a trap “…I guess… her voice is nice” he muttered finally, each syllable laced with that blank, defeated tone of someone being forced to recite from a hostage script. Then, quicker than she expected, he turned left and grunted in Niffty’s direction “You’re annoying. Don’t butt in when Alastor’s talking to me.”

The room tensed with the precision of a drawn string.

Niffty’s cheer vanished so violently it might as well have shattered on the floor. Her smile twisted into something feral. With an alarming hiss and a flicker of movement, she produced a long, silver needle—where from, no one could say—and launched herself at Husker with surprising force. The sinner cat cursed and stumbled backward, chair clattering to the ground beneath him. But she didn’t land.

Before her needle could touch fur, a black tendril surged from the ground like a serpent, wrapping itself expertly around Niffty’s body and hoisting her midair. Her tiny limbs flailed with indignation, the tip of the needle quivering in fury as it hovered just out of reach.

“But Miss Alastor” she whined, her pouting tone laced with manic energy “Stab stab… the mean kitty.”

Alastor didn’t turn her head. She merely arched a brow and let the static roll out slow and menacing like a creeping tide. The voltage in the air shifted as Husker froze on the floor, his gaze snapping to her with grudging understanding.

“You know better than to rile her up” Alastor said calmly, her voice edged with cold amusement as she lowered the bug demon gently back into her seat with a flick of her fingers. The tentacle receded without flair, and Niffty settled with an exaggerated huff, arms folded, muttering something venomous to the floor.

“Whatever” Husker grumbled, brushing himself off as he scrambled upright, noticeably shaken but too proud to fully admit it.

Charlie cleared her throat with forced brightness “Thank you for intervening, Alastor. Now… it’s your turn.”

The radio demon turned her fixed, unnerving smile on Lucifer, who visibly tensed, bracing for what was to come “Mmm…” Alastor hummed, her voice drawn out playfully “I must admit, I admire your efforts to reconnect with dear Charlotte—such a noble endeavor” she declared, her grin widening theatrically “And catching up on your neglected duties as king, of course” she added with a nonchalant shrug.

The two Morningstars exchanged teary glances, deeply moved despite the words cutting undertone. Alastor, uninterested in their reaction, shifted her gaze sharply to her left.

“Well” she drawled slowly, now gazing at Husker with that gleam she reserved for prey that didn’t know it was cornered “This one is rather simple” Husker’s expression hardened into a glare, jaw tight, but she tilted her head, eyes gleaming “I simply loathe your hypocrisy.”

“My… hypo—?” he began, but the words stopped dead, his mouth suddenly locked in silence, lips unable to move.

“Alastor, please don’t” Charlie said gently, stepping forward, her voice carrying that same pleading exhaustion she used with difficult people.

Alastor rolled her eyes with a theatrical sigh, snapped her fingers, and let Husker speak again. He coughed as his voice returned, glaring daggers in every direction but hers.

“My apologies” Alastor said brightly, insincerity dripping off every syllable as she turned away with flourish, arm extending toward the next in line “But it is our king’s turn now.”

Lucifer gave a stiff laugh, clearly scrambling to catch the baton of attention “Uhh… right” he muttered, straightening his shoulders with practiced regality. He turned to Charlie with a smile far too warm for the ambiance “Charlie, my sweet duckling… I love everything about you” he said, voice lifting with nostalgic charm “But if I had to pick something specific, I’d say I love that you’re someone who fights for her dreams.”

“Aww, Dad…” Charlie blinked rapidly, her smile glowing, the tension momentarily softened by heartfelt paternal nonsense “Thank you so much.”

Lucifer turned back to Alastor then, his grin slicker, eyes narrowing with mischief “Now… something I dislike about you…” he tapped a finger to his chin as if pondering gravely “Well… I’m still trying to decide if you’re a sociopath who means well or a master manipulative Bambi” he said lightly, laughter slipping into his voice “Every time you insult me, it really does tend to get under my skin.”

“That’s a fucking lie if I ever heard one” Angel muttered dryly from across the circle, earning a conspiratorial smirk from Vaggie.

Alastor’s smile didn’t flicker “Oh, Your Majesty” she purred, tone as warm as sunlight on glass shards “Your words are truly music to my ears.”

“Alright” Charlie exclaimed, clapping her hands with an enthusiasm that was equal parts genuine and performative. She gestured toward herself with that familiar, eager grin before sweeping her gaze to the circle of mismatched sinners and royalty seated around her “That’s our first round. Now let’s switch it up and do the opposite” she looked toward her father, her voice warming immediately “Dad” she began, and the affection in her tone was as effortless as it was sincere “I love that even though you’re as terrible at cooking as I am, you still try to make me pancakes.”

Lucifer’s cheeks flushed at his daughter’s words, and a look of bashfulness flickered across his regal features.

Charlie turned next to Vaggie, her voice lowering slightly, growing more intimate “And… Vaggie, I love how much you try to support me in all my activities, but… if you ever don’t feel comfortable doing something, I’d rather know. I wouldn’t want to see you forcing yourself through anything that makes you unhappy” there was a sincerity there, a hint of vulnerability beneath the steadiness, and it sat between them like a whisper that needed no further explanation.

That delicate moment, of course, didn’t stand a chance.

“Why does she get to skip the activities and not us?” Angel Dust barked from across the circle, rolling his eyes with enough drama to power a spotlight. His arms folded, legs crossed defiantly, clearly eager for friction.

Vaggie didn’t hesitate “Because, unlike you, I actually care about this, and I don’t want to skip them just because I don’t want to do them” she snapped, the edge in her voice sharp as glass. Her patience was thin, and it showed.

Charlie quickly raised her hands, voice cutting in louder to redirect the rising tension “Okay! Your turn, Vaggie.”

There was a pause—just long enough for Vaggie to take a breath, push down the bite in her lungs, and collect herself “Charlie” she said at last, her voice gentler now, steadied by something more grounded “I love your enthusiasm and your optimism about everything you find wonderful” her eyes lingered on Charlie’s softened expression, the way her cheeks flushed at the praise, the way she mouthed I love you with unguarded affection. It drew a smile from Vaggie that was quieter, but no less genuine.

Then she turned, shifting her weight slightly to face Sir Pentious. Her tone cooled but didn’t lose its civility “And… I guess I dislike the fact that you’re still trying to buy weapons, even though you’re trying to reform. Although” she added after a pause “At least you’re not using them to hurt anyone.”

“At this point” Pentious said, his voice smooth and accompanied by a calm hiss “I have them more for protection. Since… Miss Alastor and the King informed us about the possible upcoming war.”

That word settled like ash over the circle. A shared stillness passed between them—grimaces from most, a tightening of shoulders, a pause that quieted even Angel’s restlessness. All except Alastor, who remained poised and untouched by the shift in mood, as always.

Sir Pentious cleared his throat lightly, his voice lifting again with gentle calculation “Ahh… since it’s my turn, then—I suppose I like that Miss Vaggie is very apt and formidable with her spear. It reminds me of some of the fighters I used to see in my time while I was alive.”

Vaggie’s expression relaxed into something small and grateful, her nod respectful, her tone honest “Thanks, Pentious. I appreciate the compliment.”

The snake demon gave a polite nod before glancing toward Angel Dust, voice measured and composed as if stepping around eggshells “I suppose... I’m not very comfortable when you trick me into believing something is trending when it’s really not” he said carefully, each word chosen like he was disarming a bomb with a glove and a smile.

Angel cringed immediately, the memory clearly hitting harder than he'd anticipated. For once, the swagger slipped, his fingers nervously tugging at the hem of his shirt “Yeah... sorry. I won’t do that again” he muttered, his voice unusually sincere, unusually quiet. Before Charlie could offer her obligatory buffer of reassurance, he raised his hand and kept going “So... my turn.”

He bit his lower lip, eyes darting to Pentious “I like that... even though you came here planning to spy on us, you’re actually really nice” the admission came with a sheepish smile—genuine, awkward, honest in a way that made Pentious blink twice, almost disarmed by the compliment’s softness.

Then, predictably, the moment turned. Angel swiveled toward Niffty and deadpanned with perfect timing “You’re a freak.”

“Thanks!” Niffty chirped, clapping her tiny hands together in glee as if being called a freak had just made her week “Ooooh, my turn, my turn!” she squealed, practically vibrating “I love your fluffiness. Sometimes I find little tufts of your fluff on the floor, and guess what? I collect them to make myself a pillow!” her eye sparkled with giddy delight as she bounced in her seat, clearly proud of this macabre crafting habit “Miss Alastor even gives me some of hers—so my pillow is the softest thing in all of Hell!”

Lucifer’s gaze snapped toward Alastor like a bloodhound catching scent. His pupils narrowed at her ears with calculated curiosity.

Without so much as looking at him, Alastor’s voice cut across “Try to touch them and I will devour you” her tone was flat. Absolute. Not a trace of playfulness beneath the threat.

Lucifer opened his mouth—likely to deflect or charm his way into a tease—but she didn’t allow it “No” she said, sharper this time, her tone slicing clean through the room “I am not joking. Do not touch them, Your Majesty.”

The King of Hell shut his mouth with an audible click and slumped into a pout, folding his arms like a chastised schoolboy. Still, his eyes lingered—not on her ears this time, but lower. Curious. Calculating. He frowned, lips parting slightly as a new theory sparked in his mind. ‘Could it be…? A tail. Of course. She had to have a tail. That kind of fluff couldn’t be limited to her ears alone.’ And sure, he'd seen her coat off—but magic could hide anything. His mind raced, pulled down a ridiculous rabbit hole of speculative anatomy until he didn’t even notice the flick of her eyes in his direction or the brief twitch of irritation that flared in her cheek.

Niffty, mercifully oblivious to the anatomical speculation spiraling beside her, spun toward Husker next, her tone curdling with sudden venom “Everything” she spat, her high voice shrill “He doesn’t respect Miss Alastor” the words hissed like acid from her lips, her previously bubbly facade crumbling into open fury.

Husker sighed, already exhausted. He didn’t dignify it with more than a dry roll of his eyes “You clean well” he said simply, glancing at Niffty with visible disinterest “A little too well” then, sighing again, he shifted his gaze reluctantly to Alastor, expression pained “Quoting Niffty… everything.”

Charlie moved to intervene, mouth opening to patch the atmosphere before it tore too far, but Alastor raised her hand and stopped her with a smile that never once cracked “It’s alright, Charlie” she said calmly, her voice smooth, controlled, unbothered “I don’t mind at all.”

She inhaled, then tilted her head slightly toward Husker, her gaze never blinking “My turn. It’s very simple” she said, every syllable a bell toll “I enjoy his usefulness. He obeys like a good little pet.”

Husker growled low in his throat, ears flattening, but the sound died there. He couldn’t speak—not because he was silenced, but because he knew nothing he said would make a dent.

“And as for our king himself…” Alastor arched a single brow, delicately, like a knife being unsheathed, her gaze settling on Lucifer with amused disdain as he tried—pitifully—to smile off what was coming “Do you really have to dress like a clown?” she asked sweetly, letting the disappointment in her tone settle in like an overcast shadow. Not anger. Just sincere disapproval, as if lamenting a fallen artist’s descent into gaudy kitsch.

Lucifer’s reaction was immediate, like prodding a hornet's nest. He shot to his feet with an exaggerated scoff and pointed straight at her with the righteous indignation of someone who’d just been told their crown was plastic “I dress with style” he snapped, his voice full of that royal petulance he wore like a second cape “What about you? You think red is a personality—or what?” he crossed his arms with a huff, muttering “Red and black… how original…”

Alastor blinked at him once, slow and unimpressed, before countering coolly “Because red and white is?” her voice soured with disbelief, each syllable dropping like unwelcome rain on fresh silk “You look like a ringmaster from a traveling circus that’s one fire hazard away from bankruptcy.”

Lucifer gasped as if she'd insulted his bloodline “And we’re not in the twenties anymore. Keep up, grandma.”

She stood with all the poise of a guillotine rising “Grandma?” her voice was lower now, razor-glass wrapped in velvet “This from the one created before the Earth was even a thought in the stars?” she let out a scoff, quiet and bitter, as her eyes glittered like polished garnet.

“Ahh, guys…” Charlie interjected weakly, both hands raised, smile stretched tight like a poorly stitched wound. She knew the rhythm of this sparring match. It was always a step away from catching fire.

“At least I know how to use a cellphone” Lucifer grumbled, arms crossing again, chin lifting in defiance.

Alastor’s smile twitched “I know how to use one, darling” she replied, tone calm but sharp as a taut piano wire “I simply choose not to. What’s your excuse for having the sweet tooth and stature of a child?”

Lucifer sputtered, eyes flaring with irritation “Stop making comments about my height!” he snapped, words catching on their own heat “…You… tall… pole!”

Alastor tilted her head “Poetry” she said flatly, her smile bone-dry “See? Even your vocabulary’s stuck in grade school.”

Lucifer stepped forward, his glow rising, eyes burning brighter now “Why don’t you come closer and see how this ‘child’ breaks your spine?” he raised a hand, threat flaring with theatrical menace.

Alastor stepped closer without flinching, her posture perfect, spine straight and still regal even as her grin widened “Oh? Resorting to physical aggression now? How very like a child who’s losing an argument” she let her laughter spill out, low and amused, letting it cut not with cruelty, but pity.

And then, the memory came to her.

She should have known the moment she opened the fridge and found an empty container, its lid askew, the little sticky note still neatly intact—her handwriting unmistakable, looping and red: DO NOT TOUCH. Alastor’s. Contains human meat. She had even underlined it, for hell’s sake. Twice. But that meant nothing, apparently. Not in a household where his Majesty the Eternal-Thorn-in-Her-Side-Who-Also-Happened-To-Be-Her-Soulmate thought himself exempt from every damn instruction that wasn’t gilded in prophecy.

“And while we’re on the topic of impulsive, idiotic behavior” she said coldly, with a smile too bright to be kind “Tell me, what was it that possessed you to ignore a clearly labeled container and eat something not meant for you?”

Lucifer blinked “…What?”

“The leftovers, Your Majesty” she said, teeth gritted behind her grin “The beef birria ramen. The very specific birria I made yesterday. With the reduction sauce. And the garnish. And the carved lettering on the lid that said Alastor, do not touch, contains—”

“Ohhhh” he groaned, face twisting in realization “That was yours?”

“It had my name on it” Alastor snapped.

Lucifer waved a dismissive hand, clearly hoping charm would carry him through the rest of this nightmare “Well, I didn’t read the label—I was hungry! And it was the only thing in there that didn’t look like it was about to grow legs and crawl out! I thought it was just—birria with ramen! Regular, non-murder-birria!”

Alastor’s smile grew with maliciousness, her eyes flicked up and down his frame, then fixed on his face with unsettling stillness “I told you” she said evenly “That I use human meat in many of my recipes. That I require it, in fact. And now you’ve ingested it.”

Lucifer paled “Wait… that—that wasn’t a joke?”

“Oh yes” she replied flatly “Because I so often joke about my dietary curses. Tell me, how long did it take to feel the wrongness crawling up your divine throat?”

He gagged, just remembering it “I thought it was just bad seasoning!” he hissed, clutching his stomach like the memory alone would purge the flavor “You didn’t need to go full horror show with the recipe! You’re such a control freak—labeling your meals like it’s some sacred relic. It was a mistake!”

Alastor’s jaw twitched. Her hand rose slowly, fingers curling, green fire blooming against her palm like a coiled vine ready to snap “A mistake?” she echoed, her voice too calm “You barge into my kitchen, steal my food, ignore a clearly written label, and now you’re calling me a control freak?”

Lucifer narrowed his eyes, lifting his own hand in mirrored threat, a glowing fireball pulsing in his palm, twisting with gold and red “Maybe if you didn’t treat everything like it’s part of your precious little stage production, people wouldn’t need a decoder ring to live in the same house!”

“I was here first” she snapped “You came next. An impulsive idiot who eats like a raccoon and thinks volume is an acceptable substitute for manners!”

“Oh, that’s rich” he hissed, stepping closer, his fireball now illuminating the edges of his coat “Coming from someone who monologues over dinner like it’s a radio broadcast!”

“It is a broadcast!” she barked, the flame flaring “Everything I do is better heard. Which is more than I can say for your misplaced culinary adventures!”

“Why do you even have leftovers if they’re sacred, you culinary demon-witch?!”

“Because unlike you, I plan ahead. You impulsive, crown-polishing man-child!”

“Alright, for the love of Hell, put the fireballs down!” Charlie’s voice rang out with enough force to shake the tension as she threw herself between them, arms outstretched like she was breaking up two unruly schoolchildren instead of two of the most powerful beings in Hell. Her eyes darted between them—Alastor poised with green flame curling at her palm, Lucifer’s crimson fireball crackling faintly in the air beside him “That’s enough. Please don’t fight” she added, her words quick and strained, her hands trembling slightly as they hovered in the dead space between their fury “I thought you were over hating each other. Isn’t that what you said? That you were done?”

Lucifer was the first to lower his hand, the energy melting back into his skin with a soft hiss as he exhaled through his teeth. His expression softened toward his daughter, though his pride remained faintly bruised “Oh, sweetie, no… you’ve misunderstood” he said with a chuckle, waving a hand as though brushing her concern aside like mist “This isn’t fighting. Not really. This is just… how Alastor and I get along” he smiled, trying to sound reassuring as he patted the air “We don’t hate each other. We’re just… like that.”

“Indeed we are, Charlie” Alastor said smoothly, her smile snapping back into place like the lid on a trap. Her tone was bright again, but the flames of earlier still flickered behind her eyes “We simply have fun ‘fighting’ one another” she added, raising her fingers to make delicate air quotes “Some of us enjoy being a little rougher in our interactions” the grin she wore now was polite. Neutral. But not at all harmless.

Angel snorted and leaned in with a grin sharp enough to slice air “Nice, Smiles” he said, wagging his eyebrows obscenely “Didn’t realize you two liked it rough.”

Lucifer’s entire demeanor buckled—he flushed deep, hand lifting instinctively to his face as if to hide the color rising in his cheeks. He stuttered out something halfway to a retort, but it never found footing. Alastor, meanwhile, merely turned her head, eyes narrowing as she looked at Angel with all the warmth of a guillotine “Not like that” she said sharply “Behave properly, Anthony.”

The name struck like a ruler across knuckles. Angel’s shoulders twitched, posture folding slightly inward “Fine, fine…” he mumbled, the smugness vanishing as quickly as it arrived, replaced with a sheepish smile and the sulking silence of someone suddenly reminded they had limits.

Charlie exhaled in relief, the warmth returning to her voice as she gave her father a small push toward his chair “Oh… good. I panicked for a second” she laughed nervously, smoothing her hands over her pants “My bad” turning toward Lucifer, she gestured gently “Let’s continue… Your turn, Dad.”

Lucifer straightened his coat as he sat again, the anger behind his eyes gone now, replaced with something more muted. He looked to Alastor—who had quietly lowered herself back into her seat—and offered a faint smile “I like how you cheer me up sometimes when I’m having a bad day” he said, voice quieter now, laced with something softer “You encourage me to be better at…” he hesitated, chuckling faintly as he glanced down for a second “...at everything, I guess.”

That admission hung in the air longer than he probably intended. When he looked back up, it caught him off guard—Alastor’s head had tilted ever so slightly to the side, her gaze averted just enough to hide the faint pink dusting her cheeks. It was rare—painfully rare—to catch her off balance. But every time it happened, it lit a warmth in Lucifer’s chest that he never quite knew what to do with.

“I appreciate the compliment, Your Majesty” she said at last, the words polished and even as ever. She composed herself in a blink, nodded politely, and turned her attention away.

Lucifer’s grin returned, this time tinged with triumph, as he turned toward Charlie “I don’t think there’s anything I dislike about you.”

“Dad” Charlie folded her arms with a knowing look “There’s got to be something. Don’t mind my feelings.”

Lucifer let out a breath, running a hand through his hair as he leaned back “I guess… it’s a mix of love and hate” his voice softened as he spoke “I love that you never give up on your dreams. I admire that about you” he hesitated “But I also kind of hate it, because… I don’t want to see you hurt. I don’t want you pushing so hard you forget to take care of yourself.”

Charlie stepped forward and hugged him tightly, the motion grounding the moment in something warm “I know, Dad. I appreciate you for being honest with me” she whispered as she pulled back with a smile.

Then she turned to the group, brushing her hair behind one ear with that signature cheer she wore like armor “Wasn’t this fun?” her voice sparkled with hope, bright and unyielding.

Around the circle, however, disbelief rippled like a cold breeze.

No one answered.

Chapter Text

Bear with me on this one :p I don’t think you fully grasp just how perfect this song is for Alastor, especially considering the situation she’s currently in. If you’ve seen the movie and know the song, then you already get it. The energy, the tone, the lyrics, it's spot-on. But if you haven’t seen the movie yet and this is your first time hearing the song? Do yourself a favor and watch the whole thing. It’s absolutely worth it. A quick heads-up: the song is split into two parts and they’re not continuous within the chapter. So if you want to time it with the reading, you might want to pause between parts, or just go with whatever vibe suits you. Unfortunately, because of how the song is structured, it’s a little tricky to add cleanly to the Spotify playlist, it’s incomplete and split. But I’m adding it anyway! It might not hit quite the same, but I want you to have it in the mix regardless.

*****

CHAPTER THIRTY | ALASTOR WINS HUSKER’S SOUL

All around the casino, the air throbbed with caged tension. Those who’d once bolted now hovered like cornered prey—sinners pressed against walls, slumped into booths, or sitting rigidly at tables with sweat trailing down their spines. Some stared at the sparking net Vox had formed, testing its boundaries with cautious eyes but not enough courage to challenge it. Others sank into silence, eyes fixed on the conversation unfolding between the Radio Demon and the gambler who didn’t know better. The scene was a theater now, with every spectator unsure if they were witness or collateral.

Vox stood nearby, arms crossed tight against his chest, static crackling faintly around him like a low, throbbing snarl. His patience was razor-thin. Every twitch of Husker’s voice, every disrespectful syllable, grated against the glass inside him. And yet, he stood still. Because she hadn’t told him to move.

Niffty was perched atop a round table not far behind, tongue between her teeth as she tried, and failed, to stack a house of cards. Her fingers moved too fast—one card standing for half a second before her hyperactive twitch brought the whole thing down again “Oops” she muttered, giggling softly, trying again with single-minded focus while chaos built around her like clockwork.

Husker, for his part, sat stiffly in his chair, arms crossed and jaw tight, glaring at Alastor with open hostility. The lingering effect of her Sharingan was gone, but the burn of submission remained, and he hated the feeling.

Alastor, calm as still water but with that current pulling just beneath, leaned her elbows on the table and folded her hands “Now” she said, her tone warm and clipped like a schoolteacher scolding a particularly dense student “It is quite clear to me, dear kitty, that you’re woefully uninformed about how things actually work down here.”

She began to lay it out—not rushed, not overly grand, just smooth and steady “When I assumed control over the Overlord ranks” she said, her smile thin as piano wire “I implemented a structure to prevent power from pooling in the wrong places. We had too many amateurs drunk on ego and barely coherent rules. So. A process was born” her voice danced over the word, too sweet to be comforting.

“You see, when a sinner begins gaining souls, influence, attention… they are expected to register” her red eyes gleamed “They must make an appointment with the Council—three Overlords minimum—to have their level of power evaluated. They disclose whether they plan to claim territory or act as a free agent. They swear to respect the hierarchy, observe meeting etiquette, and—well—not behave like an unhinged gutter rat at family dinner.”

She leaned back, glancing idly over her shoulder at the crowd “Of course, you have done none of this. No notice. No evaluation. No formal application” her grin widened just slightly as she looked back to him “And from what I’ve seen in the last ten minutes, your qualifications for the role are… questionable.”

Husker let out a sharp bark of laughter, raking a hand through his face “You’re shittin’ me, right?” he said, incredulous “This is Hell. We’re dead. Who gives a damn about appointments and paperwork? What, do I need to wear a suit and bring a résumé too?” he shook his head and laughed again “No way. This is supposed to be freedom, not a nine-to-five.”

He scoffed louder, voice growing more brazen as the tension in the room flared “What’s the big deal, huh? Just because I’ve been winning and you don’t like how fast I’m rising? Maybe you’re the one who’s scared of being replaced. Hell, I might just do it. You clearly forgot what Hell was supposed to be—fun, chaos, no rules” he gestured around the casino with his hand, smirking “Not clipboards and kingdom-building.”

Vox’s eyes narrowed. Sparks leapt behind his screen. He moved without thinking, but before he could speak, Alastor lifted one hand. A single flick. And that was all it took.

He froze in place, jaw clenched shut mid-word. His body tensed, but he obeyed. Her signal was law.

Husker laughed again, watching “Well trained” he said with a grin, nodding toward Vox with mock approval “You’ve got your little dog on a leash, huh?”

Vox glitched visibly at that, his static skipping across his form like a pulse spike. Alastor said nothing for a moment, letting the insult marinate. Her stare lingered on Husker, the corners of her mouth still tugged upward, but her eyes had gone cold. Disappointed. Even bored.

“Oh, dear” she said softly, almost mournfully, placing a hand dramatically over her chest “You’re really not listening to me” she sighed, voice drenched in false sorrow “And that always brings consequences.”

Husker’s grin faltered, just a bit.

Alastor let her fingers dance once across the table before she turned her head and called, clearly but without raising her voice “Niffty, dear.”

In an instant, a blur darted across the casino’s cracked tiles. Niffty leapt from the table she’d been teetering on—cards scattered mid-collapse—and zipped through the air with the hyper-focus of someone summoned for something important. She landed atop the table where Alastor and Husker sat, her legs together, back straight, chin tilted high with something halfway between deference and delight “Yes, Boss?” she chirped, hands folded neatly in front of her, wide eye glittering.

“This” Alastor said, gesturing with a slight incline of her hand “Is Niffty. She’s been with me for quite some time now” her gaze didn’t leave Husker’s as she continued “She willingly gave me her soul. A binding contract, forged without coercion. A rarity these days” her voice dipped into a sing-song whisper before snapping back to clarity “She manages most of the household affairs—cleaning, coordination, logistics. Of course, I gave her the option to pursue something else, if she wished. But she chose to remain” her smile tightened, and there was something steely beneath it “She wanted to take care of my home.”

Husker stared at the demoness atop the table, brows furrowed in a mix of suspicion and confusion. He blinked once, tilted his head slightly, and let out a dry snort “She’s a tiny little thing.”

That was a mistake.

The gleam in Niffty’s eye vanished in an instant. She moved so fast that the table beneath her barely creaked. One hand dipped beneath her skirt and returned with a glinting, wickedly curved needle—held between her fingers like a blade. She lunged. In another second, it would’ve been driven directly into Husker’s eye socket. But just before it landed—

“Niffty” Alastor’s voice, velvet-wrapped command.

The needle stopped a hair's breadth from Husker’s face.

The cat demon froze, breath stalled in his throat. His claws had punched through the tabletop, gouging deep grooves into the wood in reaction. Slowly, his gaze flicked toward the silver tip still floating by his eye.

Niffty pouted immediately, arms folding tight as the needle quivered “Aww, come on, Miss Alastor. Let me kill the bad kitty. Just a little bit.”

Alastor tilted her head with theatrical pensiveness “You could” she said slowly, one elegant finger tapping her chin “But then we’d have to wait for him to reanimate. And you know how inconvenient that would be. You’re not using an angelic weapon—he wouldn’t stay dead” her expression hardened “And I don’t have that kind of patience today.”

Niffty’s cheeks puffed out as she exhaled in frustration, muttering under her breath while slipping the needle back out of sight.

Alastor returned her attention to Husker with all the warmth of a winter chill “That’s the second time now” she said, tone no longer playful “First, you addressed me as if we were old drinking buddies. Now her—a ‘tiny little thing’” she leaned in slightly, red eyes glowing faintly in the ambient light “There’s no respect here, is there?”

She smiled again—but this one was all teeth “You should know something. Niffty, at one point, had the potential to rise as an Overlord. I’d wager she still does. She’s fast. Clever. Underestimated” she gestured with a small shrug “But she chose servitude. Voluntarily. She chose me.”

Alastor stood now, slowly circling the table, voice trailing behind her like a veil “And because you clearly aren’t going to take this seriously, I’ll be generous, just this once” she turned and leaned close to him again, lips barely apart as she spoke with chilling calm “You have a choice. One month. Get your affairs in order. Follow protocol. Submit to evaluation. Or…” she paused, letting the word dangle, the implication breathe “You give me your soul.”

Husker blinked, then again, before scoffing with an incredulous laugh “Wait—what?” his brows climbed “Are you even listening to yourself? You want me to give you my soul? Just like that?” he gestured flippantly toward Niffty “If she wanted to tie herself to you, that’s her business. But I’m not stupid enough to sell mine off just because you said some spooky words and blocked an ex—”

“Then you’ve chosen the month” Alastor said flatly, cutting him off.

He blinked “What—?”

“You said no to the soul. That leaves the other option” she stepped back, voice cool as cut glass “One month. That is final.”

Husker scowled, slammed his hands on the table, and growled “That choice is also trash! I’m not submitting to your broken system” he continued with a sneer “I’m not doing any of that bureaucratic, tail-kissing, ego-feeding nonsense. No forms. No meetings. No bending the knee. You can take your little system and shove it into your ass. Bitch.”

She raised a brow, studying him with an expression hovering somewhere between mild curiosity and reluctant pity. A part of her genuinely wondered how the original Alastor hadn’t just killed Husker outright. Maybe it had gone differently for him. Perhaps their meeting, in that world, had skipped the diplomacy, the structure, and gone straight to cards and quiet disdain. The original Alastor never struck her as a creature invested in the layers of bureaucracy or the quiet grind of political machinery. He’d always been… abstract. A force. But she had a different role now. She wasn’t just playing the part—she was rebuilding the stage it was performed on. That meant patience. Lenience, even. One more chance. Just once more, she would give this ill-tempered cat the opportunity to evolve. After that, she would stop pretending.

Alastor sighed and lifted her hands, fingertips snapping together in a crisp, clean clap “I’ll be giving you one last chance” she announced, her voice languid but bright “Let’s hope this one changes your mind.”

The shift in reality came instantly.

The casino bled away into a new space—open, surreal. Lights flickered, then rearranged into spotlights. The floor vanished into gleaming marble. A towering grand piano appeared center stage, black and glossy, and Vox was already seated at the keys, fingers cracking into position with a devilish grin. Husker now sat before it, repositioned like a guest of honor staring up at an unexpected cabaret. The surrounding sinners found themselves still present, scattered in clusters around the transformed room. Confusion softened into awe as the tempo began to build.

Alastor stood atop the piano, arms extended with solemn elegance “I’ve seen them come… and I’ve seen them go…” she sang with a touch of melancholy, waving her hand gently like she was brushing aside ghosts “There is one thing that I know…” she tapped her chest with a claw-tipped finger before swinging her hand in a grand flourish to encompass the others “You gotta give all people what they want…”

With a snap of her fingers, green-tinted cash burst from the air like confetti, fluttering over the crowd. Some of the sinners dove for it immediately, scrabbling at the ground while others hesitated, unsure whether this reward came with a price.

“Or you’ll wind up back in Kokomo, Nebraska…” she crooned dramatically, her eyes narrowing playfully at Husker as she leaned down toward him.

“I’m from Las Vegas” he deadpanned, unimpressed.

She rolled her eyes “Whatever.”

She spun on her heel, strutting back to the piano’s center with practiced grace, hands lifted high “They like it big!” her grin exploded wider “They like it loud!” with another sharp flick of her wrist, her usual attire rippled away, reforming into a flared crimson flapper dress trimmed in shimmering black. Her cane reappeared with the microphone on top, and with a purr into the mesh head, she added “Maybe a little bit jazzy sometimes…” her hips swayed to the rhythm, her shoulders rising and falling as the music deepened.

From stage right, Niffty materialized, perched on a glowing crescent moon while blasting away on a golden saxophone, matching the beat with impressive fervor.

Alastor approached the edge of the piano once again, gliding forward until she was seated with one leg crossed over the other. She leaned toward Husker, eyes gleaming, lips curled in something sultry and sinister “Mr. Pussycat, listen to me…” she purred as she lifted his chin with a single claw “You don’t have to be good… but you have better be.”

“Get hot, Alastor” Vox chimed in with a low laugh from the piano bench, never missing a note as he accompanied with glee.

“BIG AND LOUD!” Alastor belted as she leapt to the piano’s center. A blinding spotlight slammed into place overhead, catching her mid-spin. She was lifted with magic, stairs unfolding beneath her until she now stood atop a sweeping staircase like an infernal goddess “Big and loud…” she continued, shadow imps dancing out from either side in a coordinated kickline “Gonna make your momma proud!” fireworks burst behind her in bright reds and violent pinks “Make it big…”

“And… LOUD!”

The final note carried like thunder, a sustained vibrato that clung to the air for nearly fifteen seconds as her arms reached toward the heavens and her eyes shimmered with crimson light.

Husker just stared. Not at the theatrics—that was Hell, after all, nothing new—but at the absurdity of watching demons erupt in chaotic applause. Worse still, he watched as some of the sinners, once terrified of her, now rose slowly to approach her with reverence in their eyes, as though she had turned into something holy.

Before they could get too close, Vox, still calmly playing his last few notes, let his fingers slide off the keys and raised one hand lazily. Cables erupted from thin air, curling through the cracks in the floor and zapping the first sinners who tried to reach the stairwell, dropping them like puppets cut from strings. Niffty, gleeful and humming, jabbed her needle into the thigh of one overly curious sinner, toppling him with a spark of gore.

And Alastor? She didn’t even glance.

She was already seated cross-legged on the piano again, brows lifted in bored expectation. With a snap, her performance attire dissolved back into her familiar ensemble—black pants, crimson shirt and black corset, red coat perfectly pressed. Every detail back in place.

“You really could be so much more, kitty” she mused, voice too soft for the aftermath of that spectacle “If only you’d stop drowning yourself in this” she gestured pointedly toward the empty bottles.

Husker said nothing.

She rose, dusting off invisible dirt “I’ll return tomorrow” she said simply, turning on her heel “And truly leave you to think it over.”

Her tone dipped into warning—barely “You can follow the rules… or lose your soul.”

And then she was gone—walking past the stunned crowd with Vox and Niffty in tow. She didn’t bother to order the electric barrier lifted. Instead, with a flick of her fingers, invisible lines of cursed energy slashed through the wires like paper. The metal crumbled to ash as the exit opened before her.

***

They returned in a blink, through Alastor’s shadows, they teleported into her office. The heavy air hadn’t even settled before Vox exploded into motion, pacing in sharp steps across the room’s polished floors.

“Oh, for the love of Hell, did you see him?” he hissed, screen flickering along his browline “That flea-bitten barstool reject insulted you six times, Al. Six! And you’re going to give him a month? We should’ve wiped his damn tail across the floor and pitched him into the furnace like yesterday’s ash.”

Niffty, still adjusting after their sudden relocation, gave an exaggerated nod of agreement “Miss Alastor, I think you should seriously reconsider keeping that filthy kitty as your pet” she said, the words dripping with frustration. Vox blinked, turning toward her with half-confused surprise.

The bug demoness rolled her eye and let out an exasperated sigh “It’s obvious, isn’t it?” she snapped “That cat’s not going to follow the rules. I’ve seen men like him before—the loud ones, the smug ones, the ones who think the world owes them something. Always drinking” her voice had taken on a sharpness that crackled beneath her usual cheer, the cadence shifting—faster, more pointed “He’ll just keep spiraling until we’re all stuck with the consequences. And if Miss Alastor do end up owning his soul, that means I have to put up with him, right? Because I live with her” she turned to the demoness “And you’re kind, Miss Alastor, which means you’ll give him a room in that big house of yours, and I’ll have to breathe the same air as that drunk garbage can.”

Vox, to his own mild discomfort, found himself nodding. And then it hit him—hard enough to make him freeze for a second. If Alastor got Husker’s soul, then Husker would move in. Into the house. He turned to Alastor in immediate, genuine horror “Okay, no. No, no, no. This cannot happen. Please, let me kill him. I’ll be quick. Humane. Or—or I’ll refine him myself! I can slap together a binding neural override and force him to follow protocol like a good little minion. It’ll be poetic, even.”

Alastor watched the two of them with hands folded neatly in front of her, her smile calm, amused, and entirely unreadable. She didn’t interrupt them. Not at first. She let their complaints ring out like static-soaked radio chatter, indulgent in its chaos. When silence finally tucked itself between them, she moved.

“Niffty’s right” Alastor began, pacing lazily in front of her desk “Husker will likely continue down his little defiant path, and he’ll refuse to follow protocol. He’ll refuse to give his soul. That leaves… one likely outcome” she stopped, crimson eyes flashing with thinly veiled delight “He’ll challenge me. He’ll bet his soul for mine. And I’ll win” her voice lowered, velvet and cruel “Simply as that.”

Vox’s expression faltered. A rare, genuine flicker of apprehension crossed his face “I—Alastor, maybe just… consider a different route?” he said hesitantly, stepping forward “It’s not that I think you can’t win—obviously, you can—but what if he tries to cheat? What if he’s got some trick or dumb card magic? You know what these gambler types are like—smoke, mirrors, sleight of hand, illusions—”

Alastor tilted her head slowly, her eyes narrowing just enough to halt him mid-sentence “You don’t think I’ll win?”

Vox nearly choked “What? No—no, that’s not what I—of course you’ll win. You always do” he laughed nervously “I mean, statistically, you literally never lose, but still… I’m just saying. A precaution. A clause. A backup.”

His stammering was met by the image of two demons crossing their arms and staring at him flatly—one bug and one eldritch deer, both unimpressed.

He sighed, dragging a hand down his face in exasperation “Okay. I get it. I sound ridiculous. I know better. You’re going to win. Obviously. Besides, you’ll just add a clause to the bet—no cheating, no illusions, no loopholes. If he tries anything, it voids the contract, and you get his soul anyway.”

Alastor’s smile returned in full.

“Exactly.”

The Radio Demoness strolled forward, eyes gleaming with a theatrical kind of glee, her voice cutting through the room like a warning “I didn’t get where I am today…” she began, her heels clicking against the polished floor as she passed between Vox and Niffty with a cool, commanding sway “By letting myself get pushed around” her tone was low and firm, each word carrying weight that left no doubt she meant every syllable.

She lifted her hand and conjured something dark and hazy from the air—shadows, thick and pulsing, coalescing into rough silhouettes “No man, or beast, or kitty cat, or doggy…” she sang, cradling the shapes in her palm with a twisted little smile. Her fingers closed in a slow, deliberate motion, crushing the forms like brittle paper “Is going to drag me down” the remains scattered as glittering specks of nothing, drifting through the air like soot on wind.

Vox, as expected, was delighted. He let out a cheer and laughed sharply, already bouncing with the rising tempo. Alastor didn’t miss a beat, rolling her eyes mid-step “Shut up, Vox” she deadpanned, her voice flattening just long enough to silence him.

But then the atmosphere shifted.

The entire space dissolved into darkness—thick, ambient black that swallowed light and frame. It wasn’t just about Husker anymore. Not really. Beneath the satire, Alastor’s thoughts had turned inward, edging toward the inevitable. The canon future. The day when Lucifer would finally step down from the shadows and decide to play hero for his wayward daughter. She knew that, too well. And when that moment came, she wouldn’t be caught surprised. She’d be ready.

“The lightning will be flashing…” her voice echoed out, disembodied. In the dark, a blinding crack of white light burst to life, and four spectral figures stepped forward—Husker, Angel Dust, Charlie, and Vaggie—each rendered with vibrant clarity against the inky abyss “The thunder, it will roar…” a second rumble shook the ground, and the four turned in confusion, looking around as ink imps materialized and began to swarm toward them.

As the beat picked up, the four scattered. Charlie and Vaggie grabbed each other’s hands. Angel and Husker did the same, propelled more by panic than coordination “They’ll never know what hit them—wait till they see what I have in store!”

From below, the ground convulsed—trembling, splitting, cracking wide. A monstrous version of Alastor clawed her way out of the void, eyes glowing, grin stretched unnaturally wide “Big and loud!” she belted, voice triumphant as the quartet screamed and ran faster, shadows chasing them “It will be big and loud!”

High above, a new figure emerged—Lucifer Morningstar, wings spread, diving to save them as the terrain beneath them began to crumble. He swooped down, arms extended toward Charlie—but before he could reach her, Alastor’s hand emerged and seized him mid-flight. His expression twisted in horror as the rest began to plunge, the world below cracking and sliding into liquid clarity. Water. Endless, crystalline water.

“When they fall, they’ll really fall…” Alastor continued. With a casual flick, black flames erupted from her claw, searing through Lucifer’s wings. His snarl of agony was drowned by the roar of the flood beneath “And they’re gonna fall big!”

“Big!” Vox and Niffty echoed gleefully.

Lucifer plunged down, vanishing beneath the waves as Alastor turned her gaze to the others. Their figures twisted beneath the surface, helpless and small.

“And they’re gonna fall loud!” she sang with relish, watching their colorful shapes buffeted and swept away by the churning tide.

“Loud!” came the echo again, bright and shrill.

“They’re gonna fall big!” Alastor’s voice soared as the water began to spiral downward. The current swallowed them whole, hurtling them toward the roaring mouth of a waterfall. They screamed as they all fell.

“And…” she held the note, the current then dragging her victims toward a yawning whirlpool, building tension as the bodies spun, tangled and weightless, screams echoing from all directions.

She laughed—a true, unrepentant cackle—as the entire illusion collapsed around her. With a whisper of falling light, the office reformed—wood and brass and bookshelves and all. Vox stood beside her, wide-eyed and breathless, and then burst into a matching fit of delighted laughter.

Alastor raised a brow and turned slightly “Shut up, Vox” she muttered again with a drawl that made him instantly choke the sound back.

She inhaled deeply, smoothing the fabric of her red coat, and sang one last time with thunderous clarity “Loud!”

“Loud!” Vox and Niffty chimed, arms raised like backup singers that belonged to a cabaret cast from sin and theater.

The room had only just returned to stillness when Vox—predictably—spoke. He leaned forward, his voice filled with sharp-edged excitement, a static buzz lacing his words like a faulty speaker “That vision you conjured… that wasn’t just for the cat, was it? I didn’t recognize two figures” he asked, narrowing his eyes in something like reverent curiosity “But you had the Princess and the King in there too. Tell me, Al… do you have plans for the royals? Do you actually intend to take them down?”

For a moment, Alastor said nothing. She simply looked at him, one corner of her lips curling upward in slow amusement. Then, without a word, her eyes brightened—red bleeding into deep, spinning tomoes. Vox’s breath hitched mid-expectation. The moment her Sharingan locked on, his posture slackened slightly, his pupils dilating just enough to catch the shift. He stilled, caught in her sight like a fly beneath glass.

“Do forget what you just saw, darling” she said gently, almost sweetly—like a lullaby with teeth.

Vox blinked. Once. Twice “What?” he murmured, momentarily dazed, eyes flicking around the study as if reorienting himself. Something in the atmosphere seemed off, but he couldn’t grasp it. The thought slipped away before he could hold it.

“James” Alastor said suddenly, her voice snapping with layered intention. Vox flinched at the sound, jerking slightly back into clarity.

“Yes?” he answered quickly, standing straighter with an automatic smile twitching onto his lips, as if nothing had just happened.

“Why don’t you fetch us something to eat?” she cooed with a sing-song purr, folding her hands behind her back as she rocked on her heels with mock innocence “It is dinner time, and I think we’ve earned a bit of indulgence. I’ll even let you pick tonight’s fare” her tone dipped into indulgent approval, calm and coaxing—carefully calibrated to ensure no questions followed.

Vox’s grin sharpened, all thoughts of anything prior scrubbed clean from his mind “Of course!” he exclaimed, clearly pleased, already turning toward the door with a cheerful snap to his stride “I know just the place.”

He vanished through the grand study doors like a dog rushing toward the sound of a bell.

Once he was gone, Alastor’s smile deepened. She turned her head slowly, her eyes now settling on the only other soul in the room—Niffty, still standing politely near the armchair, hands clasped, one foot shifting restlessly on the floor. She tilted her head at Alastor, blinking up with wide-eyed innocence.

Alastor said nothing at first. Instead, she lifted one hand and performed the simplest of pantomimes—pinching two fingers at her lips, miming a zipper being pulled closed, and tossing the imaginary key over her shoulder with casual flair.

Niffty’s grin split wider, delight curling into something eerie. She let out a soft, delighted giggle—one that skittered at the edge of sanity—and mirrored the gesture with a flourish, her hands zipping her own mouth shut before miming an exaggerated toss of the key into the abyss.

Alastor gave a small nod. She didn’t need words to know that Niffty would never repeat what had just transpired. Not the questions Vox had nearly asked. Not the people she’d shown in her song. And certainly not the little glimpse of ambition stitched beneath it all.

Niffty never questioned her.

***

The casino was quiet. Too quiet.

Alastor stepped through the door with her usual precise grace. Niffty scampered along behind her, muttering under her breath about the warped symmetry of the entrance rug—though she didn’t stop to fix it. The air held that strange hollow quality, like a performance waiting for its cue. No gamblers. No sinners. Not even the low thrum of machines. Just the musty scent of whiskey, disuse, and stale ambition.

The deer demoness blinked once, eyes sweeping the dim casino before landing squarely on the slouched shape near one of the card tables. Husker was already three drinks deep into his morning—or perhaps he’d never truly stopped the night before. He nursed a bottle like it owed him something, a half-bored scowl playing at the edges of his mouth.

Well. At least he’d taken her words seriously enough to keep the place closed.

As Alastor approached, Husker looked up with bleary eyes and bared his teeth in something not quite a smirk “No dog this time?” he muttered, already reaching for the bottle to pour himself another swig “Thought you and muttface were attached at the tail.”

She didn’t answer the jab “Ah, small mercies” she drawled instead, folding neatly into the seat across from him “I see you’ve made time for reflection. A rare sight indeed” her smile didn’t touch her eyes.

Husker snorted and tipped the bottle back again “You’re flattering yourself. Place’s closed ‘cause my skull feels like someone drove a train through it. Nothing to do with you.”

Niffty, who had perched herself on a neighboring table with a huff, kicked her feet lightly as she stacked sugar packets for lack of cards “Liar” she announced, sing-song and flat “That’s the worst lie I’ve heard, and I once saw Vox try to convince Miss Alastor his wardrobe was original.”

Husker rolled his eyes and shot her a glare but said nothing. Instead, he turned back to the table, slammed the bottle down hard enough for it to rattle, and conjured a crisp deck of cards. He began shuffling, flicking them between his hands with worn efficiency.

Alastor exhaled slowly, resting her chin on one hand “Oh, dear” she murmured with mock resignation “So the answer is no. No thinking done at all.”

The deck snapped once more between Husker’s fingers before he let the cards rest in his palm “Both your choices were shit” he said, blunt and steady “I’m not following your clown court rules, and I’m sure as hell not handing over my soul like a damn tip” he leaned forward, eyes burning with challenge “So we play. Like I’ve always played. You want my soul? Then bet yours. That’s fair.”

He expected hesitation. A twitch. Something behind those glowing eyes to shift in discomfort. Instead, Alastor’s face lit up like a spotlight found her center stage.

“Ohoho… why not?” she said, clapping her hands together with delight. The sound echoed in the quiet place. Her grin curled slowly at the edges as she leaned forward, her voice low and gleaming “Lay it out for me, darling. Terms. Conditions. Let’s make it formal.”

The delight in her tone visibly threw Husker off for a heartbeat. His brows drew tight in suspicion. He stopped shuffling, then began again, slower this time—more deliberate “We play poker” he said at last, voice thick with rough conviction “Standard rules. No cheating, no funny business. One round. Whoever loses...” he bared his teeth “Gives up their soul. Full ownership. No rewrites. No takebacks.”

The words hung there like smoke between them.

Alastor offered a light hum, her fingers delicately drumming the table in front of her as she tilted her head “Oh dear… those terms are no fun at all” she said sweetly, the glint in her eyes growing colder even as her smile remained “Where’s the pageantry? The real stakes?” she lifted her chin, her voice lifting with that signature cheer that masked a blade “Let’s make this far more interesting.”

Husker’s hand stilled over the deck. He narrowed his eyes as she slowly stood.

“Seven rounds” she announced with theatrical finality “Poker, of course. But here’s the twist—you need to win only one. Just one, and my soul is yours” she clasped her hands behind her back, leaning forward ever so slightly, smile stretching a touch too wide “But if I win all seven… then I claim yours. Entirely” her voice thinned to a silken thread “No cheating. No funny business. Full ownership, no rewrites, no takebacks.”

The finality of her tone had weight, but she wasn’t finished.

“And” she added, voice sharp as a tuning fork “Should either of us refuse to honor the results… the contract's soul-binding clause will force a permanent forfeiture. Not to a new owner—no. To nothingness. The loser will be compelled to end their life. Their soul eradicated. No second chances.”

Husker stared, dumbfounded. His grip on the cards tightened “You’re a crazy bitch” he muttered, blinking “That’s suicide. You’re saying I only gotta win one damn hand—and if I don’t comply, I die? What the fuck kinda deal is that?”

Alastor arched a brow delicately, amusement softening the curve of her mouth “Oh, is the kitty scared?” she asked in a near whisper.

Before Husker could reply, Niffty’s giggle rang out across the room. She was grinning ear to ear “Scaredy-kitty, scaredy-kitty” she sang, drawing each word out, her voice bouncing with sick delight “Does the little kitty want to hide under the table?”

Husker bared his teeth. His hackles rose. That maddening smirk of Alastor’s stayed fixed, calm as ever “Fuck it” he snapped, heat flooding his veins with a surge of impulsive pride “Why the hell not? I only need one win. That’s all it takes” he spat the words with a snarl, emboldened by adrenaline and the ghosts of too many drinks “And when I win… when I’ve got your soul, ohh I’m gonna have fun” he leaned forward, eyes wild “I’ll make you dance in this joint. Yesterday’s performance? You’ll be strutting on stage every night, pretty little doe. The kind of act sinners pay top coin to watch.”

Niffty let out a strangled sound of rage—but Husker wasn’t done.

“And hell, why not throw in the little bug, too” he added, voice slick with menace “Some freak out there’s bound to like her type. I’ll make both of you the crown jewels of this casino—glitter, fishnets, and all.”

Alastor’s smile widened at last. No longer a performer’s smile.

Now it was a predator’s.

She didn’t speak. She simply lifted her hand and snapped her fingers.

Magic responded at once. A golden scroll unfurled in midair, quill scratching on its own across shimmering parchment, writing out the terms of the pact in flowing script. The instant the final words were etched, two shimmering bands of gold materialized—one clasping neatly around Husker’s neck, the other linking around her own. They glowed briefly before dimming, settling into place like ornate nooses.

A fresh deck appeared between them, conjured from enchanted light. It hovered, shuffled itself with eerie precision, and distributed cards with silent grace to each side. The air around the table thickened with enchantment—clear, restrictive. The contract’s magic had locked in. They could not cheat. They could not withdraw.

Husker’s hands hovered over the cards, now trembling faintly. This wasn’t the game he knew. The pieces were familiar, but the stakes—these stakes weren’t just high. They were final. Absolute.

He looked up, and Alastor was still smiling.

Always smiling.

He hated how much it rattled him.

Still, he had to believe in the gamble. One win. That’s all he needed. Just one hand. Just one break.

“Let’s fucking play” he muttered, teeth clenched.

And so it began. Game one.

The casino had gone still, save for soft click-click of Alastor’s claws tapping the tabletop. There was no crowd this time. No drunken cheer or ambient noise. Just the weight of their wager and the thick hush of consequence wrapping around them like fog.

Niffty broke the silence first, resting her chin on her tiny fists “You know” she chirped, far too brightly “I’m not at all excited to have a bad kitty skulking around the house. Would really ruin the aesthetic. I hope, when you lose, you do ignore the contract. I’d love to watch your soul implode” her tone was sing-song, but her smile was thin and sharp.

Husker did his best to tune her out, but every word made his whiskers twitch with irritation. He glanced up, hoping—praying—that Alastor’s expression might offer something, anything to read. But no. That damned smile. Flawless. Not a twitch of lip, not the faintest tell behind her eyes.

He looked back at his hand. One pair—two fives. The rest? Useless. He grit his teeth “Exchange” he muttered. Two cards slid from his hand and hovered for a moment before vanishing in a puff of soft green light. In their place, the deck dealt him two fresh cards. He glanced down and—huh. Another pair. Sixes. Not great, not terrible. Two pairs could win—if she was holding even less.

Across the table, Alastor hadn’t moved at all.

The cards remained untouched in her hand as the option to exchange passed her by in silence. She met his gaze calmly, her head tilting ever so slightly—like she was humoring a student fumbling through a recital.

Husker scoffed “Holdin’ strong, huh?”

Alastor responded with a blink. And that smile.

They laid their cards down simultaneously.

The magic responded before either could speak. Husker’s two pairs—fives and sixes—glowed faintly as the cards lifted, aligned themselves mid-air, and presented his hand like a proud banner. He leaned back with a slow exhale. It wasn’t spectacular, but it was solid.

Alastor’s cards followed, rising with poised elegance. One eight. Then another. Then a nine. And another. Two pairs.

But higher.

Silence hung for one long breath before the golden band around Husker’s throat shimmered—and grew thicker. It pulsed with a quiet hum, slowly widening until it was no longer a delicate circlet, but a tight-fitting collar. A visual countdown of his fate.

“Round one” Alastor said smoothly, her voice quiet with satisfaction “Goes to me.”

Husker clenched his jaw, staring down at the table. He didn’t speak, but the fury tightened in his fingers as he gathered the next cards from the enchanted deck. One loss. Fine. She had to win all seven. That was one. Just one.

His hand curled slightly tighter around the bottle beside him.

It wasn’t over.

But the collar’s weight now pressed just a little heavier against his neck. And the grin across from him hadn’t budged an inch.

Round two passed with little more than a grunt from Husker and a casual flick of Alastor’s wrist. His hand—a pair of sevens and nothing else—folded quickly in the face of her graceful reveal: a straight from five to nine, black suits glittering with magical polish. The golden collar at his neck pulsed again, thickening visibly, the metal warming against his fur as if in warning.

“Such a shame” Alastor said, smiling almost kindly “That pair looked so hopeful.”

“Don’t patronize me” Husker snapped, swiping the cards toward him with force, his claws catching on the felt.

“Oh, I’m not” she purred “I’m enjoying you.”

Round three was worse. Husker changed three cards this time, desperately chasing a flush he never got. He ended up with a lonely queen, two scattered low cards, and nothing to show for his effort. Alastor hadn’t even blinked when she showed her full house—three aces, two fours—like it had been dealt on divine order. The chain on Husker’s neck grew again, lengthening slightly now, inching in Alastor’s direction across the table with an unmistakable pull.

Niffty giggled from her side “Hope you’ve got a favorite pillow, kitty” she said cheerfully “You’ll need one for your new room after tonight!”

“Shut up, bug” he growled, voice rasping with frustration “I’ve lost three. Not seven.”

“True” Alastor mused, lifting her cards for round four “But three losses and not a single win? Statistically damning. Morally predictable.”

In round four, Husker found himself holding what looked to be a decent spread—two jacks, a king, a five, and a three. He held the pair, traded out the rest, praying for a third jack. The deck was cruel. It gifted him a nine, a two and an eight. Alastor didn’t even bother to change her hand. She laid down her cards with practiced ease: a flush, all hearts, queen high.

She didn't gloat.

She just watched him.

The band was no longer just a collar. It had thickened into a gleaming half-chain, curling slightly toward her outstretched hand, as if it could already sense the path of ownership drawing close.

“Damn thing’s cursed” Husker muttered, running a hand across his forehead “Bet this whole setup is stacked.”

“Oh no” Alastor said sweetly, almost offended “I would never cheat. I’m just better than you.”

Round five arrived like a funeral procession.

Husker sat in silence, eyes locked to the golden chain that now extended visibly across the table—only a few links away from her fingertips. Sweat beaded beneath his fur, though he wouldn’t show it. He drew his five cards and almost growled. No pairs. No sequence. Just scattered, meaningless numbers. He discarded three with the desperate air of a man slipping on the gallows. The replacements didn’t save him: a ten, a two, a three. Worthless.

Alastor’s response?

A straight flush. Six to ten, all spades.

“I believe” she said gently as the magic glowed again, the chain tightening once more around his throat “That brings us to five.”

Niffty twirled a fork she’d somehow found, poking the air idly “Only two more” she chirped “Then we can decorate his room! I want skulls on the walls. His skull, preferably.”

Husker didn’t answer.

He couldn’t.

The chain was now halfway across the table—and her smile had never faltered.

Round six began with a shuffle that felt heavier than the ones before. The cards hovered, then dealt themselves evenly, the soft thud as they landed echoing far too loudly in the quiet space. Husker’s fingers twitched. He stared at the cards face-down in front of him for a long second before picking them up, barely registering the curl of Niffty's lip as she swung her legs back and forth like a child watching a schoolyard scuffle.

“Getting tired, kitty?” she asked with syrupy sweetness “You’re looking a little pale. Want me to bring you a pillow and a leash for later? Oh wait… you will already have one.”

Husker didn’t even look at her. His focus tunneled straight into the cards in his hands. A pair of tens—not bad, but after five consecutive losses, not nearly enough to feel like security. He discarded three, desperate for something to make the blood roaring in his ears calm down. The magic responded promptly. Three new cards dropped gently in front of him. He drew them in.

A jack, a two, and an off-suit king.

“Fuck” he hissed under his breath, claws flexing as he exhaled sharply through his nose. It wasn’t nothing, but it wasn’t enough. Not when he looked up and saw her.

Alastor hadn’t moved.

Her cards sat untouched in her hands, her gaze casually pinned on him. That same soft smile—serene, pleasant, unreadable—decorated her face like it had been painted there. No smugness. No cruelty. Just calm confidence. Like she already knew the outcome.

And that… that was worse.

How the hell was she so good at this?

He knew she wasn’t cheating. Magic laced the room, etched into the cards, enforced by the very pact they made. Every piece of the game was spell-locked. But still—every round, she played like someone who had seen the ending already and was just walking toward it.

“Ready to reveal?” she asked with quiet mirth, tilting her head slightly.

Husker growled low in his throat “Just do it.”

They laid their cards down in tandem.

His pair of tens sat like a clumsy apology.

Alastor’s hand shimmered to life with graceful lift—three queens, backed by two sevens. A full house. Again.

The chain around his neck thickened with a metallic groan, glowing gold stretching forward across the felt… and this time it passed her hand. Alastor watched it in passive interest, one slender finger trailing behind it as a second collar shimmered faintly into view at the base of her wrist—soft and ghostly, like the promise of ownership just beginning to bloom.

Husker stared at it, heart hammering now—not just with anger, but fear. It was real. Tangible. He had one game left. And the way things were going...

“Aw, it’s so cute” Niffty chimed from her perch, cupping her chin in her hands “The closer he gets to losing, the more I can already imagine him making my bed in the mornings. No… I don’t want him to touch my bed, actually. Eww.”

“Shut it” Husker snapped, his voice cracked and sharp “Just shut up.”

“You should try smiling” Alastor offered suddenly, still completely composed “Might help your luck.”

He slammed a hand on the table “How the fuck are you doing this?! You’re not cheating—I know you’re not—so what the hell is this?!”

Her smile, ever so faint, twitched at the corners “Practice” she said simply “And the understanding that chaos” she gestured to the table, to him, to this entire game “Can always be measured if you know the rhythm.”

“Rhythm my ass” he muttered, shoulders hunched as he stared at the next deck beginning to shuffle.

One game left. One last chance.

And the chain had already touched her hand.

Round seven began like the final breath before a storm. The cards fell before them in silent, magical ceremony—five each, hovered down from the spectral deck with unsettling composure. Husker's hands were trembling the second he reached for his hand. Six, seven, eight, nine of clubs… and a queen of diamonds.

His heart skipped.

It was there. He was one card away from a straight flush. Just the ten of clubs, and he’d have the second-highest possible hand. He discarded the queen with shaking claws, barely breathing as the spell-bound deck responded. One card descended from the air, gilded light twisting before it landed.

Ten of clubs.

Straight flush.

Husker exhaled like he’d been drowning. A tight smile broke across his face, relief flooding his limbs so fast it almost knocked him lightheaded. This was it. Finally. Finally “Let’s see you beat this, sweetheart” he muttered under his breath as he looked up—only to see Alastor tapping her chin with her claw, surveying her own hand with apparent disappointment.

He couldn’t help himself.

“What, things not looking good for you on this one?” he asked, voice dry, biting “About damn time.”

Alastor blinked slowly, gaze lifting toward him without a flicker of annoyance “Oh no, this hand is absolutely dreadful” she admitted with a breezy laugh “Unsalvageable, really” without hesitation, she slid all five cards forward “I’ll be taking an entirely new hand, thank you.”

The smirk dropped clean off Husker’s face “You’re exchanging all five? Are you insane?”

“Now, now” she said with a chuckle, watching the new cards arrive like guests at a gala “Don’t be rude.”

Niffty leaned forward, voice unnervingly cheerful “This is the most fun I’ve ever had watching someone lose their soul.”

Husker ignored her. He had to ignore her. His eyes were pinned on Alastor, trying to read the shift in her shoulders, her fingers, anything. But no. She was humming again—pleased, serene. That unreadable mask back in place like the loss hadn’t rattled her in the slightest. He looked back at his own cards, gripping them tightly. Straight flush. There was no beating that except—no. No. There was only one hand better than this.

But no one just drew a royal flush.

Right?

Silence stretched.

“Final hands” Alastor announced, her tone dipped in velvet.

They placed their cards down. Husker’s were revealed first—six through ten of clubs. The second-highest hand in the game.

He let out a breath. Finally.

Then the air shifted.

Alastor’s cards rose.

Jack of hearts. Queen. King. Ace.

And with a breathless shimmer, the ten of hearts unfolded to complete it. A royal flush. The rarest possible hand in poker.

Husker sat very still.

He stared at the cards. At her “No” he breathed, voice cracking “No, fuck off, that’s—you can’t just—how the fuck—you traded all five cards!”

The golden chain had already coiled up her wrist, slithering like a serpent of divine finality before it shimmered—and vanished completely.

The pact had fulfilled itself.

“Aw” Alastor said softly, eyes gleaming “And here I was hoping for a dramatic comeback.”

Husker shook his head over and over again, fur bristling in disbelief “That’s bullshit, you—you rigged this, you—you cheated!”

“A shame, really” Alastor continued, ignoring his sputtering “This charming little casino? Over and done. I’ll be keeping you quite busy. My last errand sinner exploded during a delivery run. Nasty situation, truly. Hopefully you’re a bit more durable.”

“I—I’m not—You—no, this isn’t—” Husker clutched at his collar as if he could still feel the band tightening. Panic had rooted itself beneath his ribs.

“I suggest you be very mindful of what you say next” Alastor interrupted, her smile faltering just enough to show the blade beneath it “If the contract deems your words as refusal, it will interpret that very literally—and you, my dear kitty, know precisely what happens when the loser refuses.”

That silenced him. Dead quiet.

And then it began.

He felt it first in his chest—a hollowing sensation, a siphon pulling something and weighted out of him. The souls. Every one he had claimed. Every deal. Every echo of power. They peeled from his being like layers of smoke, rising into the air and circling around her. The magic shimmered like stained glass spun through wind, coalescing into a green aura around Alastor.

She extended her hand, letting the energy settle into her palm. Her cane appeared in the other with a hiss of magic, and with surgical grace, she pressed the gathered magic into the mic-head embedded at its top. The cane pulsed with new force—and then vanished into mist.

And with that—he was hers.

Ownership complete. No more games.

Just service. And silence. And the smile that never broke.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE | DON’T FORGET, ALASTOR IS THE RADIO DEMON

Alastor sat in her chair with the stillness of a sharpened blade. Crimson eyes watched the pair before her without warmth, without cruelty—just quiet, poised disappointment. Niffty fidgeted in her seat, a bundle of nerves, her skirt torn at the hem and a streak of something that might’ve been glitter—or possibly blood—across her apron. Husker slouched beside her, arms crossed tightly, fur ruffled, his brow drawn in the surliest scowl he could summon. They looked like children hauled in front of a headmistress. And in some ways… they were.

The office was quiet. Too quiet for a morning like this.

Alastor’s fingers tapped once against her desk “Would either of you care to begin?” she asked finally, voice soft. Clipped. A melody with no warmth behind it.

Niffty opened her mouth.

“Not you” Alastor added coolly, gaze narrowing just slightly.

Niffty shrank into herself with a sheepish squeak.

“Never mind” Alastor leaned back, folding her arms gracefully “Rosie called me earlier. You know, my friend whose hospitality I currently depend on to host this evening’s gathering?” she glanced between them “The party I’ve spent the last week preparing for. The same party I assigned both of you very simple, very explicit responsibilities for.”

Husker didn’t look at her. He was focused instead on the floor, jaw clenched so tight it looked ready to snap. Niffty’s fingers twisted in her lap.

“She tells me” Alastor continued, tone unwavering “That between the two of you, an entire aisle of glassware has been shattered, six tables were destroyed, someone nearly set the decorations on fire, and one of you”—she looked pointedly at Husker—“Tried to drag the other into a storage closet to ‘throw hands’.”

“It means he started it!” Niffty blurted, before instantly clamping her hands over her mouth.

“I told her to stop moving my liquor around” Husker muttered, finally meeting Alastor’s eyes “She kept cleaning the damn bottles, rearranging everything like it was her fucking dollhouse. She put tequila next to the gin, Alastor. Tequila. Next to gin.”

Niffty hissed, jerking forward with fury “It was sticky! Sticky! It smelled like someone died in that bar—I was just trying to clean it up! And you yelled at me!”

“You touched my shelf.”

“I organized your shelf!”

“Oh wow, that totally matters when demons are trying get blitzed—”

“Enough” Alastor’s voice didn’t rise, but the air seemed to still in its wake. The both of them froze.

She turned her gaze to Niffty first “You, my darling, were instructed to clean the kitchen and ensure the chefs had all they required. Not get into Husker’s bar. Not Rosie’s arrangements. And certainly not to throw a tantrum loud enough to rattle the place” her tone dipped into icy calm “And to cause such a scene while Rosie was watching? I expected better from you.”

Niffty wilted under the weight of it, her voice barely a whisper “I’m sorry, Miss Alastor…”

Alastor’s eyes slid to Husker “And you.”

She stood. Slowly. Her cane clicked once on the floor as she circled toward him.

“This is the first time since our arrangement that you’ve stepped so publicly out of line” she said, voice rich with warning “You’ve barked, sulked, and drank yourself into stupors, yes—but this? This was insubordination. Destruction. A complete lack of restraint” she stopped just behind him, her breath light against the back of his neck “I’ve given you leniency, Husker. But don’t mistake ownership for kindness.”

He didn’t speak. His jaw worked, but nothing came out.

“I’m not going to use my magic to fix this” Alastor returned to her seat “The two of you are going to fix what you broke” she said lightly “You will apologize to Rosie. You will rebuild that bar exactly as it was” she crossed one leg over the other “And if either of you embarrass me tonight, I promise—you won’t live to regret it.”

A beat.

“Now. Go clean up your mess.”

The office door slammed open with a jolt of theatrical force, cutting the tension in the room like a blade through silk. Vox burst in, practically radiating excitement, his polished shoes tapping over the floor in rapid-fire rhythm “Alastor!” he sang, arms flung wide with an exaggerated flourish “What do you think of my new face? Be honest—it’s sleek, right?”

Alastor blinked once, hiding the faint sigh that tried to slip from her throat. Of course. It was the end of the decade—which meant Vox had undergone his ritual cosmetic overhaul again. She turned her eyes to him, letting her gaze scan his updated television head. The screen was flatter, wider, framed by slick matte plastic with faux chrome knobs that served no function beyond flair. The resolution was marginally sharper, if you squinted. So very nineties.

Her smile softened, taking on that pleasant, placating warmth “Ah, yes… much more compact this time. Less bulk. Very… angular” she tilted her head and added with a little hum “You’ve embraced the decade early, haven’t you? Very forward-thinking, James.”

Vox beamed, pixels pulsing in a stuttered flush “Exactly! I knew you’d notice. I’ve streamlined the casing, optimized the tuning core… and look at this glow mode” he flicked a dial and his face distorted briefly into neon fuzz before sharpening again, self-satisfied.

Alastor’s hand rested lightly on her lap, her expression still all sugar and wine—until Vox’s gaze swept toward the other two in the room. His screen brightened “And what happened to Tweedle-Dumb and Tweedle-Grump?” he snorted, gesturing broadly toward Niffty’s rumpled skirts and Husker’s scowling mess “Did you two wake up in the wrong dimension this morning? You look like the losing side of a slapstick show.”

Niffty rolled her eye, unamused, while Husker merely grunted and turned slightly away. He should’ve let it go. Should’ve ignored it.

But he didn’t.

“Nice screen, James” Husker muttered with dry sarcasm, not looking up from under his brow “Real sharp. Almost distracts from your personality.”

The temperature in the room dropped like a stone through glass.

For one single heartbeat, everything froze. The laughter choked in Vox’s throat. Then came the sound of his claws unsheathing with an audible snap, serrated metal clicking out of his palms like switchblades. His hands twitched.

His frame lunged.

Before Husker could even flinch, Niffty had already moved, yanking him back by the arm with surprising strength. Her mouth was tight, her one eye wide. She knew—had seen—what Vox did when that line was crossed.

But he didn’t get far.

Alastor was suddenly between them, calm as moonlight. Her hand, poised with lazy grace, held Vox’s extended arm by just two fingers, stopping the blow a breath from Husker’s cheek. Vox was close to ripping his face off. Her eyes remained closed, lips curled into a serene smile, not a single ounce of tension in her shoulders. It was unnerving, how composed she was while staring down such fury.

Vox trembled under her grip, claws still twitching at the edge of violence “He is not allowed to call me that” he hissed through clenched teeth, voice breaking into digital static.

“James” she said lightly, opening her eyes at last “I understand.”

Vox’s rage didn’t dissipate, but he blinked at her in surprise. She gently lowered his arm, not forcing it, but guiding him, her other hand moving to hold his wrist delicately “He didn’t know” she continued, voice as warm as a blade just pulled from boiling water “I’ve never told him that I’m the only one allowed to use your name. It was an unfortunate mistake.”

Her gaze flicked to Husker “One that he won’t repeat. Right?”

Husker was still shaking slightly, his heartbeat hammering in his throat. He nodded. Once. Jerky.

“Good” Alastor gave Vox’s back a few soft pats “There’s no need to worry anymore. Deep breaths. Let’s keep things civilized.”

But her next words curved with honeyed steel.

“And remember” she said smoothly, stepping back to face him fully “You don’t discipline what’s mine. That’s in the decree, Vox. If you have a complaint about a soul I own, you come to me. You don’t act without authority. You don’t touch what I possess.”

Vox straightened slightly, the last echoes of his fury still humming beneath his voice modulator. He nodded stiffly “Of course. I know the rule. File a complaint. Overlord sovereignty. Your sinner, your responsibility.”

Alastor tilted her head, the grin sharpening “Unless you do want me to punish you. Hmm? Do you need a reminder of what that would entail?”

“No!” Vox answered immediately, posture correcting “No. I’m fine. I apologize for the outburst. It… won’t happen again.”

She gave him a pleased nod “Lovely.”

There was a beat of silence, then she raised a brow in amusement “Now, was there another reason for your fashionable interruption?”

Vox perked up, sliding into formality with relief “Ah! Yes, actually. The guest list—tonight’s party. I need your final approval so I can distribute it to the door staff. Better they know who not to let in, especially with the lower riffraff looking to crash anything branded.”

Alastor gave a small nod, voice returning to pleasant business “Of course. Bring it over.”

She turned her gaze to Niffty and Husker, now hovering like schoolchildren at the edge of disaster.

“You two have chores to undo, yes?” she said delicately “I expect the mess you made to vanish before dusk. I’ll be sending someone to inspect it.”

Niffty vanished through the door with a speedy shuffle. Husker lingered for a breath longer, eyes glancing warily between Vox and Alastor… then followed.

Leaving only two in the room.

***

Lucifer knew that Alastor was, in many ways, like him—too composed for her own good, too proud to let anyone see the seams. She had her good days and her bad ones, as all beings do. But when Alastor had a bad day, it didn't roll in like thunder; it came concealed beneath static, wrapped in barbed etiquette and smiles that tried too hard. Today, her grin had the wrong tension—it was stretched, brittle, missing the sharpness that usually gleamed beneath the surface. She hadn’t even greeted him that morning. Not a single clipped word or mocking purr. And while Lucifer didn’t take it personally—knew better than to—weave it into his own ego, the absence rang louder than a scream. Whatever storm brewed under her skin, it was deep and sour.

He’d always thought it strange, the difference in how they fractured. When he cracked, he disappeared. Closed doors. Vanishing acts. Safe silences where the walls could absorb his discontent. But Alastor—no, she didn’t retreat. She embedded herself deeper. Louder. She clung to routine like it was armor, forcing herself through the motions with such brutal precision that it was impossible not to see the splinters forming. Even on the brink of collapse, she would do her work. Not out of discipline, but out of stubbornness. Pride that wouldn’t allow the world to see her bleed.

Lucifer had speculated all morning. He’d crafted a mental list of potential culprits—perhaps Stolas had passed on more bad news from the outer rings. Or maybe it was some sanctimonious sinner she couldn’t quite kill without damaging the brand. But the weight in her shoulders felt heavier than politics. No, this had the claws of something personal. And if he were to place a bet, he’d wager all of Hell’s treasury that it involved Vox.

At one point, he’d caught a moment in passing—Alastor in quiet conversation with Niffty near the archway, her voice low and clipped. The bug demon was holding something, small and suspicious. Lucifer didn’t catch what it was. But he saw Alastor’s eyes narrow, hand moving fast enough to snatch the object away in a flash, making it vanish with a flick of her wrist. Niffty had squeaked and scampered straight into the vents like a scout fleeing the scene. Whatever that had been, it hadn’t helped. Alastor’s expression afterward was glacial—crimson eyes vacant, grin stretched thin and hollow. She looked ready to kill the next person who crossed her.

He had told himself to let it be. Just let her be.

But he shouldn’t have.

By midday, Charlie had rallied everyone into the lounge, her usual cheer bright enough to light the room, even if no one shared her spark. Alastor was there too, seated stiffly in her corner, arms folded neatly, gaze fixed on a blank spot on the wall as if she could will herself out of existence. The silence around her was suffocating, thick with electrical charge. Everyone else had picked up on the change in the air. Charlie, sweet summer child that she was, either didn’t notice or refused to acknowledge it.

Lucifer watched with growing dread as his daughter launched into the description of her latest initiative—a scripted scene about saying no to drugs, complete with makeshift costumes fashioned from scrap. Her voice bubbled with sincerity, eyes bright with purpose. She gestured with excitement, completely unaware that the audience she had assembled was one poorly timed line away from incineration.

Alastor’s eyes glazed over, her lashes low with apathy. She wasn’t listening. Lucifer watched her slip deeper into herself, her body present but her mind somewhere locked behind a veil of static.

Then came the sigh. Alastor turned slowly, her voice soft but hollow, and addressed Husker without looking at him “Go fetch some supplies from the upper floor” she said. Not a request. A command dressed in politeness.

Husker stiffened, jaw tightening as he met her gaze “I’m not your fucking pet” he muttered, defiant and exhausted in equal measure.

Lucifer immediately felt the drop in temperature—figurative, but palpable.

Alastor’s eye twitched. Just once. Her grin sharpened at the edges, too fast, too mechanical “Oh” she whispered, voice feather-light and dangerous “But you are.”

Husker’s brows furrowed. He didn’t back down “Big talk coming from someone on the verge of a breakdown.”

Danger. Danger. Danger.

Lucifer’s breath hitched.

The lights flickered overhead, a soft stuttering in the fixtures as the air itself began to hum. That hum turned quickly into a thick buzz—Alastor’s static bleeding into the atmosphere like smoke from a hidden fire. The room went still. Everyone felt it. The sharp edge of her composure breaking. The heavy footstep of something ancient stepping into her shadow. Static coiled in the corners of the room, crawling along the walls like veins under flesh.

Lucifer didn’t move. His fingers tightened slightly around the armrest of his chair.

The moment Alastor chuckled, Lucifer knew the floor beneath them had dropped out. That cold, metallic rasp in her voice—distorted by her ever-present radio filter—wasn’t just anger. It was performance. Calculated, theatrical, and lethal “What did you say?” she murmured, the distortion warping the words into a sound that slithered under the skin.

Husker’s bravado dissolved instantly. His eyes went wide, breath hitching as he stumbled backward, hands raised defensively “Fuck… nothing… nothing” he stammered, his voice already shaking.

But there was no mercy in her stride.

Alastor moved slowly, deliberately, like a predator who knew the kill was already hers. A green chain coiled into her hand, and with one flick of her wrist, it snapped around Husker’s collar with a violent clink. She yanked. Hard. The force dropped him to his knees, the breath knocked from his lungs, and when he dared to raise his head, it was with trembling limbs and the weight of his own fear pressing down.

“Alastor, please” Charlie’s voice cracked through the tension, brittle with urgency. She stepped forward, hands outstretched as if she could physically catch the unraveling “Please, don’t…”

But the Overlord didn’t even glance her way.

“Tell me, Husker” Alastor said sardonically, her tone dripping with venom “How many times have I had to endure this attitude from you? It’s as if you don’t understand your position in all of this. Someone seems to forget what brought them into this dynamic in the first place.”

Lucifer moved swiftly, spreading his wings as he stepped in front of Charlie, blocking her path.

“Dad, what are you doing? We have to stop her” Charlie protested, her voice urgent.

“I need you to trust me on this, Charlie” Lucifer said gently, his tone calm but firm “She won’t hurt him.”

Because he knew Alastor—perhaps better than anyone else dared to. Or maybe it was his own desire to earn that right. She didn’t kill rashly. She didn’t lash out without purpose. Her wrath was always sharpened into words, and those words were crafted with the precision of a scalpel. Painful, yes. Damaging, absolutely. She had her rules. Her lines. And as long as the hotel’s image stood intact, she wouldn’t cross them. Not really. Not physically. But every threat she made still echoed with the weight of real possibility.

Because at the end of the day, people should never forget that she was The Radio Demon.

“Are you telling me that if you had won our little game, you’d still be who you are right now?” Alastor asked, her bitter laugh echoing through the room “Don’t make me laugh. Have you forgotten the attitude you had back then? I was already the leader of the Overlords, wielding the power to rule the ring and influence the others. When we met, you were just a rising Overlord with a drinking problem, treating your minions like trash. You were so arrogant that you disrespected me, mocked me, and even challenged me to a game—a game where we bet our souls, with the winner claiming the other’s.”

Her smile widened as she continued, her words cutting deeper “So tell me, Husker, what kind of attitude would you have today if you’d won my soul back then? If you’d inherited my power and influence? Do you think your relationship with Angel would be the same if you were in my position? Who knows what you would’ve done with my power. You’d probably have treated him like nothing more than an object, right? Just like you treated the souls you owned. They told me everything when I inherited them.”

Her presence loomed over Husker as she delivered her final blow “So yes, Husker, you ARE my PET” she said with disdain “Don’t blame me for being the consequences of your actions.”

“If you don’t fix that fucking attitude” Alastor hissed, her voice sharp and threatening “I will tear your soul apart and broadcast your screams for every other disrespectful wretch who dares to insult me.”

Husker shivered, his fear palpable as he realized he had crossed a line “Understood” he murmured weakly.

The lights returned to normal, and Alastor’s polite facade slipped back into place “Lovely” she said brightly, turning to observe the reactions of the sinners—and Lucifer.

Lucifer’s eyes swept the room with deliberate calm, taking silent inventory of every soul caught in the storm’s wake. Niffty was beaming—a chilling contrast, frankly—her bright-eyed admiration for Alastor’s dominance plain on her face, as if what had transpired was a ballet instead of a calculated show of force. Sir Pentious and Angel Dust, on the other hand, had recoiled, their postures shrinking instinctively. Both were visibly shaken, even the spider’s usual bravado dulled by something deeper than fear. Vaggie stood with her spear drawn, posture taut and righteous, exactly as he expected from an ex-exorcist. Always ready. Always ten seconds from defiance. Meanwhile, Charlie frowned, her expression conflicted as her eyes lingered on Alastor.

‘It was good’ Lucifer thought. At least Charlie hadn’t entirely forgotten who Alastor was. She still understood the darker aspects of Alastor’s nature, though her hesitation made it clear she felt uneasy about having such behavior in the hotel.

Lucifer silently resolved to ensure Charlie understood why she couldn’t intervene in Alastor and Husker’s arrangement. Their deal was binding—a mutual agreement with full consent from both parties. Overlord etiquette forbade the breaking of such contracts, and even Lucifer wouldn’t dare interfere. Soul-binding deals were dangerous, steeped in cosmic laws he’d rather avoid.

“Unfortunately, Charlotte” Alastor said suddenly, clearing her throat as she addressed the princess “I won’t be able to attend your activity of the day. My apologies” with a sharp smile, she turned and began ascending the stairs.

Lucifer made to follow her, but Alastor’s voice snapped back with chilling precision.

“Your Majesty” she said sharply, her eyes flicking toward him “I’ll be going to my chambers… alone.”

Lucifer froze, watching her disappear up the stairs. He sighed deeply, retracting his wings as he turned back to the group. Now came the hard part—calming them down.

“What the fuck was that?” Vaggie snapped, spear still in hand, her fury swelling to fill the space left behind. She pointed toward the staircase, expression ablaze “Why didn’t you do anything? Why didn’t you let us do anything?”

Lucifer didn’t answer. He just watched as Angel bent down beside Husker, helping the trembling cat to the couch, guiding him as gently as he could. Husker collapsed onto the cushions with a slow exhale, hands still trembling from adrenaline or shame—probably both. Charlie stepped closer, her voice gentler now, hands raised in quiet desperation.

“Dad” she pleaded, eyes wide with confusion “I need you to explain. Did I misunderstand something? Or is there something I don’t get?” her voice cracked slightly at the edges “There must be a reason you didn’t let me stop Alastor.”

Lucifer met her gaze but said nothing for a beat too long. His jaw tensed. He wanted to give her the truth, but there was no neat way to deliver it “It’s… hard to explain” he said finally, and the words rang hollow even to him.

“No, it’s not” Angel Dust said sharply, standing now, his arms crossed, chest rising too fast with unspent tension “Smiles went ballistic on Husker over a small comment. She’s never done that before” his eyes flicked sideways, reluctant “She reminded me of Valentino there for a second…”

Lucifer’s head snapped toward him so quickly it startled even himself “Don’t compare her to that disgusting moth” he growled, the venom in his tone catching even him off guard.

He wasn’t the only one reeling. Niffty—so often the glittering, buzzing beam of chaos in any room—had gone unnervingly still, her usually wide eye narrowed, her posture stiff with something uncharacteristically cold. Then, without warning, she stormed forward with clipped, furious steps, her tiny frame trembling with barely restrained indignation “Don’t you dare compare Miss Alastor to that filthy man” she snapped, and though her tone still clung faintly to its signature cheer, it was laced now with something far more serrated. Her smile had vanished entirely, replaced by the kind of tight-lipped intensity that made the temperature drop.

“Husker knows exactly what he had coming” she continued with a huff, pointing one accusatory finger at him as she glared with renewed fire “You heard her. You’ve all heard her. How many times has Husker pushed and pushed and pushed her?” her eye locked onto him with unflinching weight, sharp and burning with judgment “He acts like she just snapped for no reason, like he wasn’t poking her ribs every damn day.”

She stepped closer to the cat sinner, now limp and silent, her tone sharpening into something that almost glittered with malice “Why don’t you tell them how you met, huh? Or better yet… how we met?” her voice turned singsong, but each word landed like a needle “You want so badly to play the victim that you forget the roles we were all actually cast in. Shall I remind you?” she leaned in close, her voice dipping to a poison-sweet whisper “You wanted Miss Alastor and me to be your victims back then.”

The words hit like a slap. Husker flinched—subtle, but visible. The entire room fell into a deeper silence, breath held tight as attention swiveled back to the two of them. Even Sir Pentious, from across the room, called out in confused alarm “Ah… what?”

Niffty ignored him. Her ire didn’t waver "You were just as awful as that nasty TV and that mean old moth—just another angry man Miss Alastor had to put up with" Niffty huffed, crossing her arms tightly as her glare intensified "Have you forgotten how arrogant you were? You were so sure of yourself, so cocky about winning that bet with Miss Alastor. Oh, you said you’d make her into a fancy little dancer for the casino—and you were gonna throw me in there too, like I was just some add-on."

Every word came faster now, a flood of old wounds. Her voice bubbled with indignation, her single eye burning with fury as she leaned closer "But you got better... you mellowed out, year after year. You learned, didn’t you? You finally understood what it’s like to be on the other side of the chain" she hesitated, taking him in like a stranger, her expression softening only slightly before sharpening once more.

“And yet, even after all that—you still treat her like she’s the villain. You’re still rude. Still snide. She’s always been good to those that belong to her. You know that” her arm shot up, finger pointed like a dagger “She doesn’t deserve to be treated like she’s the problem.”

“She was kind to you, not me” Husker snapped suddenly, his voice rasping with fury and something heavier beneath it “Don’t give me that fucking excuse.”

That did it.

Her expression blazing with a new kind of hurt “She would have been kind to you—if you’d ever shown her a shred of respect” she said, her voice thin and sharp “Miss Alastor is kind to those who are kind to her” she added, more to the room now than just him, as if daring anyone to dispute it “But she’s also mean, and spiteful, and petty, and vengeful to those who deserve it."

She let out a dark little giggle then, but it carried no joy—just teeth “If she weren’t kind, you wouldn’t still have your precious Overlord power keeping the riffraff from gutting you in your sleep. If she weren’t kind, your liver would’ve turned to ash a long time ago from that bottle clutched to your hand. And if she weren’t kind…” her voice rose, trembling with intensity “…You wouldn’t have a roof. You wouldn’t have food to fill your belly. You wouldn’t be here.”

She stepped forward again, her voice lilting but sharp-edged “How many times did Vox almost kill you, Husker?” she asked, her tone deceptively light. Not curiosity. Not sympathy. Taunting. A simple question dragged by its hair through memory’s mud.

Husker flinched, just barely—but it wasn’t fear. It was hate. That twisted sort of resentment that coils in the gut when someone tells a truth too close to the bone. His eyes didn’t rise to meet hers, but his jaw locked tight, ears pinning back.

Niffty smiled then. Not kind. Not cruel. Just tired “You remember, don’t you?” she said, still speaking directly to Husker like everyone else had vanished “You remember when you got too brave and called Vox by his real name—like you were equals. Like you mattered. All for an snarky comment as if you didn’t know better around that man. And how fast it changed after that. You remember his face. You remember how fast he moved. And you damn well remember who stepped in between you and his claws before they ripped your face off.”

“Or when Valentino wanted to play with you” she added, her voice syrupy and sour all at once “You remember that, too. How fast he closed in. And how fast Miss Alastor shut it down. You didn’t have to say a word. She just moved. Like she always does. Because that’s what she does for us.”