Chapter Text
It was a perfect day in hell, until a scream broke from Alastor’s room. Footsteps thundered down in the dimly lit hallway as a fist rapped sharply against the wooden door.
“Alastor?” Charlie’s voice rang out, her voice bright as usual as she tried the handle. “Alastor, what just happened?”
The man didn’t answer. Not because he lacked the manners, nor because he enjoyed worrying others. But because the voice that should’ve answered them was gone.
He still can speak though, but this time; no crackle, no static, and no honey slick radio tune charm he used to pronounce in every syllable.
Without it, would they still recognize him?
“Alastor? answer us” another knock followed, louder this time. “Fucking Christ, just open the damn door, Al” Husk added, not even trying to hide his annoyance.
“Shit” Alastor cursed under his breath. His smile twitched.
He needed to hide.
No, run.
He wanted to summon his staff but apparently, it’s now gone with his radio voice.
“Fuck” Alastor slammed his hand against the table, hard enough to make the surface groan. In front of him stood the mirror he used every day, waiting. He wanted—desperately—to fight the urge to look, to turn away and convince himself that this wasn’t real. It only took a second when the mirror caught him in its glassy stare. Someone else stared back, different, yet painfully familiar.
“No” he whispered.
“No,” he said again, “this can’t be…real”.
He pinched his cheek, then nose to make sure this wasn’t a dream.
“The fuck” he hissed. “Impossible”.
The demon in the mirror was gone. He stared at the mirror for a moment.
“What in the Satan’s trick!” he hissed.
His usual red hair—the once defined him—was gone, replaced by soft brown hair that fell carelessly over his forehead. No antlers crowned his head this time, and no elongated ears. His eyes were no longer glowing pools of predatory crimson, but warm brown, sharp, and achingly too well known. Perched neatly on his nose were a pair of glasses he had not worn since a very long time.
That’s it, the face made for radio.
The face once stained with the sweet taste of blood—the same one that dragged him down to hell.
Alastor—The Radio Demon—had his human form back.
But what is this…Redemption?
The word feels wrong.
If that were true, why is he still here at the hotel?
What about the other sinners?
Could he back into his demonic form?
Questions spiraled through his mind with no answer to anchor them.
“Sir!” Vaggie snapped from the other side of the door. “If you won’t open the door, I will open it by force”
Alastor have no choice. Without his staff, he can’t use his power, which means he can’t escape.
He trapped.
“One” Vaggie began. “Two—”
“OPEN THE DOOR BITCH!” Cherri Bomb’s voice rang gleefully before something heavy collided with the door. “Whoops, heads up guys!”
BOOOOOOM!
Wood splintered, the wall cracking apart as debris flew through the room. Alastor staggered back toward the fireplace, lifting an arm to shield his face as coughing echoed around the room.
“Ugh, Cherri!” Angel Dust groaned somewhere in the chaos while Cherri snorted with amusement. “Yep, totally worth it!”.
Nifty adjusting her apron, peering through the settling dust with wide eye.
“Oh my, is that—”
“Not now, my dear Nifty,” Alastor said smoothly with his trademark grin, “I’m in the middle of identity crisis”.
The absence of his radio filter made the words hit strangely bare.
“Alastor you—” Charlie stopped for a moment, her eyes lit up. “You look GORGEOUS AS FUCK” she screamed before threw her arms around the man.
“Oh my gosh, oh my gosh. So this is how you looked back then?” she pulled back just enough to inspect him, her hands cupping his face without hesitation. “You’re so CHARMING, and like way less terrifying hahaha”.
Alastor rolled his eyes. “How flattering”.
“You know?” Charlie continue, “you totally could’ve been the hotel ambassador with this face. Right, Angel?”
“Or a porn star” Angel Dust winked.
“Well,” Alastor finally said, folding his hands behind his back. “Since you’re the Princess of Hell, I assume you know precisely why I’ve found myself in this…predicament”.
Charlie froze. “E-eh…actually—” she paused for a second, “actually, we’ve never seen anything like this before” she admitted. “You know, this is a rare condition, so—”.
Alastor grin tightened, the kind of smile held together by habit rather than amusement.
“Pardon?” he asked sharply.
“Yeah, but! But but but but, don’t worry!” Charlie rushed on. “I’ll fix it! We’ll figure it out. Right, Vaggie?”
Vaggie swallowed, staring at Alastor like he might blink back into his demonic form. “We’ll…try our best”
Alastor already knew how this would end.
Charlie optimism was as dangerous as it was sincere. He had seen that kind of faith before—in his father—Lucifer.
A sudden flash went off as Cherri Bomb hooked an arm around Alastor's shoulders. Her phone raised as she took another picture.
“Smile, bitch! You’re pullin it off!”, then another click. “Haha, Pentious gonna love this!”.
“That’s it,” Alastor said sharply, “I’m going to get some fresh air”.
Without another word, he grabbed his blanket and leave the ruined room behind into the blood-red streets beyond the hotel.
He went straight to the Cannibal town.
Rosie would have the answers.
She always did.
. . .
Back at the hotel, Charlie and Vaggie stood buried in Lucifer’s library, surrounded by towering stacks of ancient tomes.
“Find something?” Vaggie asked, returning yet another armful of books to the self.
Charlie groaned, pressing her forehead against a pile of heavy volumes. “Sadly, no”.
Vaggie exhaled slowly and cut the space between them. The tension in her shoulders easing as she reached Charlie.
“Hey,” Vaggie rested a hand on her girlfriend’s shoulder. “We’ll figure this out, okay?”
Charlie wanted to believe her, but this time, she hesitated.
Right now, every instinct screamed at her to call her father.
But, Alastor would hate it. Showing weakness to the King of Hell, no, to—Lucifer—would infuriate him.
At the end, she pulled her phone and dial the number.
“…let’s just hope Alastor didn’t kill me for this”
.
.
.
To be continue...