Chapter Text
“It was so awful Vaggie,” the princess sobbed into her paramours shoulder. She had returned back to the hotel after an apparently disastrous meeting with the overlord Valentino regarding getting Angel some time off. Or so Alastor had gathered. He didn’t want to seem smug about it, but really, what had she expected? Valentino was notoriously a bastard. To a degree that he almost made Alastor himself look positively kind. Of course she had failed to charm such a feckless cad. Valentino was not a smart demon by any means and he did not value the monarchy whatsoever. Especially not Charlie. Unfortunately for her, few Overlords did. Even Alastor didn’t take Charlotte seriously, though he was smart enough not to say as much.
No, Alastor was nothing if not a brilliant demon, and he intended to press this situation to his advantage. The Radio Demon had no specific interest in the spider himself. Angel Dust had proven himself entertaining to say the least, if not, too overly familiar for his taste. That said, Angel was very obviously Charlie’s favorite little pet project. One she would do anything for. If Alastor could manage to save the poor little spider from his own tragic, if inevitable, fate at the hands of the moth, he knew he could only further ingratiate himself into Charlotte’s good graces. “Perhaps I can be of assistance,” he offered with a grin. Vagatha looked, as ever, annoyed by his presence, which frankly was its own reward. He lived to annoy the former angel, especially being he was one of the few who knew her secret. He had smelled the stench of the divine on her the moment he had stepped foot into the hotel. All ozone and something far too sweet for his tastes. It very nearly made him gag.
Vaggie snorted at his words, “How’s that, shitlord?” She demanded. Alastor’s grin sharpened. It was fortunate for her that he didn’t know what in Hell she was calling him, and thus was never upset by it.
“I am, in case it escaped your notice, an overlord like Valentino, though infinitely more powerful,” he felt the need to add. “My background should give you all of the information you need to know.”
“We’re not letting you kill Valentino, Alastor,” Vaggie spat. Alastor raised an eyebrow as he looked at Charlie. There was a glimmer in her eyes. Something that suggested she seemed to have a different idea in mind. Alastor could press this to his advantage. He shrugged.
“If you’d rather your star patron continue to suffer at the hands of his wretched boss, by all means,” he said, feigning nonchalance as he turned on his heel. “Your choice,” he said over his shoulder. It was always the appearance of a choice with Alastor. Whether or not any choice actually existed was up for debate.
“Wait,” Charlie said. Alastor grinned, his whole face lighting up. His powers thrummed beneath his veins. This was what he loved more than anything else in life. Murder was a hobby really, cannibalism a diet more than anything, one necessitated by the curse of his afterlife. But manipulating those with power into bending to his will was just too delicious. Alastor had talked his way into many a contract in life that had made him a successful radio host and had kept him out of police suspicion no matter how brazen the kill or how audaciously he had discussed it on his radio show. Alastor had a remarkable way with words. Whereas in life, it had made him wealthy and famous, here in Hell it had made him feared and powerful. “Can you really help him?”
Alastor turned his head 180 degrees to face her with a loud, sickening crunch that made the princess cringe. This particular trick he had learned from his dear friend Stolas. When she looked sufficiently uncomfortable, Alastor turned the rest of his body around to match his head once more. “Overthrowing overlords is my claim to fame, my dear,” he said. To anyone else his voice would seem sinister, he knew it did to Vagatha, but Charlotte was far too sentimental to hear it for what it was. She was, to use a phrase far beyond his own time, a bleeding heart who sympathized with just about everyone. Except it seemed, Valentino. He could see the wheels turning behind her eyes. She was calculating how to ask for what she wanted without ever having to get blood on her own hands. Alastor neither needed nor desired permission to overthrow Valentino. Nor did he need her to ask for it outright. What he did need was the assurance that she could look the other way while he did the dirty work. “After all, is that not why you wanted me here?” He asked, as if his arrival was her idea. As if she had conjured him herself to be the hotel’s protector. But hadn’t she? He certainly intended to make her think so. She needed his help, that much was clear. Whether she possessed the power to depose an overlord herself was irrelevant. She wouldn’t, and therefore he had to do it. Whereas Vagatha was her shield, Alastor was her sword. A deadly sword that was as sharp as it was exacting. A sword that never missed, and that she could wield without so much as lifting a finger.
Charlie swallowed. “I just want Angel to be safe,” she said, her voice small. The unspoken, at any cost, lingered between them. Alastor also had remarkable hearing and was able to pick up on the things that people did not say as well as what they did. It was all his work as a dealmaker. A dream maker for some. Nightmare maker for others. Salvation and destruction in equal measure.
Alastor smiled as he placed a paternal hand on her shoulder. “And that is why I am here,” he assured. “To ensure the safety of the residents of this hotel.” Vagatha snorted but Alastor ignored her. He watched as her resolve broke bit by bit. The princess was principled it could not be argued; as much as her morals without any sense of reality sickened him, but it was clear that, to defend those she cared about, her morals could be bent. “You needn’t know the details. All you need do is ask,” he said. Not a deal with the devil, but a deal with a devil. A smiling one who promised to offer exactly what you needed. There was always a price, but Alastor wouldn't mention those sordid details now. Charlotte's unwavering scruples insured that Alastor would get his due regardless of whether or not there was a handshake.
Charlie looked torn for only a moment longer, then she nodded. “Please, Alastor,” she said. “Help him.”
“Consider it done, my dear,” Alastor said and with that he disappeared into the shadows.
Vee Tower was a gaudy eyesore in the middle of the Western side of the Pentagram known colloquially as the lust district. As a rule, Alastor seldom, if ever, traveled to this side of the Pentagram. He loathed the Vees and their insufferable district. A pale imitation of the lust ring, all flash and no substance, just like the three demons themselves.
Of all of the Vees, Valentino was the least known to Alastor. Alastor didn’t partake in pornography, least of all the shlock that Valentino and company produced. Nor did he frequent any of the seedy nightclubs owned by the moth. Since Valentino rarely bothered to show his face at any of the overlord meetings, their paths had seldom crossed. Vox on the other hand was another story entirely, unfortunately for Alastor, and one far too long and tedious that he would just as soon not think about. Then there was Velvette. By far the least offensive—to his mind at least—of the Vees. Velvette struck him as a young woman who knew what she wanted, and more importantly had enough self preservation that she wouldn’t prove any impediment to him.
Alastor appeared on the periphery of Vee tower, sticking to his shadows, lest he give his position away to one of Vox’s many digital eyes. Alastor had a flare for the dramatics, and he loved to make an entrance, and there was, for him, no greater entrance than a grand, surprise entrance.
The Radio Demon steeled himself for what he knew he would see within the walls of the porn studio where Angel Dust worked. He was not a prude, despite what many thought about him, and while he had yet to meet anyone, alive or dead who had caught his attention in any lustful capacity, it wasn’t to say he was entirely averse to such a thing. It was merely that he required a bit more substance. Sex for the sake of it did not impress Alastor. Perhaps he was a romantic, but sex without any sort of depth beyond that did not appeal to him whatsoever. There needed to be a connection, and since few demons bothered to form such a connection with him—unless they wanted something from him—it simply hadn’t happened. Life had been much the same.
While he was not a prude, Alastor had heard rumors of the sort of content that Valentino went in for. More specifically he had overheard Angel’s complaints to Husker at the bar. It barely qualified as erotica to his mind, and fell into barely concealed snuff. One would think that Alastor of all demons would appreciate such a thing but the truth was, his work and Valentino’s work couldn’t have been more different. Alastor killed overlords and those who deserved it. Valentino tortured those who he had conned into contracting with him. For as much as Husker bemoaned his own contract, he knew how lucky he really was. He had been an overlord himself after all—and not a particularly kind one. There was a reason the cat drank as much as he did, and it was not merely the fault of Alastor himself. Guilt was a funny thing in Hell. Rare though it was, it could drive even the most ruthless demons to self destruction when faced with their own skeletons. Husk was lucky he had ended up with Alastor, and he knew it. Alastor wasn't nearly as cruel with him as he had been when he was an overlord. Alastor rarely exerted his power over the chimera. He hardly needed to.
The inside of Vee tower was just as gaudy and tacky as the outside. Marble floors, marble desks, feathers, and frippery, and far too much gold. It looked like a very tacky demon’s idea of what opulence ought to be. No elegance and little finesse. There was also, a clashing amount of neon even in here. A sign that hung behind the receptionist’s desk with three bright neon V’s in varying colors refracted against the marble. It made his eye twitch. Alastor was almost surprised not to find a bear skin rug or otherwise several shag carpets all over the floor. He didn’t bother greeting the receptionist and she didn’t bother stopping him either. What demons were milling about, leaped out of his way the moment he appeared. Alastor grinned, feeling pleased with himself as he walked towards the elevator. He did not need to be told where the studio itself was. He could feel the static of the camera feeds. Hear the buzz of audio equipment. Smell the acrid stench of lust and personal lubricant. As the elevator rose toward the appropriate floor, Alastor picked up more lurid noises. Squelching mostly, were he anywhere else, he might have been able to convince himself that the sounds his sensitive cervine ears had picked up were merely the sounds of cannibals feasting on flesh. Or otherwise claws digging into flesh. That he knew otherwise nearly made him gag. It was all so tawdry.
Alastor himself had no desire to produce erotica, but if he had he could be sure that it would all have a sense of class and decorum. None of the rough, sweaty, throng of bodies taking turns using and abusing one another. It was so boorish, so distasteful, and so very tiresome. It wasn’t even original any longer, and it bored him terribly.
The elevator doors opened and Alastor slipped out, his shoes tapping rhythmically against the marble floors. The sounds had only increased outside of the elevator and Alastor felt his skin crawl. There were moans now, almost groans that sounded as though they were coming from ghosts. He adjusted his bowtie, ensuring his persistent grin was ever more firmly supplanted on his face. He would not show even a moment of disdain or disgust. He wouldn’t give Valentino the satisfaction.
The doors blew open at his command, slamming against the opposite walls, and causing everyone in the studio to jump, including Valentino he was pleased to note. Several dozen heads swiveled towards him. His eyes glowed in the barely there lighting. He avoided staring at the beds, through of all the gasps and whispers, the one that stood out to him among them was a gasp that was distinctly Angel Dust’s. He barely resisted the urge to wave at him like the world’s most embarrassing parent. Valentino leveled a glare at the him, his eyes lowered behind his heart shaped glasses. Alastor’s smile never flickered.
“WHAT are YOU doing here?” Valentino demanded. Alastor chuckled.
“Is that any way to greet a fellow overlord?” He asked. He vanished from the door and reappeared a second later leaning against Valentino’s directing chair, idly checking his claws.
“Come to try and finish the job the princesa started?” Valentino growled. The demon managed to spit a surprising amount of venom into the nickname.
“I haven’t the foggiest what you’re talking about my good man,” he said. “I merely came to talk business,” he replied. Valentino snorted.
“We don’t got any business,” he spat, then noticing that all of his cast and crew were gawking at the Radio Demon barked, “What are you idiots staring at? GET BACK TO WORK!” Everyone jumped to look as though they were doing something whilst Alastor remained where he was, looking bored. “You planning to sit here and watch AngelCakes work or are you going to fuck off?”
Alastor chuckled. “I think we both know I’m not going anywhere without his contract in hand.”
Valentino barked into his microphone for the action to start up again. “What exactly do you want with him?” He asked, turning to face the radio demon. Alastor himself was eyeing Angel Dust with a certain curiosity. In his element, Angel was good at making others believe that he liked what he did. But Alastor could see something that others either couldn’t or didn't want to see. For all his flirtations, for all his cheap come ons, and tawdry outfits, here, there was none of that. As demon after demon lined up to take their turns with him, it was evident to Alastor that the demon that he found so entertaining was not there. His expression was vacant, save for the occasional pained look. Was he merely high, or had he disassociated to somewhere else? Somewhere where this wasn’t his existence. Alastor wasn't sure he could blame him either way. Valentino’s words registered in his brain several seconds after his ears had picked them up.
“That is for me to know,” he answered in his usual cryptic way. Valentino snorted.
“He’s only good for one thing,” the moth replied as he lit up a red cigarette. “Getting fucked.” Alastor’s nose wrinkled as Valentino blew the smoke in his face. Perhaps it was the way he said the words. So dismissive, perhaps it was the same thing that he always thought of when he decided to kill. His mother. Alastor had failed to protect her from the worst of his father’s abuses when he was younger, and his mother had died as a result.
His father had been Alastor’s first kill, but the guilt that he had never been able to save his mother had eaten away at him and made him into the demon he was today.
“He’s a stupid, useless, whore,” Valentino said. Alastor hummed. In an instant his eyes rolled back into his head, they darkened into a pitch black and his pupils dilated into red radio dials. His antlers stretched and elongated, as did the rest of his body, and lights flickered off one by one. The room shook with the Radio Demon’s barely concealed rage. His shadow crawled out of the ground and wrapped itself around Valentino’s legs, and up his middle. Valentino wriggled against the bonds, in an effort to break free, but Alastor’s shadow was stronger. The only light came from the glowing of Alastor’s eyes and teeth. Static pitched ever higher. The Radio Demon was horrifying in all his glory. Not merely an eldritch deer, but a terrifying creature, the stuff of nightmares.
He growled, and the sound rumbled through the floor. He lifted one clawed hand toward Valentino, his claws were razor sharp and easily a foot long. He sliced across his thorax in one swift movement. Valentino screamed, as his guts spilled out of him and onto the floor with a sickening squelch. Alastor located his heart, such as it was; he had expected it to be shriveled and decayed, but as usual even the worst of the worst here had perfectly beating hearts. Luckily for him. Valentino’s heart was still beating, pounding madly as if it thought it could run straight from the moth’s open cavity to some sort of safety as he wrapped his fingers around it. It was unaware that the rest of Valentino was no longer alive. Alastor squeezed the muscle until it stopped moving, and unhinged his massive jaw dropping the minuscule heart into his open gullet and swallowed it. Several screams echoed all around him, but he didn’t pick up on them. The lights came back on, and Alastor shrank down to his normal size when he heard a gurgling sound that was distinctly not Valentino’s. His head whipped around, and there he saw it. Angel Dust was splayed out on the bed he had been laying on, his stomach torn open in much the same way that Alastor had torn through Valentino.
Alastor stared at the body that remained of the moth then at Angel Dust. Furious, he appeared at the naked demon’s side, examining his body. His heart was missing which could only mean one thing. Valentino was not quite as stupid as Alastor had thought. Only a very clever demon would have put a clause into his contract that should anything happen to him, his contractee would die as well. He tsked at himself. If he allowed Angel to die, Charlotte would never forgive him, and all of this would be for naught. Blood leaked from Angel’s open mouth, he was not breathing, he was not, from what Alastor could tell, alive.
He needed to think. There was no time. No time. He had to act, and fast.
Closing his eyes, Alastor placed a hand onto Angel’s chest. Green eldritch magic flowed from Alastor’s arm and through his fingers into the other demon. A bond, not unlike the one Alastor and his shadow had, though much deeper. Angel’s eyes shot open as he looked up at Alastor, and he gasped for breath. He was still glowing. As the Radio Demon looked down he saw that Angel now had half a heart. Half of his heart. The other half was mostly static, a facsimile that would trick his body into keeping him alive. His chest stitched itself together and the glowing receded back into Alastor’s palm. Black blood trickled from Alastor’s mouth, his eyes, his nose.
The assembled crowd was stunned silent.
Alastor picked Angel’s naked form off of the mattress and vanished into the shadows. With his last bit of energy, he brought Angel and himself back to the hotel.
“Alastor?” The demon heard Charlie say. Alastor blinked, first one eye, then the other. He placed Angel onto his feet, and as the mixture of power and adrenaline vanished from him in an instant, Alastor collapsed in a heap on the floor of the hotel lobby, unconscious. His shadows melded him into the floor to his radio tower to recover in privacy, leaving the remaining demons unsure of just what exactly had happened.