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Alastor never quite enjoyed the overworld as much as he did when he was alive. It was different, being here as a demon.
Never quite the same as when he was still a lowly little human.
Nothing posed a challenge anymore.
Nothing entertained him anymore.
When a small human child had unwittingly offered him a bridge between Hell and Earth, Alastor had expected it to be more…Just more. But the overworld had become boring.
Where were the live shows?
The swingers and dancers?
The illicit substances in darkened bottles, hidden away from prying eyes.
But no.
Now it was all technology.
Television.
And how Alastor abhorred television.
Reminded him too much of Vox, the showy abomination.
So Alastor had looked for other entertainment. Maybe a new radio show to listed to, but it’s all droll.
Global warming.
How to prevent your spouse from cheating.
World events spelling out disaster at every breath.
The only bit of amusement he got was from Evangelist broadcasts, seeing scammers and con artists blend with true believers and knowing that if someone like Charlie could stay in Hell despite her own grace, what chances do they have in a world that pushes them closer to the edge with every beat of their mortal hearts.
There was a strange hiccup when Alastor noticed that Super-people were a thing.
He almost laughed at the corny names.
It sounds like something from back when.
But all gloom and doom. Batman trying his best to redeem the unredeemable. Superman, inhuman and struggling to act as such, or maybe to blend in. An Amazonian, which was quite amusing.
But none of them carried that spark of joy.
Too much seriousness.
No.
Boring.
So Alastor watches something else.
Watches the child who’d ended up in Hell and had turned to Alastor for assistance.
At first, it was droll as everything else. School and classes and boys and girls.
But then, the child approached him, made him an offer. And Alastor’s attention had been caught. And then, the boy had started to become exciting. Entertaining.
Dressed in bright colours.
Flipping through the air like acrobats in a circus.
A flare that most of the other people lacked.
Contrasted with the darkness inherent to his soul after his visit to Pentagon city, his embrace of a deal.
Stringing people up by their waistbands and dangling them from high places.
Alastor had decided that this, this is what he wanted the scroll for. To watch people like this.
And yes, the boy is naïve. Small. A child. Trying his best to redeem the irredeemable like his mentor.
But Alastor knows this boy. Had seen the look in his eye when Alastor had offered a deal.
There’s steel in that spine that makes Alastor’s heart race in anticipation of a challenge.
He just hopes that the boy will fall one day, into the place he’d once visited.
-
Years later, Alastor’s in the hotel, watching Charlie, the darling princess and wondering. Recovering. And he feels a pull on the souls around him.
Not unlike a summoning.
But not specific.
The poor magician could end up with an imp, or Lucifer himself.
There would be no selection.
But that quickly changes.
“Alastor, the Radio Demon”
The whisper is faint, rushing by his upright ear and whisked away before anyone else can hear it. And Alastor smiles. He knows that voice
He wonders what the little Robin is doing summoning demons.
Wonders if he’s about to shake hands once again.
“I have somewhere to be” He declares into the room before fading into shadow.
And reappears in the middle of static silence and shadow. Tilts his heads at the man standing in front of him. Not a naïve child. Not anymore.
“Well this is certainly something new” he says, eyes not moving from the familiar figure that he’s known since a child.
“Alastor” Tim greets back with a small smile and respectful nod.
Alastor always knew he liked something about him.
Respectfulness is a skill learned and forged in Hell, even if only a façade to reach the squishy bits of some power over you.
The boy explains what they need, offers Alastor a deal once again. A place to rest in exchange for their help.
Alastor agrees, if only to see what the boy deems a threat to himself and his world, but not to Alastor.
And the dark stain on the boy’s soul spreads just a tiny bit farther. Not enough to damn, but enough now that it would be visible to any Overlord who sees the boy.
Alastor’s signature all over his immortal soul like a stain across white fabric.
Alastor doesn’t need to hide a smirk. He’s already smiling after all. It’s the lesson he’d tried to teach Charlie. A lesson this boy had already learned by the time Alastor met him.
So he agrees to fight this demon-like figure.
Not a demon, as Tim had been anxious to point out.
But possibly from another dimension.
Strong.
Large.
Alastor translates this to annoying.
And he wipes the floor with him, of course he does. Alastor hadn’t been trapping and torturing other Overlords for decades for nothing. And this red-stained imposter does not have anything on some of the Overlords Alastor had overthrown.
Even the little brat, human as she is, soul stained darker than Timothy’s and half-torn in half from her own inner-conflict could take this stain upon demon name.
Alastor is fairly certain that even the V’s would be able to kill him.
And Alastor does not think much of the V’s to begin with.
But, he plays along. Steps back when a fist slams to the ground in front of his feet and tilts his head to the side. Watches as the figure Tim had introduced as Trigon, raises another hand to swipe.
Doesn’t get the chance.
Alastor had single-handedly held back the forces of Heaven, of the Exterminators, with a wave of his hand. Alastor had fought Adam himself, and if the nuisance hadn’t been so unruly, Alastor is willing to bet he would have gotten the killing blow.
After all, Alastor hadn’t been fighting full force. He’d been making a point.
Adam was so sloppy.
It’s something Alastor hates.
And this Trigon is equally sloppy, leaving limbs and weak spots vulnerable like nothing could hurt him.
Well, Alastor would be glad to disillusion him of that notion.
He feels his eyes widen, feels his smile stretch and sharpen. Watches as shadows elongate and grow darker, the shrieking of souls bound echoing in the darkness.
Alastor himself doesn’t even need to step in.
He could make his point here. Could claim this life like he should have done with Adam. So he stands back, ears pricked but expression as neutrally positive as it always is.
The shadows reach and the little soul-lings fling themselves in hoards into the fray.
Alastor’s ear flicks to the side, hearing a muffled curse word from where the child and his compatriots had kept themselves.
Protected, Timothy had said with a smile that said he was humoring them more than anything. The girl hadn’t been amused by his tone. But now, Alastor could hear her gasp, could hear exclamations of disbelief.
He always did like putting on a show.
So he steps forward, the soul-lings scattering at his feet and surrounding the red-skinned figure that tries to dislodge them with large hands and powerful swings. But Alastor has more minions than this figure has strength. That becomes apparent quite quickly as the figure begins to rant.
Something about his daughter?
About the overworld becoming his domain?
Alastor’s smile is fixed. But his shadow stretches further, becomes more grotesque than he generally allows in this world.
After all, Alastor’s been so bored.
And who is this Lucifer Wannabe to try and take away his entertainment?
He steps forward, the shadow staying under his feet as he climbs his own darkness like steps. Until he can meet the eyes of this trapped supposed superpower.
“Hm. I do wonder how a soul from another plane of existence will scream”
The figure doesn’t give Alastor the satisfaction of flinching but the expression is enough that Alastor feels sufficiently motivated.
Demons need deals to claim souls.
But, there are loopholes to rules.
After all, the right of conquest is still very much applicable in Hell’s hierarchy, at least on the smaller scale. It’s why turf wars are so important.
And Alastor had, of course, won Husk’s soul in a gamble. Preserve your own power or lose it all.
Alastor never loses.
His mic is steady in his hand, buzzing in anticipation, in static. After all, it is a part of him.
And Alastor hasn’t claimed a soul in. So. Long.
“Wait!”
Alastor falters, his mic’s buzzing silencing for just a moment as he turns to the child behind him, below him. So far away. Too far to stop him.
But the girl is stalwart “He’s my father” she says and Alastor hears longing, wariness. Hatred.
His eyes narrow.
“I get to keep his soul” she says and it’s said with such assurance. Like she is sure Alastor will simply hand the weakling over to her.
He glances to the girl’s side, at Timothy, who meets his eyes.
No fear.
It’s something Alastor isn’t used to, the lack of fear in his eyes, in his expression. This child does not fear him. Even now that he has seen what Alastor is capable of without even trying.
And that’s something to think on.
Alastor hadn’t been trying. Hadn’t had to fight even mildly as hard as he did during extermination day.
This soul is weak.
So Alastor hums, the echo of it reverberating though every shadow, every crevice.
“The weakling is yours” he says, statement directed at the girl in purple robes. But his eyes do not move from Timothy, who gives Alastor a grateful smile and a nod, eyes only barely falling onto Alastor’s previous wound.
All healed, he knows.
The power of deals and souls outweigh any flesh he may have.
The giant underneath his feet vanishes, absorbed into a red crystal in the girl’s hand, cradled into her fingers with just too little force to break it.
“It was a pleasure seeing you again, Timothy. I do hope I get to keep the soul next time. Or that they’re a challenge at the very least.
I do so hate to be bored”