[Charlie walks back in and leans by the door in defeat as a sudden knock can be heard from the other side of the door, surprising Charlie.]
Back on Earth, curiosity was gradually giving way to unease, and the people on Earth are rather curious as to who was knocking on the door, seeing that many sinners and demons clearly despise her ideas. A good amount of humans in New Orleans felt a sense of unease and wrongness as they heard some buzzing from behind the door.
Chief Allard, who still camped out in his cluttered office surrounded by monitors and conspiracy forums, squinted at the screen before he felt a chill down his spine.
"I've got a bad feeling about this." He muttered, scrolling through some papers and case files, "Real bad. If that sound means what I think it means, then we're about to see something big. Bigger than redemption. Bigger than the damn princess."
{Hell}
Hazbin Hotel:
"Oh?" Alastor perked up, leaning forward in his chair with childlike glee and a glint of mania in his crimson eyes, "Well, well, well. Looks like it's time for my grand debut!"
He straightened his bowtie, as his wide grin stretched just a little too far across his face, "I've been dying to see how I'm portrayed on these little broadcasts... will they capture my good side, I wonder? Or perhaps they'll show my more playful moments..."
[Charlie contemplates on whether or not to open the door but decides to open it anyway.]
[On the other side of the door is the demon that was watching Charlie's interview. Alastor, the Radio Demon towers over and looks down at her. He has a short angled bob cut and his red hair has black tips. His hair is also styled in a way that resembled horns. His red eyes glow slightly in the dark, and he has a red oval shaped monocle over his right eye.]
[In his hands is a thin cane with a vintage styled microphone attached to it. He smiles at her, showing his sharp yellow teeth.]
[The mysterious figure watching her performance from before can be seen standing before her and Charlie, knowing who he is, reacts with extreme shock.]
["Hel-" The demon tried to greet her before the door was slammed shut in front of him.]
[Charlie looks to the side for a brief moment before she opened the door again.]
["-lo!" Charlie slammed the door in front of his face once more before turning towards Vaggie.]
V Tower:
Vox stood frozen, the vivid glow of static outlining his frame as he stared, wide-eyed, at the broadcast blaring from the wall-sized screen. The moment that face, his face appeared on the feed, everything else fell away.
"THAT FUCKER'S BACK?!!" He bellowed, his voice crackling like a broken transmission. He slammed both fists down onto the expensive glass table in front of him, shattering it into splinters of silicon and steel but he didn't care, "No, no, no how the fuck is he back now?! And at her fucking hotel?! Is he trying to make a fucking deal with her?!"
Velvette perched elegantly on the couch and lazily flipping through her phone, raised an eyebrow and sat up a little straighter.
"No way," She drawled, looking at the footage again with a clawed finger, "Alastor? The Radio Demon? Showing up at her hotel?"
Vox didn't answer as he was too busy crashing out, his hands twitching as glitch energy sparked from his fingertips.
Valentino, who blew a puff of cigarette smoke curling from his mouth, lowered his shades just enough to glance over the edge of them and his smile didn't reach his eyes, "Tch. Didn't think that fucker still gave a damn about anything? After seven years he crawled back from wherever he's been hiding, wonder what the catch is."
Velvette smirked, but there was a hint of unease under that glamour, "He doesn't do favors. Not without a song and a fucking razor blade tucked behind that bow tie."
Valentino nodded, "If Alastor's checking in with her, that means he sees potential... or power. And either way, he's not doin' it for laughs. He's a predator. Always has been."
Vox finally stopped pacing. He turned slowly, his jaw clenched so tightly that sparks crackled between his teeth.
"He's a problem," He said coldly, eyes pulsing with raw, digital hate, "We all know how he plays. This isn't random. It's a move. A fucking opening act for whatever sick plan he's been cooking in that static brain of his."
Vox looked at the smug smile of Alastot with hate in his eyes and said, "Then we better prepare for whatever that demon is planning."
Pride Ring:
Throughout the darker corners of Hell, the atmosphere was buzzing with tense curiosity and barely concealed anxiety. In one of the more popular bars packed wall to wall with sinners, the broadcast played loudly from a rusted TV bolted to the ceiling, its screen flickering occasionally from interference. Everyone's eyes was glued to the footage of the infamous Radio Demon casually entering the Hazbin Hotel with the princess of Hell herself.
"What the hell is he doing there?" A feline-like sinner muttered under her breath, her tail twitching nervously as she watched the scene unfold, "The Radio Demon waltzing into the princess' hotel like it's just another Tuesday? That's gotta mean something."
"You think he's going to try and hurt her?" She asked, her voice barely above a whisper, more afraid of the possible answer than she cared to admit.
An imp lounging beside her scoffed as he swirled a drink in his glass, "Not a chance. Alastor may be batshit insane, but he's not suicidal." He gestured at the screen with the rim of his glass, "You so much as breathe wrong in Charlie's direction, and Lucifer himself'll rip you a new one."
The cat sinner grimaced, "Then why the fuck would he go there? What's the angle?" Her eyes narrowed suspiciously, "Don't tell me he's suddenly turned over a new leaf or wants to be redeemed or something. That guy's eaten more demons than a famine in a war zone. He's got the blood of entire cities on his hands."
Voices rippled throughout the bar in similar tones some with uncertainty, while others are with dread. Everyone had their theories, and not a single one sounded comforting.
Near the bar, the bartender wiped sweat from his brow as he frantically filled glasses and handed out bottles. Demands had spiked ever since the broadcast began, and every demon in the vicinity had crowded in to get a glimpse of the chaos played out on-screen.
"Keep it moving, keep it moving!" He barked, slamming another glass down and refilling it with liquor, "If you're gonna gawk, do it with a drink in your hand!"
The line at the door stretched out into the alleyway, demons from all walks of damnation pressing in for a chance to witness the biggest event in Hell since the last turf war.
"Who needs Hellflix when you've got this kind of drama?" One demon grinned as he shoved his way inside.
"Right?" Another one laughed nervously. "It's either the start of a new era... or the beginning of the end."
["Hey, Vaggie?" She called out to her.]
["What?" Vaggie asked with a groan. as she put a hand on her head.]
["The Radio Demon is at the door!" Charlie said with a nervous smile and pointed at the door.]
["What!" Vaggie sits up in shock at what she just heard.]
["Uh, who?" Angel Dust asked taking the popsicle out of his mouth with a pop.]
["What should I do?!" Charlie asked running her hands down her face.]
["Uh, well- Don't let him in!" Vaggie told her with an obvious tone.]
[Charlie looked at Vaggie for a moment then to the doors. She took a deep breath and decided to disregard Vaggie's advice once more and opened the door for Alastor.]
["May I speak now?" The Radio Demon asked.]
["You may..." Charlie replied before a hand was shoved in her face.]
["Alastor, pleasure to be meeting you, sweetheart!" Alastor introduced himself, taking her hand and shaking it before bringing her closer, "Quite a pleasure!"]
["Excuse my sudden visit." Alastor apologized, letting her hand go as he entered the hotel, "But I saw your fiasco on the picture show! And I just couldn't resist! What a performance!" Alastor threw his hands in the air in excitement before walking further into the hotel, "Why, I haven't been that entertained since the stock market crash of 1929! Hahahahaha!" Alastor laughed as he played with his mic staff, "Sooo many orphans..."]
{Earth}
New Orleans
Inside a sprawling lecture hall at Tulane University, the history department had descended into organized chaos. Half-finished notes were forgotten, books slammed shut, and students clustered in groups around phones and laptops playing the infernal broadcast from Hell.
Hugh, an upperclassman with thick glasses and a knack for historical patterns, furiously scribbled notes between wide-eyed stares at the screen, "Did you hear that? He referenced the 1929 stock market crash by name!"
Another student leaned over his shoulder and asked, "You're thinking what I'm thinking?"
"Yup," Hugh replied, tapping his pencil against his notebook, "If this demon, Alastor is talking about that specific crash with familiarity, then he has to have lived through it. Think about it, if he were some timeless demonic entity from the dawn of creation, he'd be referencing older, broader disasters. The Black Death, the Fall of Rome, maybe even Pompeii. Hell, even the 2008 crash would be more recent and impactful."
His classmate nodded slowly, fingers running through his hair as he muttered, "He's not just a demon. He's a man who died and turned into one. That smile, that voice, the dated radio lingo... he's probably from the Jazz Age."
In a cafe, a different kind of conversation unfolded over the broadcast echoing softly from the mounted TV.
A young woman sipped her latte as she narrowed her eyes at the screen. "Alastor..." She muttered, "That's... that doesn't sound like a demon name at all."
The barista, a fellow local and avid folklore fan, paused mid-pour and leaned over, "Right? It's not like 'Lucifer' or 'Beelzebub.' That name's got Southern roots. I'd bet money he was human once. Probably kept the name he had in life."
The woman nodded, still watching as the Radio Demon loomed with a chilling grin, "If he didn't change it, it's either out of pride or power. He wants people to know who he was, maybe even remember him."
"Or he doesn't need to hide it," The barista added. "When you're that powerful, reputation isn't a weakness, it's a weapon."
The woman murmured, "I wonder who he was... before he appeared in Hell."
{Heaven}
Promenade:
May stood frozen in place, her teacup slipping from her hands and shattering against the floor. The noise didn't even register.
Who could blame her?
There, on the screen, standing amidst the sinners and demons, was a face she hadn't seen in decades. Her son. Her own flesh and blood. Alastor.
Her heart pounded in her chest as her breath caught. The room seemed to close in around her, sounds fading beneath the rush of disbelief, "Alastor? Is that... really you?" She whispered, almost pleading with the screen, as if saying it aloud would make it untrue.
It had to be a trick. A sick illusion, some cruel twist of fate. But no matter how hard she tried to deny it, the signs were undeniable.
The way he carried himself with an upright, composed tone with a confidence that was always a little too sharp for a boy his age.
The cadence of his voice, elegant, deliberate, charming, with a radio host's charisma.
And then... that smile.
That goddamned smile.
The same crooked grin that had once lit up their small kitchen on rainy days. The same smile he gave when she told him bedtime stories or when he proudly showed her his latest woodworking project as a boy.
"Smile, Alastor." She remembered whispering to him as she adjusted his little bowtie for a school picture, "You're never fully dressed without one." It had become their little phrase, something that lived in photo frames and family letters.
Now, it was all she could see, but this time that smile chilled her to her core.
Across from her, Genevieve, her closest friend whispered with a hushed and stunned tone, "Is that... your Alastor?"
May couldn't speak. Her hand flew to her mouth, trembling as tears began to fall. Her knees nearly gave out beneath her.
She had died thinking that he passed peacefully. That he'd grown old, perhaps had a family of his own, maybe even shared the same smile with his children. She thought he had lived a good life. A decent life. The kind of life she prayed for every night.
Instead... he was there. In Hell.
"Alastor... why?" She choked out, her voice trembling with heartbreak, "How are you in Hell? I raised you to be kind. To be honest. You were my sweet boy... I thought you lived a long, fulfilling life. What happened to you?"
She pressed her palm to the screen, as if she could somehow reach through and cradled his face again like she used to.
In the flickering light of the broadcast, May's tears glimmered.
Because sometimes, the deepest pain in human history... doesn't come from the damned.
It comes from those left behind, who once believed they'd done everything right.
["Stop right there! Cabrón hijo de perra! (bastard son of a bitch) Vaggie yelled as she held an angelic spear towards his chest, while he just smiled at her action, "I know your game and I'm not gonna let you hurt anyone here, you pompous cheesy, talk show shitlord!"]
["Dear, if I wanted to hurt anyone here..." Alastor used a finger to move the angelic spear away, as his eyes changed into radio dials and the lights flickered on and off, "I would have done so already..."]
[Red symbols appeared around Alastor and floated throughout the lobby as his eyes glowed more brightly in the dark, and even his smile glowed.]
[ Charlie and Vaggie staring at him perturbed as the distortion ends.]
{Hell}
Hazbin Hotel:
Charlie leaned against the couch, looking remarkably unbothered compared to her wide-eyed reaction in the broadcast. Her expression was flat, unimpressed even. A far cry from the stunned, fearful girl caught on screen.
Alastor tilted his head at her with a curious glint in his eyes, "My, my... not exactly the same reaction you had during our encounter, is it?"
Charlie gave a long, measured sigh, "I've seen worse."
Her voice was dry, as if she were talking about burnt toast instead of a fucking overlord entering her hotel. Truth be told, she had been afraid but more because he'd appeared so suddenly, not because she feared him.
Alastor's grin widened, his laugh crackling like an old phonograph, "Of course you have, Miss Charlie! After all, I only made an entrance, I wasn't fool enough to act on the threat."
Angel Dust snorted, giving Alastor a skeptical look, "Foolish?" He repeated, leaning an elbow on the couch with a smirk, "You look like you could tear through Charlie without breaking a sweat."
Alastor burst into laughter, the static in his voice spiking with glee as Charlie let out an awkward chuckle, rubbing the back of her neck, "Well, I mean, thanks for the confidence, guys..."
"Nonsense, my good lad!" Alastor interrupted, tapping his cane against the floor with a thud. Husk, who'd been half-asleep with a drink in his paw, glanced up at the commotion, curiosity flickering in his tired eyes.
"You seem to forget, Angel." Alastor continued, "That Miss Charlotte here is no ordinary demon. She is the daughter of the King of Hell himself. That's not a title handed out to anyone, you know."
Angel raised a skeptical brow, "Yeah, but... I mean, c'mon. She's kind of a pushover. All hearts and rainbows and musicals. I was seriously worried someone'd hurt her before she even got this hotel running."
Alastor's smile sharpened into something more manic, "Ah, but that's the delightful part, isn't it?" he said with a low chuckle. "She's holding back."
Charlie's eyes flicked toward Alastor, surprised by the rare compliment hidden in his words.
"Even I wouldn't test her limits," Alastor added, his voice darkening just slightly, "Tell me, Angel... don't you wonder why she never needed to defend this place before I arrived?"
There was a sudden stillness at the bar. Husk's ears twitched and Angel shifted slightly in his seat.
Charlie looked down at her hands, the faintest glimmer of uncertainty on her face.
And yet... maybe Alastor had a point.
She hadn't needed to fight yet.
But that didn't mean she couldn't.
{Earth}
Sydney
The crowd gathered outside the city flinched almost in unison as the screen was interrupted by none other than Alastor himself. The Radio Demon wasn't even involved in the plan, yet here he was, hijacking a pre-recorded feed like it was nothing more than a parlor trick.
"Jesus Christ..." Someone whispered under their breath, eyes widened as they watched the screen stabilize again. A middle-aged man, slouched back in a folding chair, instinctively shifted closer to the group. The fact that he was surrounded by other humans and it was broad daylight outside was the only thing keeping his heart from pounding out of his chest.
"That was terrifying," He muttered, his voice dry with disbelief.
Next to him, a wiry old scientist hunched over a spiral notebook, frantically scribbling down the same runes that had briefly flared around Alastor's frame during the hijack. He muttered to himself, eyes darting between the screen and paper as he drew the strange sigils with practiced precision though leaving out a few connecting lines here and there.
The man in the chair glanced over, did a double take, and hissed, "What the fuck are you doing?!"
The scientist didn't even look up to face him, "Recording data. Those glyphs might be the key to understanding his interference, dimensional disruption or some kind of infernal circuitry.maybe."
His companion's voice just looked at him in shock, "Have you not seen a single horror movie in your life?! You don't just start copying demonic runes!"
"I'm not copying them perfectly," The scientist retorted with an eye-roll, "I'm just reconstructing partial sequences. Enough for analysis. It's basic magical containment theory."
"That's not comforting, Doc! That's worse!" The man shoved his chair back slightly, putting a little distance between himself and the increasingly unhinged researcher. "You start stitching together cursed symbols without knowing what they do, and next thing you know your coffee machine starts bleeding and your walls whisper Latin at 3 A.M.!"
The scientist merely waved a dismissive hand, "If I were summoning something, then you could worry."
Another bystander near them muttered, "Man, you're gonna summon a lawsuit if you blow up the city with your demon scribbles."
But deep down... curiosity was gnawing at them all.
Because if Alastor could do that with a mere flicker of his power... what else could be hidden behind that cracked grin and old-timey charm?
["No! I'm here because I want to help!" Alastor said, like nothing just happened.]
["Say what, now?" Charlie asked in confusion.]
["Help!" Alastor repeated before chucking to himself, "Hahaha, hello? Is this thing on? He lifted his cane and tapped the microphone twice, "Testing, testing!"]
[Alastor's Mic opened its eye and said, "Well, I heard you loud and clear!"]
{Earth}
New Orleans
The overhead lights in the New Orleans Police Department buzzed faintly, casting a pale glow over the rows of desks cluttered with case files. A low murmur of conversation died out as Deputy Chief Jeremy carefully pulled a faded, brittle document from a dusty manila folder marked COLD CASE - HIGH PRIORITY.
He squinted at the aged paper, his brow furrowing as he read aloud.
"Alastor Theriot-Leblanc. Former radio personality and local celebrity active during the 1920s and 30s... reportedly died at the age of thirty-five in a hunting accident..." He flipped the page, his tone growing darker, "Posthumously revealed to be responsible for a series of gruesome homicides now attributed to the 'Bayou Butcher', a serial killer long believed to be a myth, or at least an unsolved urban legend."
The room went eerily quiet as one of the older officers, a grizzled man named Doyle, suddenly surged forward, "The Bayou Butcher?!" He barked, "You're telling me that son of a bitch is that Alastor? My meemaw used to scare us kids with stories about him saying he'd carve up rich folks and coppers like hogs. I thought it was just swamp folklore!"
The tension in the room spiked as officers exchanged uneasy glances.
A younger detective whispered, "You mean the guy? The one who strung up half a dozen officers outside the old parish courthouse in '29 and vanished without a trace?"
A heavy silence hung in the air before someone added, "They said he was a ghost even before he died... always one step ahead, always smiling."
Police Commissioner Jody leaned against his desk, pinching the bridge of his nose as he exhaled in frustration, "Goddamn it," He muttered, "If only the dead had the courtesy to stay that way." He looked up, his expression grim. "Now that name's bound to resurface. The moment someone makes the connection, we're going to be swamped, the press, conspiracy nuts, paranormal freaks, families of the victims. Hell, maybe even federal agents."
Jeremy shook his head, still staring at the file like it might bite him,
"We buried this case a century ago. But now... it looks like we have to reopen all of them now."
{Heaven}
Promenade:
"So let me get this straight," The bee cherub buzzed, voice dripping with sarcasm as he gestured sharply at the screen, "He shows up without warning, flashes those freaky powers, and then claims he's there to help? Yeah, sounds totally legit. Real pillar of virtue right there."
Pip, still wide-eyed, didn't respond. He was too busy staring in awe at the living microphone, its blinking eye and eerie voice replaying in his mind.
The bee cherub noticed his reaction and, frowned at him, "Pip..."
"I know, I know," Pip sighed, but didn't tear his eyes from the screen, "But look at it! That microphone talks, Bumble. And it blinks. And it's got, like, personality! It's awesome!"
Without missing a beat, Bumble reached out and smacked Pip lightly on the back of the head, narrowing his tiny bee eyes, "Don't be stupid. That's not a toy, it's probably cursed. Or worse... enchanted with demonic radio magic. You want that thing whispering nightmares to you while you sleep?"
Pip grumbled, rubbing the back of his head, "I mean... maybe just for a little while? For science?"
Bumble glared at him harder.
"...Fine, fine. No demon microphones."
["Um... you want to help with?" Charlie asked looking at Vaggie who was equally surprised. Behind them a shadow appeared in the shape of Alastor and he appeared out of the shadow between them and put his hands on both of them.]
["This ridicules thing you're trying to do!This hotel! I want to help you run it." Alastor explained his reasons.]
["Buuut... why?" Charlie asked with a raised brow.]
["Hahaha, why does anyone do anything? Sheer, absolute boredom!" Alastor exclaimed with a cheerful grin, "I've lacked inspiration for decades. My work became mundane, lacking focus, aimless!" He said as he put his arm on Vaggie's head using her as an armrest much to her displeasure before shoving her offscreen, "I've come to crave a new form of entertainment! Hahaha!]
"That boy..." May whispered, her voice trembling on the edge between fondness and fear. Her eyes stayed fixed on the screen, watching the demon her son had become, his crimson smile practically carved into his face, "At the very least... he's still trying to help someone. That has to mean something."
Genevieve was very suspicious as Alastor declared his intent to help with Charlie's hotel right before using Vaggie's head as a casual armrest and tossing her aside, "May," Genevieve whispered, "He's trying to help? Since when does your son offer help to anyone without some kind of twisted punchline?"
May sighed, her hands folding gently in her lap, the weight of years pressing behind her calm exterior, "It's not that he's helping that frightens me... It's why. He says it's out of boredom, but I know that boy. That's not boredom in his eyes. There's... purpose. A strange, curious kind. He may actually believe in what Charlie's trying to do."
Genevieve arched a brow, scoffing lightly, "You really think that your son is gonna help a redemption project out of sincerity? He's a firestorm in a dollhouse, May. That hotel's made of dreams and duct tape. I wouldn't trust him within ten feet of it."
May's lips twitched with a small, almost wistful smile, "You forget... I raised him. That madness may be louder now, but somewhere under all of that static and showmanship, I still see a flicker of the boy who used to rescue stray cats and hum old jazz tunes to help me fall asleep. He's doing something, even if it's outside his usual brand of... chaos."
Genevieve chuckled under her breath, though her eyes remained wary, "You always were the hopeful one."
May's expression softened, but her voice grew quiet, steeped in sorrow and strength. "When your child walks through the gates of Hell, Genevieve, hope is all you have left to hold onto. You either cling to it or you lose them entirely."
["Does getting into a fistfight with a reporter count as entertainment...?" Charlie asked with a nervous smile.]
["Hahaha! It's the purest kind, my dear: Reality! True passion!" Alastor said with conviction, "After all, the world is a stage and the stage is a world of entertainment."]
["So, does this mean you think it's possible to rehabilitate a demon?" Charlie asked in a hopeful tone.]
["Hahahahaha! Of course not! That's wacky nonsense! Alastor laughed as he shook his hand in front of her, "Redemption, oh the non-existent humanity! No, no, no, no. I don't think there's anything left that could save such loathsome sinners!" He exclaimed as he shook his head back and forth as he looked over to Vaggie who was offended and Angel who just shrugged, "The chance given was the life they lived before, the punishment is this!" He puts his arms out, gesturing the entirety of Hell as a reminder of their eternal punishment, "There is no undoing what is done!"]
{Earth}
The more religious individuals across Earth sat in discomfort, visibly unsettled by Alastor's callous yet disturbingly insightful words. For many, the afterlife had always been a matter of faith, a comforting certainty wrapped in doctrine and ritual. But now, with a clearer and much harsher image of what came after death. The notion that all sins, regardless of scale, were met with unforgiving punishment cast a shadow over the divine. Heaven, once seen as the pinnacle of mercy and justice, now seemed crueler that they could ever imagine.
Among a small group gathered in a community center, someone muttered under their breath, their voice laced with indignation, "He's a real piece of work, mocking the princess's dream like that."
A lifelong Christian sitting nearby clutched the silver cross around his neck, his thumb nervously tracing its edges, his faith clearly shaken by this drastic revelation, "He's awful, no doubt," He admitted, as his eyes fixed uneasily on the screen, "But... I can't lie. What he said struck a nerve. He comes off like a sadist, but that part... about Heaven's rigidity... it didn't sound like a lie. It was like he was telling a hard truth nobody wanted to hear."
Britain
Across town, within the hushed walls of a modest church, Pastor Warren sat beside Father Joseph, the faint flicker of candlelight casting long shadows on their faces. They had watched the broadcast in grim silence, and now the weight of what they'd seen pressed heavily on their spirits.
Pastor Warren rubbed his hands together anxiously, his voice low and fatigued, "It's... unsettling, but I can't deny the logic in his words. Twisted, yes, but it aligns disturbingly well with certain scriptures. It reminds me of the Old Testament where divine wrath was absolute, and sin was met with swift judgment. Back then, there was no room for redemption without sacrifice."
Sister Madeleine, who had been sitting silently nearby, crossed her arms and stared at the floor, her mind racing furiously, "It's already clear that much of what we're seeing contradicts traditional scripture," She murmured, "Those rings of Hell that the woman mentioned... that sounds more like something out of Dante's Inferno than the Bible. And yet, it all feels... real."
Father Joseph exhaled slowly, his expression weary, "Yes," He said quietly. "And what troubles me most is that this demon, this Alastor, spoke with such certainty. He knew that those condemned had no escape, no second chance. He may be wicked, but there was something painfully sincere in his delivery. Like he wasn't gloating. He was just stating a grim, inescapable reality."
He looked up at the crucifix above the altar, his eyes filled with conflict, "It's hard to stomach... that the most honest words about salvation and punishment might have just come from the mouth of a demon."
{Heaven}
Promenade:
The moment Alastor's damning words echoed across the broadcast, a stunned silence fell upon Heaven
For a split second, denial clung tightly to the hearts of many, but after seeing those exterminators killed those demons, something which shouldn't happen in the first place just left feel more and more confusing.
"My God... could he be telling the truth?"
"You mean... even one sin condemns us? One mistake, and it's eternal damnation?"
"That's just insane! How can that be justice?!"
The tension exploded into chaos as arguments broke out like wildfire. Some shouted in anger, demanding answers for the friends and family they had lost wondering if they had been sent to the underworld unjustly while others clung to their doctrines and faiths, eyes wide with fear, praying desperately that this wasn't true.
Meanwhile, Emily, Saint Peter and Jesus were just listening to their conversations and none of them can't deny that Alastor is wrong.
Emily's voice cracked as she spoke, her hands clenched into trembling fists, "He really doesn't believe demons can change. Not even himself. That's not right. That's not fair!" Her voice faltered, overwhelmed by helplessness. "There must be something we can do... they can't all be beyond saving."
Saint Peter watches with a more sceptical expression, "He speaks like someone who once knew hope and rejected it. He believes that those sinners are beyond salvation, not because that they're proud of what they're done... but because he thinks that it's too late for them to turn back."
Jesus gazed at the screen without any sort of judgment, only compassion.
But where others saw punishment, Jesus saw pain.
Jesus said nothing for a moment, simply watching Alastor on the screen, the Radio Demon gesturing dramatically to the infernal wasteland around him, a living testament, to the failure of redemption.
"He misunderstands what redemption truly means," Jesus says gently, "It isn't earned by perfection. It's chosen in the heart. Again and again. Even in the darkest places."
"Even down there in Hell, some souls still believe," Jesus continued, "Charlie does. That belief has power. More than he realizes."
Emily wipes a tear from her cheek, "He was once someone's child. Someone who loved music. Who probably smiled for real."
Saint Peter nods solemnly, "It's not our place to force him. But we can still hope. If even the smallest spark of sincerity takes root... grace will find its way."
Jesus smiles softly.
"Redemption isn't about undoing the past," He said softly, "It's about choosing a better future, even if it starts with one stubborn, broken-hearted sinner... in a hotel in Hell."
{Hell}
Lucifer's Palace
Deep within the shadowed halls of the royal castle in Hell, Lucifer Morningstar sat in contemplative silence, his fingers twitched against the armrest of his throne-like couch, a subtle but telling sign of restrained agitation. His crimson eyes were fixed on the broadcast, for none of what the Radio Demon had said was news to him but in bitter validation.
He agreed with Alastor completely. So did Heaven, though they would never admit it aloud. It was precisely this cold, unyielding truth that had fueled his longstanding opposition to Charlie's dream. The Happy Hotel, for all its noble intentions and naive optimism, was doomed from the start. Not because the sinners were beyond help, but because Heaven would never truly allow redemption. Not from Hell. Not from them.
Lucifer exhaled sharply through his nose, a sardonic smile tugging at the corner of his lips, "Hmph."
He tapped his fingers rhythmically against the plush leather of the couch, each strike echoing with growing frustration, "This is exactly why we're drowning in souls," He muttered, his voice low and laced with depression, "Heaven's criteria for salvation has become so impossibly rigid, a tangled mess of contradictions and sanctimonious pride. They talk of forgiveness, yet enforce judgment with an iron grip. Every minor flaw, every human mistake, is grounds for eternal damnation."
His gaze darkened as he continued, "It's no wonder our numbers keep growing. When even the well-intentioned are cast out, how can anyone stand a chance?"
Even the Kitsuna was also in a bad mood as it had its arms crossed and was actively trying to look away at the screen.
He leaned back, eyes flickering with something between scorn and sadness, "They call themselves righteous... but in truth, they've become bureaucrats of morality, blind to the very compassion they preach."
["So, then. Why do you wanna help me if you don't believe in my cause?" Charlie asked in a curious tone to which Alastor smiled at her.]
["Consider it an investment in ongoing entertainment for myself!" Alastor explained as he pulled Charlie close to him and twirled her, "I want to watch the scum of the world struggle to climb up the hill of betterment only to repeatedly trip and tumble down to the fiery pit of failure!"]
["Riiiight." Charlie said slowly, removing Alastor's hand from her shoulder.]
["Yes, indeedy!" Alastor replied as he grabs her by the waist and drags her offscreen, "I see big things coming your way and who better to help you than I?"]
["Uh, so... uh, what's the deal with Smiles over there?" Angel Dust asked pointing to Alastor with his thumb.]
["Wait, you've never heard of him before? You've been here longer than me!" Vaggie said in a surprised tone.]
[Angel Dust just shrugged cluelessly at her answer.]
["The Radio Demon. One of the most powerful beings Hell has ever seen?" Vaggie asked again.]
[Angel Dust shrugged a second time as he leaned on the couch, "Eh, not big on politics."]
Hazbin Hotel:
Alastor let out a theatrical, almost musical laugh as Vaggie's sharp words echoed from the screen, his crimson eyes gleaming with mirth. With an exaggerated gesture, he pressed a hand to his chest as though truly touched, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm.
"Oh, dear Vagatha! I'm absolutely honored by such heartfelt sentiments! Especially coming from someone with whom I've shared such a delightfully turbulent rapport."
Vaggie shot daggers with her eyes, her grip on the couch tightened as her talon-like nails piercing into the fabric as she growled, "You know exactly what I mean, pendejo."
Before the tension could boil over, Charlie gently reached out and took her girlfriend's hand and said, "Vaggie, come on. Be nice. And please... try to keep the language clean at least while we're in the hotel."
Alastor's grin widened, his antlers almost seemed to glint in amusement as he glanced smugly at the fuming moth demon. But his smugness was swiftly met with Charlie's disapproving glare.
Her eyes narrowed, and she turned that same tone on him, this time edged with subtle authority, "That goes for you too, Alastor. Could you please stop antagonizing people every chance you get?"
He tilted his head innocently, though the glint in his eyes betrayed him, "Why, my dear Charlie, I'm simply indulging in a bit of harmless entertainment! Banter keeps the atmosphere lively, don't you think?"
The Radio Demon's sharp-toothed smile returned in full force, but Charlie looked unconvinced.
"Just because it's 'entertaining' to you doesn't mean it isn't stressful for the rest of us."
Alastor chuckled again, unbothered by the scolding, "Point taken, my dear princess. I shall endeavor to be on my best behavior... though I can't promise I won't slip now and then. Old habits die hard, after all!"
{Earth}
Across the world, in war rooms and military offices, higher-ranking officers watched the broadcast from Hell with unblinking focus. For some, it was pure shock. For others, it was strategy in the making.
"That fucker is one of the strongest demons in Hell?!" A stunned voice shouted in a crowded military bar somewhere in the U.S, slamming his drink down as he gawked at the screen.
"They've got... fuckin' politics down there?" Another soldier blurted out, staring at the spectacle like it was some twisted soap opera. The rest of the patrons gave him a flat, unimpressed look.
"Joey," One of them said, half-laughing, "They're politicians. Where the hell do you think they're gonna end up?"
Joey blinked, realization slowly dawned on him, "...Damn it."
Russia
Meanwhile, in a dimly lit office somewhere in a Russian military complex, a high-ranking officer sat with several fellow commanders, all gathered around a large monitor. The faint hum of the screen was the only sound in the tense room as they analyzed every word, every flicker of power and hierarchy revealed in the transmission.
The officer, a man with silver hair and a gaze like sharpened steel, tapped his foot thoughtfully against the wooden floorboards, "Очаровательный," (Fascinating,) He murmured, "Если мы сможем определить, что составляет силу демонов, их иерархию, их черты, их происхождение, то, возможно, мы сможем узнать, как противодействовать им или нейтрализовать их." (If we can determine what constitutes power among demons their hierarchy, their traits, their origins, then perhaps we can learn how to counteract or neutralize them.)
A young recruit turned to him in disbelief, "Командир, вы с ума сошли?! Вы серьезно предлагаете нам готовиться к войне против настоящих демонов из Ада? Некоторые из них могут быть... нашими собственными людьми, или даже мертвыми врагами, которые были отправлены туда!"
(Commander, are you insane?! Are you seriously suggesting we prepare for war against literal demons from Hell? Some of them might be... our own men, or even dead enemies who've been sent down there!)
"Да, я хорошо знаю об этом факте." (Yes, I'm well aware of that fact.) The commander replied, unfazed, "И да, это глупо с нашими текущими возможностями. Но что будет, если не сильный сбежит с жестокими намерениями? Это вполне правдоподобно, учитывая, насколько хаотичным и кровожадным кажется Ад."
(And yes, it's foolish with our current capabilities. But what happens when not if a powerful one escapes with violent intentions? It's entirely plausible, considering how chaotic and bloodthirsty Hell appears to be.)
Another officer leaned forward with a grim look, "И если даже один из этих высокоранговых демонов нарушит условия содержания, опустошение может быть... катастрофическим. Целые города могут пасть прежде, чем мы поймем, что поразило нас." (And if even one of those higher-ranked demons breaches containment, the devastation could be... catastrophic. Entire cities could fall before we understood what hit us.)
He glanced around the room, then added under his breath, "У нас может не остаться иного выбора, кроме как сотрудничать с китайцами... или, что еще хуже, с американцами." (We might have no choice but to cooperate with the Chinese... or worse, the Americans.)
There was a moment of silence, not from disagreement, but from grim understanding. The thought of international cooperation on such a scale was daunting... but compared to the threat at hand, geopolitical rivalries seemed almost petty.
The older officer's gaze remained locked on the screen, the flickering image of Alastor and the swirling chaos of Hell reflecting in his eyes. His voice was low, but resolute.
"Давайте просто молиться, чтобы до этого никогда не дошло." (Let's just pray it never comes to that)
["Ugh!" Vaggie groaned as she began telling the story, "Decades ago, Alastor manifested in Hell." She began as the scene changes to a more visual presentation of Vaggie's story regarding Alastor.]
{Hell}
Hazbin Hotel:
Alastor stood with an air of satisfaction, his crimson eyes gleaming as he admired the artistic renditions of himself shown in the broadcast. He adjusted the collar of his suit, as his smile stretching wide with pride. "Well, well! I must say, I'm deeply flattered. It seems this mysterious broadcaster has exquisite taste, clearly a fan of yours truly. Such effort! Such detail! It's almost poetic!"
Husk rolled his eyes and downed another swig of his whiskey, the glass clinking lightly as he set it back on the bar counter, "Yeah, yeah... that's just what you need. More people stroking your giant ego."
Alastor gave an exaggerated gasp, placing a hand over his chest with mock offense, "Husker! Don't be so bitter! Praise is meant to be shared! And I always leave room for a bit more admiration."
From the couch, Charlie let out a bubbly laugh, snuggling closer to Vaggie, "You guys look amazing on screen Vaggie! You're like a dramatic storyteller!"
Vaggie raised an eyebrow at the depiction of herself, studying the artwork with a critical eye before she allowed a small smirk to form, "Huh. Not bad, actually. I mean, he did gave that smug ciervo bastardo most of the spotlight, but I have to admit... they did me justice."
{Earth}
United States of America
The human audience gathered around televisions, phones, and streaming hubs across the world sat in stunned silence as the visuals from Hell continued to roll. The screen crackled, flickered, and delivered sweeping, cinematic shots that looked like they were straight out of a Hollywood horror film except everyone watching knew these weren't special effects.
"Dude," Someone whispered, "They even put in, like... dynamic lighting and film angles. This shit's wild."
"Oh my God... are these visuals metaphorical, or are they literal manifestations of power? Because if it's the latter..." Mark gulped in fear.
"We're absolutely screwed." Thomas finished grimly scribbling furiously into a notebook, "I'm writing down: umbrakinesis, auditory distortion, potential illusion-casting, mind manipulation, and definitely shapeshifting. Oh, and don't forget 'audiovisual fuckery' since he glitched the broadcast feed."
Meanwhile in a secret military basean American physicist recruited for top-level analysis stood up and threw his hands in the air, "Nope. I'm out. I am done."
The general in charge of the operation narrowed his eyes, "Excuse me?"
"You heard me!" The physicist snapped, already tearing off his lab coat, "This is magic, man. Fucking Magic. You dragged me into this saying it was quantum anomalies and high-dimensional warfare but that's fucking voodoo TV horror with a jazz filter! Quantum physics doesn't mean shit down there!"
"We're paying you six figures!" The general barked.
"Not anymore you're not!" The scientist tossed the coat onto the table. "Find someone who's got a death wish and a Ouija board!"
A tense silence followed as the general pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, "Perfect. Now we've got a being who can literally hijack technology, bend reality, and scare other demons and we still don't know his damn origin."
A soldier nearby tried to lighten the mood. "Well, at least he's stuck in Hell, right? Not like he's walking the streets of Manhattan."
"Small comfort there." The general muttered.
["Seemingly overnight. He began to topple Overlords who have been dominant for centuries." The next drawing showed Alastor killing demons inside a circus tent that he formed with his powers.]
["That kind of raw power had never been harnessed by a mortal soul before." Next, Alastor is holding his cane out and beams of light shot out of the microphone as many demons are screaming in pain as they tried to get away from him.]
["Then, he broadcast his carnage all throughout Hell just so everyone could witness his ability." After that, Alastor is now seen in his demon form and smiling as his minions come out of his shadow.]
{Heaven}
Promenade:
Emily gasped at the display of violence. Her eyes widened as she took in the scenes of chaos the circus-turned-slaughterhouse, the tortured screams, the twisted glee of a former human soul now turned monster.
"T-that's... horrifying," She whispered, as hands clasped tightly, "He was human once wasn't he? And yet he chose to do all this?" Her voice trembled with the weight of this revelation, "Why would someone... no, how could someone fall that far?"
Saint Peter stood next beside her. His brow furrowed as he stared at the former human turned demon.
"He was given a life," Peter said, shaking his head in disappointment, "Free will, a soul unshackled by divine interference and yet he spent that life turning into a killer. His power now... it is unholy. To him Hell is not a punishment. It's a spectacle in his eyes."
Jesus studied the screen with a deep sorrow etched across his face. He did not speak at first. Only after the image of Alastor's shadow-born minions marching forward did he quietly murmured, "Even the brightest among humanity can become lost in the dark if they forget compassion."
He turned to the others, his voice low and calm, but weighted with grief, "What you're seeing is a soul that refused grace and fed itself on pain, his own and that of others. But even now... he is not beyond reach. It is not my Father's will that any should perish."
Emily looked at him with confusion, "But... after all that? You'd still forgive him?"
Jesus offered a gentle nod, "If he truly sought forgiveness, and let go of his pride... yes. That is the essence of redemption."
Saint Peter however was still unconvinced, "But sir? He does not seek forgiveness nor redemption, he's only doing for his own 'entertainment'."
"Then we pray that, one day when his fades... and he finally listens." Jesus replied with quiet resolve.
Meanwhile, May's breath hitched as the image of her son...no, the Radio Demon appeared, surrounded by chaos and slaughter in the shape of a circus tent
She watched in silent horror as he raised his cane, beams of light erupting from his microphone, leaving demons screaming and writhing in agony. Her hand slowly covered her mouth, eyes brimming with tears that seemed to never stop.
Genevieve's expression hardened, her voice barely above a whisper. "Is this... is that really what he's become?"
May didn't speak for a long moment then with a trembling voice she whispered, "My little boy... this can't be all that's left of you."
Genevieve sat beside her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder, "He's terrifying, May. I won't lie. What he's doing down there, there's no excuse for it. But..."
"But it's still him," May murmured softly, "That smile... it's the same one he had when he'd bring me flowers from the park, or when he played violin in the square. And now that smile..."
She trailed off, clenching her hands tightly in her lap, "It's a mask. One he's worn for so long, I wonder if he even remembers what's underneath."
Genevieve's tone softened and asked, "Do you think he's gone for good?"
May's eyes remained fixed on the screen, but there was steel behind the sorrow in her voice, "No. I have to believe there's still a piece of him left. A sliver of kindness. A spark. He was always clever, but he wasn't always cruel. Something happened... something twisted him."
She finally turned to look at Genevieve, her voice quiet but firm, "And until my final breath... even in this afterlife... I will never give up on him."
["Sinners started calling him 'The Radio Demon'... as lazy as that is." Then Alastor is seen overlooking the city in his demon form, his eyes glowing with power.]
["Many have speculated what unimaginable force enabled him to rival our world's most ancient and destructive evils." And finally, Alastor is seen standing amongst all of the other overlords of hell.]
{Earth}
Minnesota:
"Holy shit... look at that!" Someone blurted out as the broadcast panned across a chillingly grandiose lineup of hellish figures. The humans crowded around the screen leaned in, as each figure loomed with a distinct and powerful presence, "Are those... other Overlords or something?"
A woman near the front of the crowd pulled out her phone and began snapping pictures of the frame, zooming in and analyzing each silhouette. She bit her lip, flipping through her photo gallery with intense focus. "Hold up... wait a damn second. I know we've seen some of these guys before."
"Wait what?! Where?!" One man asked as the crowd instinctively leaned closer, practically breathing down her neck as she swiped back through her photos she'd captured from earlier in the broadcast.
She tapped one of them and said, "See her? That tall, curvy lady with the sharp teeth, She was in the opening extermination montage. She painted over a sign that read Franklin and Rosie Emporium. I'm guessing her name's Rosie."
Gasps rippled through the group as she flipped to the next image, "This one, too. The moth demon with the heart-shaped glasses? And the creepy doll-looking girl with the pigtails? Both of them were perched on top of the Porn Studios building with that glitchy TV demon. They're just... watching, like they're royalty or something."
Another swipe. "That guy, see the skeletal one with the blue fire skull? That wendigo-looking bastard was lurking during Charlie's first broadcast. He didn't move much, but he was watching. Same for that tailbone-length hair woman she was the one watching above the skyline at the very beginning."
The crowd was stunned at her explanation, "Damn. You've got good eyes," Someone muttered in disbelief, "What are you, some kind of obsessed fan of Where's Waldo?"
The woman didn't even look up from her screen, "Nope. Former sniper for the World Paintball Championship back in '09."
That earned a pause and then a slow, impressed whistle.
She continued to scan the screen and muttered, "What's more interesting is how they're positioned. The central figure's definitely Alastor, the big cheese but the others? It's like they're silently acknowledging him, or showing up just to keep tabs. This is a power structure. These aren't just random demons. They're players."
A younger guy in a hoodie gulped, "So, what... this is like some kind of hellish Justice League?"
"No," A grim voice corrected him from the back, "More like the Sinister Six. Or Seven. Or... however many Overlords exist, the point is they're organized."
The crowd went quiet as the implications set in. This wasn't just a realm of chaos and fire it was hierarchical, possibly even strategic. Which made it far more dangerous.
"...We are so screwed," Someone whispered in fear.
["But one thing's for sure: He's an unpredictable source of danger, a wicked spirit of mystery, and a violent monster of chaos, the likes of which we can't risk getting involved with unless we want to end up erased!" Vaggie said as she finished her explanation of Alastor's back story.]
["Ya done?" Angel Dust asked as he laughed dryly, "He looks like a strawberry pimp." He joked as Alastor summoned his cane.]
{Hell}
Hazbin Hotel:
Alastor let out a sharp, amused snort at Angel Dust's remark, his grin stretching just a bit wider as his eyes glinted with something between amusement and approval. The air around him crackled faintly with static, as it often did when he was genuinely entertained.
Angel, on the other hand, blinked in surprise. He had half-expected to be killed on the spot or at the very least, dragged into some strange dimension of torment for daring to mouth off within earshot of the infamous Radio Demon.
"Not bad, not bad at all for an insult!" Alastor replied cheerfully, clapping his hands together once with a sudden burst of enthusiasm, "Spiteful! Unfiltered! Deliciously brazen! Most sinners don't have the nerve to say something like that to me, even in hushed whispers."
He chuckled deeply, clearly delighted, his voice trailing off into a melodic hum, "Even behind my back, I rarely get such boldness. What a treat!"
Angel Dust blinked again, now more confused than anything else, "... Uh. Thanks?" He replied uncertainly, squinting at the deer-like demon as if trying to decipher some kind of puzzle.
"Still, I never know if you're complimenting me or planning to turn me into a rug." He replied with half indifference.
Alastor beamed back at him with unsettling cheer, "Why not both, Angel? Life's more fun with a little uncertainty!"
Angel let out a nervous laugh, backing away with an uneasy smile, "Yyyeah... remind me never to say anything too clever around you."
Alastor simply chuckled again, tapping his cane lightly against the floor, "Oh, please do. I do enjoy the occasional verbal joust. Keeps the spirit alive!"
["Well, I don't trust him!" Vaggie said, crossing her arms at him.]
["To be fair, do you trust any man? Any men? Men?" Angel Dust asked her.]
[Vaggie didn't respond as she went over to Charlie and grabbed her by the shoulder, "Charlie, listen to me. You can't believe this creep! He isn't just a happy face! He's a deal-maker! Pure evil! She told her, casting a look at Alastor who was humming a tune, "He can't be redeemed! ...And is most likely looking for a way to destroy everything we're trying to do!"]
{Earth}
United States of America:
Marcy perked up again as the screen shifted to show Alastor's theatrics, "Oh! He's totally like Dr. Facilier! Y'know, from The Princess and the Frog?"
Her mom, Martha, opened her mouth automatically to say something but stopped short. She furrowed her brows and gave the screen another long look, "...You know what, sweetheart? That's actually a really good observation. He does give off that same vibe. The smile, the voice, even the shadow stuff."
Marcy beamed at her mother's words, "I bet he's got voodoo magic too! And creepy shadow minions! But Princess Charlie's way cooler! She's sparkly, and kind, and she doesn't cheat!"
Martha chuckled softly, but her thoughts drifted for a moment. She tapped her chin, a flicker of unease settling in her eyes. She'd heard something eerily similar back when she had time to herself during her school days, she used to binge watch true crime podcasts while cleaning the house.
"There was that one case..." She murmured, mostly to herself, "That serial killer down in New Orleans in the '30s... The one that police said talked to shadows and left strange symbols behind. Some people swore he was into voodoo, claimed he couldn't be caught because he made deals with... something."
Martha looked back at the TV as Alastor gave a bone-chilling grin, she shivered slightly, "He wouldn't be the first person to end up in Hell with a connection to voodoo."
Marcy tilted her head curiously,"What do you mean mama?"
Martha shook her head and just patted her daughter's head and said,
"It's nothing sweetheart, you'll learn about it once you're older."
["I... we don't know that! Look, I know he's bad, and I know he probably doesn't wanna change, but the whole point of this is to give people a chance!" Charlie said as looked at Alastor who was inspecting a portrait of the royal family.]
Britain
The crowd of humans packed tightly together in front of the screens blinked in collective disbelief, their expressions frozen in a strange blend of awe and confusion. It took a few long, stunned seconds before the reality of what they were seeing truly sank in: Lucifer, the Devil himself in the flesh.
"Wait... that's fucking Lucifer?!" A young man blurted out, pointing at the regal, well-dressed figure onscreen, "He looks like a damn clown!"
Before the laugh could fully escape his throat, the guy next to him smacked the back of his head, "Shut up, you idiot! Do you want to get us all smited?!"
Around them, others looked around nervously, half-expecting the air to crackle and lightning to strike. One woman gulped and whispered, choosing her words very carefully. "He, um... looks kinda white, doesn't he?"
A pause followed.
The guy beside her choked on his soda, trying to stifle his laughter, "My word... Of all the things you could've said upon seeing Lucifer himself, that's your first observation? 'Kinda white?'"
"Well," Another person chimed in with a shrug, "It does make some sense. He was God's brightest angel once. 'Morningstar,' right? Probably still glows in the dark."
Further down the crowd, a woman gave a low whistle and leaned closer to the screen with a grin, "Daaaamn. So that's Charlie's mom? I don't know who she is, but... I'd sell my soul for that waistline."
"You idiots..." A man groaned, burying his face in his hands, "We're staring at the guy who invented sin, and the first things you people do are insult him, comment on his complexion, and hit on his wife. We are so doomed."
Meanwhile, in a church tucked away in the countryside, everyone present there huddled around a television screen in stunned silence as the camera panned over Hell's royal family portrait.
"Is that... Is that the Serpent himself?" One nun gasped in shock.
"Dear Lord," Pastor Warren muttered, adjusting his glasses as he looked at the portrait, "He looks kind of... short? I mean, compared to his wife, she's at least a head taller."
Father Joseph, who had just taken a sip of water, did a spit-take all over his vestments, "W-Warren! You did not just call Lucifer short!"
Warren held up his hands, trying not to laugh, "It was just an observation, Joseph."
Another priest leaned closer and said, "Forget his height look at her. His wife doesn't even look that demonic. Pale skin, sure, and the horns are obvious, but her complexion's human... not like Lucifer's stark white or Charlie's ethereal glow."
"That's because she was human," Sister Madeleine said slowly, brows furrowing in realization. "Or at least... she wasn't a fallen angel."
Father Joseph's eyes widened at what she's implying, "Wait... are you saying?!"
"I had a hunch," Another priest interrupted, lifting his phone and swiping to a screenshot from earlier in the broadcast, a promotional poster partially visible on the Hellish clock tower. He zoomed in to show a familiar name across it. "One of the posters mentioned a concert. She was headlining it. Look closer."
The group leaned in and their eyes slowly widened as they all who she is.
"Lillith," He confirmed, "The first woman before Eve. It's not just the Christian canon at play anymore. We're dealing with apocrypha and old Hebrew lore now."
The room fell silent as they all processed the implication.
"If Lillith is Lucifer's consort... then that means Charlie isn't just a princess of Hell," Madeleine murmured. "She's a Nephilim part angel, part... something older."
"Fallen Nephilim, perhaps," Another priest added, folding his hands thoughtfully, "Whatever she is, her heritage isn't just powerful... it's symbolic. The daughter of rebellion and independence. That explains a lot."
A quiet awe settled over the room. The lineages, the myths, the old stories, they weren't just metaphors anymore. They were watching actual history, theology, and prophecy play out live on a screen.
["To have faith things will be better! How can I turn someone away? I can't. It goes against everything I'm trying to do. Everything I believe in. Charlie said as she put her hands on Vaggie's shoulders, "Just... trust me. I can take care of myself!"]
[Vaggie sighed as she relented, "Charlie, whatever you do, do not make a deal with him!" They both looked at Alastor who makes a gesture with his hand, seemingly focusing on Vaggie.]
["Don't worry, I picked up one thing from my dad!" Charlie reassured Vaggie before walking over to Alastor as she imitated her dad's voice, "You don't take shit from other demons!"]
{Heaven}
Lilith was a mix of maternal warmth, cautious optimism, and the heavy ache of someone who had seen too many hopes crumble before.
"She's walking a path neither of us could," Lilith said, her voice in a softer tone, "Not one of dominance or submission... but balance. Reconciliation."
She brushed a strand of blonde hair from her face and continued, "And it's not going to be easy. The world above despises her. Many below don't take her seriously. But if anyone can do what we never could... it's her."
{Hell}
Lucifer's Palace:
Lucifer was looking extremely proud of his own daughter especially since she actually used his own words that you won't allow yourself to be controlled by other demons weaker than you.
"Hmph," He mused aloud, "She has learned from the best after all."
There was an unmistakable gleam of self-satisfaction in his gaze as he steepled his fingers, watching Charlie handle the chaos around her with grace, fire, and yes a bit of manipulation when needed. It was subtle, but it was there. She was adapting, asserting herself, and carrying herself like true royalty in the pit of lions that was Hell.
Of course, it was only natural. She was his daughter, after all.
["Okay, so, Al. You're sketchy as fuck and you clearly see what I'm trying to do here as a joke." Charlie told Alastor who smiled at her.]
[As Charlie turns away, glowing red symbols start to appear beside Alastor which quickly disappear after Charlie turns back to Alastor.]
["But, I don't. I think everyone deserves a chance to prove they can be better. So, I'm taking your offer to help." She said before making some gestures with her hands, "On the condition that there be no... tricks or voodoo strings attached."]
[Alastor twirled his cane for a moment and presented his hand for a handshake as green energy bursts throughout the hotel, before the wind kicked up making everyone in the room shield their faces, "So, it's a deal, then?"]
Hazbin Hotel
Alastor let out a smooth, rich chuckle, his grin widening with that ever-present mischievous glint in his crimson eyes, "Oh, come now! No need for concern! I may be eccentric, but I'm certainly not foolish enough to outright challenge our dear princess."
Charlie arched an eyebrow at him, crossing her arms with a knowing smirk, "You do realize you tried to rope me into a contract the very same day we met, right? That's not exactly 'non-threatening' behavior."
Alastor pressed a hand to his chest with mock sincerity, "My dear Charlotte, that was merely a test of your sharpness! A little intellectual exercise! One must know if their host is clever enough to survive this realm."
Vaggie groaned audibly and pinched the bridge of her nose, her patience visibly thinning, "Or maybe you were just being your usual manipulative self and thought you could wrap her around your antlers."
Alastor tilted his head, grinning like a fox in a henhouse, "Can't it be both?"
"No!" Vaggie snapped, shooting him with a glare that could cut steel, "This is exactly what I mean! You act like everything's a game, even when lives are involved!"
Charlie placed a hand gently on Vaggie's shoulder, giving her a calming look before turning back to Alastor, "Look, I appreciate what you've done for the hotel. But I'm not stupid. I know you didn't join out of kindness."
Alastor's grin faded for just a second before the amusement returned full force, "Of course not, my dear! But who says personal interest can't align with a greater cause? After all, what's more entertaining than redemption?"
Vaggie rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn't fall out of her skull.
Charlie just sighed, giving him a small smile. "Just... try not to test too many people. You might find someone who doesn't care how clever you are."
Alastor tapped his cane against the floor with a theatrical bow, "Duly noted, princess. Duly noted."
{Earth}
United States of America
From the living room of a cozy Midwestern home, Marcy gasped and practically sprang to her feet like a coiled spring let loose. "Mom! Mom! I told you! I told you he was like Dr. Facilier! He's got the shadow powers, the creepy grin, and even voodoo magic! I knew it!"
Martha laughed and gave her an affectionate pat on her head, "You were right, sweetie. He's like Facilier's deer-themed cousin from Hell."
Marcy beamed in triumph, spinning in place with giddy excitement, "I knew all those Disney movie rewatches would come in handy someday!"
Her older brother James, now lounging on the couch with a soda in hand, leaned forward to get a better look at the screen.
"Huh... you're onto something. Is voodoo always green like that? Or is it just his spooky Hell version?" He reached over to ruffle Marcy's hair, earning a squawk of protest.
"I don't know!" She giggled, ducking away, "But it's always glowing and creepy, and it totally fits his whole 'deal with the devil' vibe."
["Nope! No shaking! No deals!" Charlie refused the offer as she shook her hands away, "I... hmm... As princess of Hell and heir to the throne, I, uh, hereby order that you help with this hotel. For as long as you desire."]
[A howling wolf can be heard in the background as Charlie looks over to Vaggie for approval, "Sound fair?"]
["Hmm..." Alastor rubbed his chin before he retracted his mic staff and walked away, "Fair enough!"]
[Charlie sighed with relief, "Cool beans." She said giving him two thumbs up before bending over slightly in relief.]
{Earth}
California
The whole room went quiet when Charlie nervously declared her royal authority, trying to force Alastor into cooperation.
A student with a half-eaten burger paused mid-bite, "Did she just tried to order the Radio Demon? Is she insane or suicidal?"
His friend shook his head, "No, man... she's serious. And did you hear her tone? She was actually nervous but still pulled rank."
When Alastor accepted with a simple "Fair enough!" and walked off, the entire room collectively exhaled.
"Wait... that's it? Just 'fair enough'? He agreed?" One female asked before she let out a breathless laugh, "Either she just made the smartest or dumbest move in history. There's no middle ground."
Meanwhile at the back of the counter Lucas muttered, "She didn't shake his hand. That's actually... smart. Avoiding a binding deal with a demon. She's got instincts."
["Hmm hm hmm hmm..." Alastor continues to hum while looking around as he stopped in front of Vaggie and tickled the underside of her chin, "Smile, my dear! You know you're never fully dressed without one!" He encouraged her as he walked away and continued humming.]
["So where is your hotel staff?" Alastor asked Charlie.]
["Uh, well-" Charlie introduced Vaggie who's staring at Alastor dead in the eyes.]
["Ohohoho, you're going to need more than that." Alastor as he adjusted his monocle, and walked towards Angel Dust, "And what can you do, my effeminate fellow?"]
["I can suck your dick!" Angel Dust said with a smile and raised both his eyebrows.]
[Mic feedback can be heard in the background as Alastor tries to process what he was just offered.]
["HAH! No." Alastor refused his 'offer'.]
[Angel Dust scoffed as he smiled, "Your loss."]
{Hell}
Hazbin Hotel:
Vaggie shot Alastor a glare sharp enough to cut glass, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she gave a stern response, "No."
The Radio Demon merely chuckled, with a casual shrug and that ever-present, unsettling grin plastered across his face, he replied, "Ah, your loss, my dear. But, as usual... I am right."
His smug confidence only made Vaggie's eye twitch harder.
Before she could snap back, Angel Dust leaned in from the side, resting his chin on his hand with an impish grin, "Hey, the offer still stands, babe~" He purred at Alastor with mock sweetness, "If you wanna loosen up a little, you know where to find me~"
"Nope!" Alastor interrupted without missing a beat, his voice chipper yet clipped,"Absolutely not. Denied. Rejected. Filed away under 'Never in a million years.'"
Angel burst into cackling laughter, practically doubling over how fast the demon had shut him down, "Ha! Damn, you're quicker to ghost me than half my old clients!"
Vaggie rolled her eyes, though the corner of her mouth twitched upward at the sight of the flustered, momentarily rattled Alastor. As Angel held up a hand toward her with a grin, she hesitated for a half-second... then smirked.
"Ey, fistbump, lady?" Angel offered, still giggling.
With a rare show of camaraderie, Vaggie snorted and tapped her knuckles against his, the two of them sharing a mutual, petty victory over their least favorite member of the hotel staff.
Charlie, standing off to the side, looked between them all with a bemused smile, "I don't know whether to be proud or concerned."
"Both," Husk mumbled from the bar, not even looking up from his drink.