Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

From the very dawn of time was born the misfortune of heaven’s marvelous creation. It is said by the first ones that the entire immaculate creation was tainted by the sin that blossomed in the world, following the audacity of a certain someone. After all, who could even imagine that the rupture between the sacred and the profane was caused by something that lay beyond the knowledge of all the angels and archangels of the heavenly kingdom? They could not foresee it, but sin had already been born long before Adam and Eve tasted the forbidden fruit.

That treacherous serpent knew full well what he was doing by meddling in affairs which did not concern him. He had always been that way, meddlesome and pretentious. He always wanted to be the center of attention with his exaggerated and overly ambitious ideas. Extravagant, through and through.

In that fateful era, all witnessed what his yearnings were capable of doing. For how could a stray dog bite the hand that had always fed him? This was Lucifer Morningstar, and thus he would remain until the end of time. Except that changed.

The scriptures recount that, on the day of his judgment, the sentence they intended to impose upon him was extensive. However, it did not remain as it was, due to the intervention of the highest among all in heaven.

The former punishment became milder, mitigated, for it was written and communicated in all His glory and all His splendor, personally. The All-Merciful, with His great heart, spread His decision to the four corners of the heavens. Contrary to what was imagined, heaven was extremely benevolent and merciful toward Lucifer — despite him having done what he did — but, in any case, still did what was necessary.

Instead of leaving him, as they had for a long time, loose and free, they stripped him of his privileges. By unanimous decision, they banished him to the darkest pit the Earth could hide. They condemned him to wander among the souls he himself had condemned to that place, that is, without harming them, without touching them, condemned to be a mere spectator of his own actions.

Lucifer may have even rejected his lenient sentence, but he ruled the darkness longer than his predecessor, Satan. Nevertheless, his reign was gradually ending, crumbling slowly. His little secret was revealed to all sinners, from those most devoted to him to those who did not even care about his existence.

There was no denying it: the gaze of all was fixed on the shameful humiliation exposed by Vox. It was certain that a new era was coming. After all, what could the sin of Pride do if someone contested his authority? Exactly nothing. Perhaps this meant the coronation of the Morningstar princess was even nearer than expected. Even though the war had ended and whispered speculations were made about what the reign of the princess of hell would be like, everyone there already knew: Lucifer would never rule them again. For the weak do not survive in hell, let alone govern it.

The question was as follows: who would be the most suitable to take his place? Who, in fact, would do the work he never managed to do?

The opinions of others divided, and soon they made their speculations. Could it be Zeezi? Perhaps Carmine? Maybe even Valentino could be a strong candidate… or not? No. Hell lacked someone greater, a popular someone who had been feared ever since he set foot in those parts. Everyone knew that his name would never rest on the lips of the people. The Radio Demon, now he was a strong candidate. But would Alastor accept the title of ruler of hell so willingly?

His days as king were numbered. He would forever be forgotten as the imposing and fearsome fallen angel, but forever remembered as a false tyrant, and not only that, but also recalled for having been abandoned by his own wife and humiliated by the pathetic demon of the media.

— What do you think of that, Sire? — His tone, soaked in sarcasm, drew low sighs from the debilitated angel. — Isn't this interesting? — Insistently, Alastor agonized silently at the image before his eyes.

That dark room had not received light for a long time; it had been a few months, to be exact. Niffty, periodically, passed through there: dusting the shelves, cleaning the dirt, sweeping discreetly, organizing everything in its proper place. Occasionally, there was a short little visit from Baxter, to check that all was well with the bedridden patient. However, more often than not, it was Alastor who showed his face the most.

— Can you feel all these idiots begging for me, while you are here, weakly, wasting away in silence? It doesn't surprise me that you're in this position. You never were much of anything anyway. — He let out a strangled laugh, almost as if it had been ripped from the depths of his throat by force.

His laughter died quickly, and silence prevailed within that tedious room. There wasn't even an emotion to match Alastor's advances. His provocations no longer worked; they had stopped taking effect after a few weeks.

Alastor coughed, hiding the shame he felt for not being acknowledged by Lucifer.

— Hmph. Anyway, they asked me to deliver some letters to you, Majesty. — In his hands, colorful envelopes and a few packages were carried, all placed on the nightstand flooded with rubber ducks.

Further in the corner, resting on the enormous double bed, bandaged with adhesive tape, dressings, and magical stitches, was Lucifer Morningstar. Wrapped in fine sheets and thick blankets, sunken within his numerous collection of rubber ducks.

That miserable worm was the reason Alastor sighed in irritation every day, also being the main cause of his supposed headaches.

— Not that I wish to meddle in family affairs... — He sat on the bed, examining the correspondence that had arrived for the Devil. — But it seems your "brothers" miss you. How long has it been since you wrote back to them?

There were no answers, only the faint sound of Lucifer's breathing.

Alastor's frustration was understandable. Now that a rival of his caliber was being devoured alive by fatigue and an incurable anguish, the Radio Demon had been prevented — against his will — from continuing his entertainment. A new hiatus.

Tormenting mere wretches no longer brought him a certain satisfaction after a while. Taking advantage of needy souls had ended up becoming nauseating and repetitive. Vox himself hadn't even shown his face all this time. Though he was stupid, he still brought a certain amusement to Alastor, but even he had grown cowardly.

His hopes were slowly slipping through his fingers, and even the amusing camaraderie among the other hotel employees had become unpleasant. Now that the Hazbin Hotel had proven its effectiveness, it had become a job like any other: tiresome, demotivating, and irritating. Where was the wretchedness? The melancholic singing? The threats? How boring. Where had all the fun of watching the circus burn gone? Nowhere, Alastor was convinced of that. His entertainment was merely bedridden and silent, ever since the incident with Vox's angelic cannon.

Strangely, his wounds had not fully healed — just like Alastor's when he suffered the direct attack from Adam — but there was something that had closed off completely within Lucifer: it was he himself. He was the one who had withdrawn from the world. Sunken in the dark of his suite.

— It seems one of them sent you cookies shaped like… ducks. — His smile seemed to tear across his face, it was so forced. — They're cu… cu… — He spat the word out with disgust. — Cute! They are so adorable you should eat them.

At Alastor's behest, Baxter carefully analyzed every piece of the fallen angel's porcelain body and gave him a diagnosis. Since Charlie was so busy with the hotel, with her own mother who had, finally, called back, and with what would become of her father's throne, Alastor ended up accepting the responsibility which did not concern him.

— You didn't eat the pancakes? — He asked, knowing he would not be answered, observing the plate full of moldy pancakes in the gloom of the place.

He remembered Baxter's words: "He is needy." The fish-scientist had informed Alastor, but this was already common knowledge. Everyone knew Lucifer was needy because of the abandonment by his wife and daughter. "But it's not what you're thinking," the demon pointed out. "This is the kind of neediness we don't normally see happen with adult people. According to my research, what is preventing him from carrying on living is his own mind. I would venture to say his body is merely responding to the lack of some vitamin related to affection."

Alastor had heard of everything in that pigsty of a place, but a so-called "vitamin of love"? That was already idiocy. At least, that is what he thought in the first days after receiving Lucifer's diagnosis.

— I am not an errand boy, but… — His pride was being trampled once more. — Charlie sent you her regards. She said that, as soon as she can, she will come speak with Your Majesty in person. So, it would be good if you at least ate a little.

Alastor was almost cutting his own tongue. Certain words were very difficult to say, but he had to swallow his pride — it was that, or never experience any amusement again. He waited for his words to elicit some reaction from Lucifer. However, that was not the case. Lucifer did not even look at him. Clenching his fists, Alastor attested: the fallen angel was a lost cause. He was wasting away in solitude, without eating, without speaking, without living. Soon, he would cease to exist. Why did he even care to want to help him, knowing that angel's fate had already been prescribed?

— I didn't want you to… — His words were barred between his teeth; his pride still did not permit him to admit what he hid. — I didn't want it to end like this. I didn't think our quarrels would end so soon. I think I placed too much expectation on you. I thought you were better than this, but I was mistaken.

He continued ignoring whatever the Radio Demon was saying to him, and that only wounded Alastor further.

The heavy steps of the red demon towards the door brought a certain anguish to Lucifer. He thought of something and wanted to check before anything else, looking over his shoulder. However, stopped before the door, Alastor continued trying to provoke some reaction in Lucifer.

— Your abandonment disappoints me greatly.

The static noise of the radio, little by little, diminished, giving way to Alastor's serene voice.

— I will return tomorrow.

They were his last words before disappearing into the shadows.

Chapter Text

Fingering the piano keys with an ice-cold whiskey in hand, Alastor recalled — quite happily — the melody of ‘The Charleston as he hummed it, serene. The lively and comically amusing song filling his ears made him remember the old days. He recalled the tedious nights he had livened up, the disgusting people he went out to have fun with, and all the attention he received while performing.

Now that was a golden age. Good times that would never return for him, but which, for a few moments, he wished would come back. Alastor would never admit out loud that he missed his old ways.

The melody quickened. Each key was fervently struck by the Radio Demon.

Not that he actually wanted to go back to all that flattery from others, to having to slither among the idiots of the time or lick the boots of those stupid rich folks just to get a few extra minutes on his radio show.

He leaned over the piano in a sudden motion.

No. He didn’t want to return to the past, and that realization drew a few sighs from him. The pain behind his eyes crept back in, slowly spreading throughout his head. Maybe the drink was making him too nostalgic to think clearly. Alcohol had that effect. Or perhaps he was just lonely…

The word itself caused him a pang of distress; his heart seemed to stop. A dread he hadn't felt in ages.

— Who would have thought… — He straightened up almost theatrically. — Here I am paying for all my sins, with my own tongue.

His hollow laugh was hanging by a thread of sound. A painful knot was forming at the base of his throat, a tangle of conflicting, unstable emotions.

— Lonely?

Alastor instantly remembered the image of Lucifer resting on that stupid mountain of rubber toys.

This was driving him mad.

— I'm just flattering another complete idiot again. — He hurled the whiskey glass away, shattering it against the wall, laughing like a maniac. — Oh, Alastor… How generous you are! Truly one of a kind.

Was he withering away bit by bit? Never. He had grown tired, long, long ago, of being a weak insect.

The shadowy patch of that swamp Alastor had conjured for himself still remained intact, cold and damp from his old guard. He could still hear the crickets and owls singing, the distant stream flowing. He felt the tranquil sounds of the forest at night seep into his veins.

This was the illusion he had nurtured. The sweet illusion of feeling safe and secure from all the wretched souls the world set loose.

Maybe that’s how Lucifer felt, locked away in that enormous room? Deluded into feeling safe and protected. "Lonely…" Alastor grew even more furious thinking about it. His headache had returned.

— Ugh. Think, Alastor. Think. Think. Think. — He grumbled, rising abruptly from the piano bench. — Anything! Something has to work. What solutions do I…

Time, inside that little old place, seemed to have stopped. Silence prevailed over the fantastic ideas sprouting from the red demon's brilliant mind. His smile couldn't have been any more cheerful than any other he’d worn that early morning.

His old piano soon vanished into the shadows.

— Aah! Oh, yes. Why didn't I think of that before?! — He cackled hysterically. — That’s it! That’s the one! That could actually work. — He looked at himself in the broken mirror, so smiling, so enigmatic.

The joint therapy sessions were more crowded than usual, and the sinners' rehabilitation progress was moving along at a good pace.

By that point, no one yet knew how a sinner ascended and became redeemed. Even though Sir Pentious had achieved such a feat, it remained a mystery that troubled everyone. Were they perhaps cultivating false hopes that they could be redeemed? Alastor amused himself by pondering the possibility.

At first, it was entertaining to see how much expectation they placed on that rabble. They were misguided, mediocre, and insane expectations. The idea that all those psychopaths, infamous figures, addicts, abusers — in short, that whole lot — could be redeemed… It was stupid bullshit. A laughable joke that required Alastor's attention.

To him, these efforts were deplorable. Not that the Radio Demon was above the sinners in ethical matters, for he knew he wasn't, however, Alastor was convinced that souls such as his would never be forgiven, so why waste time with this false belief in redemption?

Accepting your place was accepting who you were. Monsters don't change; their actions cannot be undone.

— Alastor. — It was Vaggi who called out to the red-haired demon standing off to the side, watching the dreadful spectacle with a smile on his face.

— Hmm? Yes?

The new manager of the Hazbin Hotel looked like she hadn't slept in weeks—which mattered little to Alastor—but she still smiled kindly.

— How is going?

This fake concern from Vaggi immediately began to lift his morning bad mood. His next victim for torment was so close to him that it made him happy not to have to search for someone to pester.

— Same as always.

— Oh… Cool. That's good, I guess.

That awkward silence actually brought a certain liveliness to the red demon. "Awkwardness is extremely revitalizing when you cause it in others." That was his mantra.

— Err… So, how are things upstairs? Is Lucifer doing better?

A loud radio static sliced through his peace. This was not in his plans.

He glanced at Vaggi out of the corner of his eye, almost opting to slip away from there without saying a single word to her. However, he wanted to stay. It was obvious it would be much more entertaining to linger and amuse himself a little with others' misfortune than to already have to go visit that old snake shedding its skin.

— Why don't you ask Charlie? I guarantee she'll know better than I how her own father is doing.

Vaggi nearly bit her own tongue as she gave a weak smile.

— If I had asked her, I wouldn't be asking you, genius.

— Hmm. — He shrugged, rolling his eyes. — Hmph. — He turned up his upturned nose.

— Are you going to tell me or not, Alastor?

— Oh, dear me. If you're so curious, go check for yourself. Isn't it your duty to care for all the guests in this place, Manager? — The tone of indifference wasn't even present in Alastor's voice now.

Vaggi arched one of her eyebrows and stared at him, confused.

— Why are you so on edge? I just asked you a question. — Vaggi confronted him. — Is it so hard to answer?

She, incidentally, knew very well that it wasn't in the Radio Demon's nature to get angry so easily. Something was wrong, and Alastor's distant look alerted her to it. Alastor seemed stranger than usual.

— Can I help you with anything else, Manager? — His eyes fixed on the main staircase leading to the upper floors.

— Look, Alastor. I know it's no news to you that Hell is a mess, but everyone here knows a responsible decision is needed to—

Before she could say more words to him, filling him with sermons about responsibilities and such, an earsplitting burst of radio static made her recoil.

— Damn it! — She yelled, covering her ears.

— What was that? I didn't catch it. — He crackled.

— I said you—

— Shh. — His staff touched her, preventing Vaggi from approaching him again. — Listen here, sweetheart. I know my place, and you should know yours too.

— Look here, Alastor. — Now it was she who was getting angry. — Charlie and I are very busy this week to do anything about Lu—

Before Vaggi could explain everything to him, he simply stopped listening. Melting into the shadows, he left her talking to herself.

— cifer… Ugh. Damn it, Alastor.

Away from the crowd. Away from all those cowards who wouldn't accept their destinies, he stopped walking. He stood before what was the greatest obstacle to him keeping his pride intact.

— That meddlesome brat… — He mumbled something to relieve the knot in his throat. — What does she know about responsibilities? Watch and...

"No Alastors Allowed" The golden plaque, placed beside the door, reflected his distorted features.

— …and learn how it's done.

The room was illuminated. An unusual change, noted immediately by Alastor. The dirt had been collected and gathered into trash bags. The rubber ducks that were scattered everywhere had been placed near the stairs. The mail had been organized on the shelves. The blankets, sheets, and pillows had been changed. The mold seemed to have been eradicated.

Everything smelled of lavender and eucalyptus with a hint of mothballs. However, not everything had changed. Lucifer Morningstar, nonetheless, remained untouched in his bed.

Alastor wondered if his muscles had already atrophied or if his bones had become as fragile as glass.

— Good morning, Sire. How are we?

No answer, as usual.

— I believe quite well. I said I'd come back to see you. — He closed the door behind him. — Did you enjoy the housekeeping? I personally asked for it to be made as pleasant as possible.

Approaching with slow steps that small white dot amidst the red sheets, Alastor could already sense the terrible smell of sickness emanating from Lucifer. Not even the mothballs could hide how repugnant that odor was.

He sat carefully on the bed and with a glance checked if the bandages had been changed by Baxter that morning. Unfortunately, they had not. Alastor felt his head throb, but he took a deep breath, trying not to get irritated before even speaking.

— Oh. Your dressings haven't been changed. — He wanted to hang himself for speaking so sweetly to Lu. — You know, if you don't perk up… We'll need to change them every time, since these wounds won't go away. You and I will be stuck in this routine forever. Do you really want that, Sire?

Lucifer didn't give a damn; he just stared at him with those big red eyes, devoid of much energy.

— You don't, do you? — Alastor smiled, swiftly and carefully removing the adhesive tapes without touching the wounds. — Then make an effort to get better soon. It would be a favor to me.

He unwrapped the Devil's slender body, seeing the state of the delicate sutures. The horrid holes were still there, seeming to watch Alastor as if they had eyes.

— Let's take a bath, Majesty. It will do you… super-hyper-good to have a nice bath.

— Leave me alone. — pleaded the frail voice, without strength, pushing the hands away from him.

“As if I wanted to bathe you.” He lifted him from the bed, carrying him like a sack of potatoes.

— No-no-no-no. I can't do that. Now come on! We're going to take a nice bath and get rid of that awful smell on you.

— I want to go back to bed.

— My, what a chatterbox you are! — He laughed, forcedly. — It's your monthly record, you managed to say more than five words this time. Bravo! That calls for a celebration after the bath.

What an outrage! What a misfortune! What a disgrace! An Overlord like Alastor, playing the little servant boy to the devil himself. When Lucifer recovered from this cursed ailment, Al was definitely going to demand immense compensation.

Chapter Text

Lucifer's physical body would never recover if things remained as they were. His vitality is based entirely on the ability to conceive, create, and maintain the prosperity of his creation. So if one day his mind lost that capacity and he felt purposeless, his vitality would no longer be necessary, thus gradually becoming scarce. His body would stop wanting to live, killing him little by little.

It's like the saying goes: "An idle mind is the devil's workshop." Well, it didn't apply very well when talking about the devil himself, but the message was clear enough.

— Isn't this better? — Asked Alastor, applying shampoo. — You smell exceptionally pleasant now, your majesty!

Still committed to bathing that dead weight, Alastor had to endure what seemed like an endless bout of whining. A thirty-minute session, filled with the grumbles and annoying tantrums of someone who seemed to have been spoiled from childhood into adulthood. His grievances were things like: "I just wanted to be a good father and a good husband." And a bit more of: "Just kill me already, do what should have been done from the start!"

They were detestable pleas. It was like listening to a mosquito buzzing in your ear.

It was unbearable to care for people like that. Despairing people were a great burden to Alastor. "If you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen," he often said. Of course, not all those desolate souls were a total waste; well, they wouldn't be such a burden if they were someone absolutely powerful and in Alastor's hands.

After a few more moments, silence settled in that bathroom. The whining ended, and the scent of the aromatic candles soothed the mood.

Leaning against the edge of the tub, Lucifer seemed less agitated. His eyes grew heavy, his body became increasingly limp. Combined with the warm water lapping up to his torso, the massage on his scalp, and the serene song Alastor was humming softly, it felt like a relaxing day at the spa. If the fallen angel could rate the service, he'd give it five stars.

However, the whole situation weighed on his conscience. Why was he receiving this special treatment, precisely from the one whose rivalry had been one of the most persistent during his stay at his daughter's hotel? It drew silly comments from his empty mind. Nevertheless, Lucifer already suspected what purpose this would serve.

It was obvious the Radio Demon had some plan. He never does anything for anyone without expecting something in return.

— Why are you doing this? — Sleepy, Lu questioned him.

— Doing what? — Alastor was rinsing his blond hair.

— You know perfectly well what I'm asking, Alastor.

The red demon smiled, even though he was extremely tired of treating Lucifer like an idiotic child.

— Well, it's because I care about you, my dear. — His face didn't even twitch as he spoke.

He felt disgusted by his own tongue, which enunciated each of those words with such care. It was hard being the nice guy under those conditions. He didn't want to play the hero.

Once all the suds were gone and Lucifer grew quiet again. He lowered his head and his breathing became more drawn out, light. Alastor inquired:

— Ready to get out of the tub, Majesty? — He stood up to fetch a dry towel.

It seemed Lucifer Morningstar had finally fallen asleep, but before Al could lift him out of the bathtub. The angel told him:

— I don't know what you expect to happen by treating me like this. — His white reflection in the water revealed a tired gaze. — But I can't do anything for you or for anyone. I couldn't before either.

Alastor didn't know why he felt stabbed in the back upon hearing the words Lucifer had said to him.

— You already have what you so wanted in the palm of your hand, you don't need me for anything else. So just leave me here alone.

Shouldn't it be satisfying to hear the Devil himself, in the flesh, trample his own pride and dignity, admitting he was weak compared to the Radio Demon?

— What are you implying, Lucifer? — Alastor almost let his mask slip.

— I'm talking about the title, Alastor. — Short and direct. — If you want so badly to be the king of this disgusting rabble, why keep up this idiotic charade for months?

Lucifer looked at him. His slit pupils like those of a serpent, fervent tears that refused to fall.

That wounded Alastor in a place that normally shouldn't hurt.

— You are the true king of this place, and—

— NO, I'M NOT! — The mirror glass cracked with his thunderous voice. — If I were meant to be the king of anything in this shitty place, it'd be the king of the rats! I'm nothing! I'm a figurehead king, that's what I am! — He had interrupted Alastor, shouting his words, visibly enraged.

Gradually taking on his demonic form, his imposing presence blew out the candles without extinguishing them.

— What more do you want me to say?! Do you want me to tell you again that I add nothing to this world? That I'm incompetent? JUST SAY IT!

That explosive attitude of Lucifer's was driving him mad.

— Listen here, Majesty. — A little more and Al would have slapped him across the face. — You are the king here, whether you like it or not. They named you for a reason, and you should know very well what it is.

— What good would it do me to know the reason? Will anything in Hell change if I know the reason why I'm the king of this place?

There were no words.

— You could listen to m—

— I'm useless… — He whispered, lowering his gaze. — And all those sinners got to see the truth with their own eyes, now everyone knows the fraud I've always been! What's the use in knowing the reason for my punishment? That's precisely why I was named king of this godforsaken place. — His tears began to stream down his porcelain face again.

The wounds opened even wider, staining the water with the golden liquid being expelled. The flowing blood left Alastor mesmerized. Reasoning seemed impossible in the face of all those laments and tiresome affirmations.

— Even my daughter knows it, Lilith knew it too and left me while she had the chance. I've always ruined everything…

That sequence of words. All of it… All that stupid, poorly concocted victimhood. LUCIFER WAS DESERVING OF PITY. Alastor’s pity.

— Then I will do it for you.

His macabre statement came out drawn, almost as if he had let the words escape his teeth. His throat was sore and so was his head.

— What? — Lucifer looked at him, incredulous at what he had just heard.

Alastor approached with the towel in hand to cover him.

There, close to one another, Al wiped the stubborn tears escaping from Lu's red eyes; one by one with all his subtlety and charm. His pupils returned to what they were.

— I will be your executioner. — He wasn't even thinking clearly, but he was sure it was what he meant to say. — I will be your will, your capacity…

He wrapped him in the towel, drying his face, his hair, his body. His charitable gaze, fixed on the helplessness of Lucifer Morningstar, made it all feel like a safe dream. A dream one would never imagine having, because it was so imbecilic it was impossible to even consider.

— But…

The green lights appeared through the cracks in the wood, the shadows spread across the walls, the candles were extinguished in the blink of an eye, the all-seeing evil eyes watched, the voices and the screams. That outstretched hand, those malevolent stares.

— In exchange…

A deal.

Lucifer didn't even feel indignant; he knew very well that Alastor never did anything without expecting…

— …You have to promise me that you will recover and become healthy again.

"...Something in return...?" Lucifer's eyes widened, almost gaping.

— What?

"WHAT THE HELL HAVE YOU DONE, ALASTOR?!" His own conscience condemned him.

— Take it or leave it.

Alastor's living shadow cackled.

He would surely kill himself as soon as he finished making this deal.

— I accept.

The deal was sealed.

Now the two souls were intrinsically linked. The greatest question that arose between them was… Who would clean up all the water that had been splashed out of the tub during the deal-making?

— Don't worry, Majesty. — Alastor lifted him out of the now-empty tub, keeping his feet from getting dirty. — I'll personally see to it that someone cleans your bathroom.

Obviously, it would be Niffty.

Chapter Text

The radio broadcast could be heard from one end of Pentagram City to the other. The demons passing through the streets in that early morning stopped to listen to the crackling sounds coming from Alastor's old transmission tower. Everyone thought it was the same as usual, something like "Alastor humiliating Vox or something like that." However, hopeful ones speculated that the Radio Demon's call might bring good news to Hell, and who knows, maybe it was the message the sinners had been waiting to hear?

The problem was that not everyone who seems like a good person actually is.

The more astute souls were thinking at that stage of the game: "Oh, my Lucifer! Why the hell would it be a good idea to put Alastor, a vile and treacherous demon, in charge of all Hell?" Not that Lucifer was any different from him — he had his reputation too — but, come on, they were considering putting someone in power who could actually punish them without any restrictions.

— We are live in three… two… one… — The charismatic voice of the radio host suddenly appeared, the static louder than usual. — How long has it been since I've introduced myself to you all so formally…? This is Alastor speaking, at your service. — Gradually, the static normalized, making the Red One's voice even more pleasant, just like in the old days.

A round of applause began the instant he made his introduction. Cheerful whistles and open smiles welcomed the vile Radio Demon.

Decisions are always difficult to make when thought up in haste and without any initial planning.

— Good evening, dear sinners. On today's program we have big news, I assure you won't regret it, so let's leave song requests for the end, okay? — His smile didn't even diminish. It was so revitalizing to feel all that power, all that attention focused on him.

Many of these decisions end up harming well-intentioned people and favoring audaciously corrupt ones. Scum has always taken advantage of others' innocence. In the end, it's always good to be cautious.

Distrusting enormous smiles doesn't make you a bad person; it makes you smarter than you think.

— Before we begin, I earnestly request your attention, so turn down the volume on your televisions and listen to me only on the radio. — It was addictive to receive so much attention. His raspy tone left, unnecessarily, a chill down the spine. — What better way to start today's program than by giving the explanations you so wanted?

Alastor cackled, spreading a certain excitement among the listeners. Of course, not everyone was so thrilled with the radio host's sudden appearance, but they listened anyway.

— We are entering a phase of experimentation… a new era, let's say...

The curious gathered in droves, whether near any tower with Alastor's equipment or inside their own towers. All to be able to hear him.

— And it is with a heavy heart — False. — that I tell you, your king…

It was Alastor's custom to think and plan everything with great care and attention; nothing was accidental, for he leaves no loose ends.

— Your king shall be the one you so esteem and feel represented by.

This is what Alastor considered — confidently — knowing how to do. Plan with caution. Be attentive to every step, every path, to everything.

The people in the streets, confused, questioned Alastor's statements with murmurs and whispers:

— What is he insinuating? Could it be…

— Could it be that Lucifer has finally abdicated the throne!? How sensational would that be, right!?

The more foolish ones insinuated, quite hopefully.

— Could it be that the Radio Demon is the new king of Hell now?

The idiots commented.

— What if Lucifer has finally fallen from grace?

Fools, they were all wrong!

— The tyrant himself, Lucifer Morningstar, will remain the lord of darkness! Your lord, my dears! — The thunderous shock that struck every sinner. — That's right! Lucifer himself! He will continue to be the king of Hell.

— What the fuck does he think he's saying? — Even Vox, far from the crowd, could hear the radio frequency. — Does Lucifer still have the nerve to show his face after all that's happened?

No one expected this, and it was this that caused the upset among certain crowds. Enraged, the sinners became furious, others felt betrayed, and few were pleased.

— Coward! I knew that Radio Demon wasn't all that! What a giant pile of shit!

Comments shot out.

— Who cares about overlords who've faded into the past? They should all be like this mother fucker, a bunch of cowards!

— No wonder this idiot was off the scene for eight years… He must have been hiding from Vox!

— Must have tucked his tail between his legs!

— Vox was right…

— This Alastor…

— Is nothing but a…

The hysterical laughter of Al himself echoed through every home, every alley, and every hole in that infernal place.

— Coward? Is that what you think? — Questioned the voice coming from every corner of the Pride Ring. — Hmm. Hmph.

His cackling didn't stop, and it sent all the listeners into a panic.

— I believe I am above any label your small minds wish to fit me into.

The streetlights began to flicker frenetically, a horror film in vivid color. The energy weakened, the winds whispered, the sounds of the bustling city had ceased. Only the noise of radio static could be heard by everyone.

— For those hiding in the shadows, I have a message for you… Your wounded pride is already pathetic enough for my eyes, don't embarrass me further by thinking you're something in this world, because you are not and never have been. But… — Each word was spoken slowly, torturing the weak minds of those who hadn't quite understood who they were dealing with. — If you are confident enough in your powers and think you can compare to Lucifer, then come to me, brave ones… don't hide, I can smell your fear.

The anger ceased instantly. Who, after all, would dare to face him? Even if they were disbelieving of the situation and called him a coward, no one wanted to be made an example.

— Well then? Who's first?

The voices fell silent.

— Excellent. — Laughed the infamous Radio Demon. — That's what I like.

Still, a few deniers opposed Alastor's threat and decided to question:

— Why should we accept him? If Lucifer can't do ANYTHING to us, why should we revere him as our king?

The irritating provocation from that small opposition gave Alastor a deep desire to use these brave souls as an example, but he decided not to test that now.

— Excellent question, my dear listener!

— Wait, how did he manage to hear—

— For the unwise who still haven't gotten the message… — He interrupted abruptly, enunciating every syllable elegantly. The charisma in his voice seemed to have vanished entirely. — Pay attention, Lucifer may not do anything, however, as for me, there are no chains holding me here.

Shivers ran down the spines of that insistent rabble.

— So… my dears, if you don't want to be practical examples of how things will work from now on, I suggest you obey him. Ah! And of course! The doors of the Hazbin Hotel will always be open for any of you idiots who wish to avoid trouble with the royalty. That is all!

The synergy of the place returned to what it was.

— Have a wonderful night, everyone!

And the broadcast ended.

— But… What about the music? I wanted to hear Elvis Presley.

Alastor left no loose ends, never! Every single one of his moves had to be several steps ahead of all those lost souls. He didn't walk confidently unless he had planned his path in advance. Slippery, smooth, he was an old fox. He was not destined for a final fiasco; that was destined for the dumb little blondie and her absurd dream of redeeming all those…

— What have you done?! — Lucifer seemed desolate, a trembling little mouse with no direction in front of Alastor.

He was about to break.

— What do you think? — He looked at him with that finicky gaze of his. He really was a shameless rogue. — I did what had to be done, Majesty.

— Threatening everyone without thinking of the consequences? Is that what you did?

“As if you hadn't done the same.” He was sharp enough to retort to Lucifer, but, specifically at that moment, Alastor would control himself.

Sitting face to face at a glass table inside Lucifer's suite. Both cordially drinking apple tea while nibbling on cinnamon cookies shaped like ducks.

— Darling, I do nothing by chance. You can believe that. — He shrugged, chewing those tasty cookies.

— Wow! Really. I should just blindly believe in you, you bastard. Anyone can see HOW intelligent you are, Bambi. — He leaned over the table, almost crying, again. — And on top of it all… as if your nerve of not owning up to your own mess wasn't enough… you had to go and bring more of these sinners here.

— Aaw. — He rested his chin on his palm. — What's wrong? Didn't you like it, Sire?

His childish tone brought forth a fury Lucifer hadn't felt in ages.

— I thought Charlie would love to have more guests, you know? Without them this business won't go anywhere. — He gestured with his bones like a contortionist, crackling sweet words.

— You can stop right there, idiot. — He glared at him with a deathly stare.

Alastor fell silent instantly. Smiling, he sipped the hot tea while humming 'Walk on By by Dionne Warwick. In the background, they both could hear what sounded like an incessant commotion of visitors coming from the hotel's main lobby.

Lucifer growled, he was about to lose his composure. He would snap from rage or anguish.

Two days after the Radio Demon's grand announcement to the sinners of the Pride Ring, crowds had come desperately seeking to be redeemed out of a supposed, free, and spontaneous will.

— Charlie is going to be angry with me… — He whispered, his voice choked with pain.

He got up from the chair, heading towards his bed. However, Alastor stopped him. He gripped his wrist firmly, the same shadows emerging from behind him encircling Lucifer, forcing him to sit back down in the chair.

— Your tea, Majesty. — He pointed with his eyes to the cup. — It will get cold if you leave it aside.

Lucifer gritted his teeth, tensing his jaw. He fixed his gaze on Alastor the same way he used to look at his ducks, that is, when they didn't turn out as he wanted.

— This is what you wanted, isn't it?

Alastor set the cup aside and locked his eyes on the depths of that morbid gaze.

— I should have paid more attention before bargaining anything with you… — He sighed, combing his blond strands back with his fingers. — It was obvious you knew very well I wouldn't be able to recover. — He murmured, saddened.

Alastor let a cynical chuckle escape through his teeth.

— You're the one who said that. — He hummed, shamelessly.

— So that's really it, isn't it?

Alastor left his last cookie aside and then crossed his legs elegantly, tilting his sharp nose upward.

— Oh, please, Majesty, have mercy on me. Don't be so… distrustful. — He interlocked his fingers, swinging his leg. — I made a deal with you and promised to be your will and your capacity, don't you remember? Understand that I have never broken my word; I am a good boy.

Lucifer stopped looking at him, profoundly exhausted by all that drivel; he thought about what that Alastor's idiocy would cause him.

— I only did what had to be done, Majesty. If you could, you would do the same, don't you think?

— I am not you, Alastor. — Lucifer cut him off, leaning over the table again.

— Well, that's not what I meant. — Strangely, that sensation had returned without warning.

He shouldn't be feeling hurt, his chest shouldn't be feeling that.

His posture quickly unraveled.

“Wasn't this what you wanted?” He asked himself, touching the left side of his chest.

Yes, it was. Lucifer would soon recover from his depression, return to being a quarrelsome idiot, and then Alastor could get even for that situation with the coaster from months ago and, as a bonus, would rightfully become — without stupid elections — the king of Hell. He would defeat Lucifer… kill him, just as he did with the others… broadcast his screams over the radio… and…

“What's the problem?” Why wasn't he enjoying the other's misfortune?

Hearing hurried footsteps coming toward the door, he already knew what to expect.

— Dad! — The muffled voice of Charlie, followed by thunderous knocks on the door, startled Lucifer. — Dad, open this door! I need to talk to you!

"Not again!" His pupils became tiny, melting with fear. Lucifer shrank under the table, hiding as if none of that were happening.

— Just kill me already… Spare me these stupid games of yours, Alastor. — The Devil pleaded between murmurs.

— I… — And for the second time, Alastor didn't know if he was thinking clearly.