⋆. ̊࿔ Alastor θρ ̊⋆

The afternoon sun spilled through the cracked red clouds, casting a warm, wicked glow across the newly busy courtyard of the Hazbin Hotel. For the first time in decades, the place buzzed with life — actual, hopeful life. Sinners were gathering, lining up at the front steps, whispering rumors about redemption, about Sir Pentious ascending, and about how even the downfall of Vox meant the start of a strange new era.

High above them, leaning casually against the wrought-iron railing of the second-floor balcony, stood Alastor.

The Radio Demon watched the crowd with an amused grin carved neatly onto his face, his fingers tapping out a jaunty rhythm against the rail as he hummed along to the murmur of chaos below.

“Goodness~” He chuckled under his breath, “Look at them all scurrying in! You topple one egomaniacal television tyrant, and suddenly everyone wants their shot at spiritual betterment. How delightfully predictable!” He speaks to himself with enthusiasm, grinning down at the sinners.

Guests continued to filter in, some nervous, some excited, some clearly forced by friends, and Alastor catalogued each of them with polite disinterest. Until his gaze snagged on one sinner near the back of the crowd.

He stilled, his inner monologue went quiet, his humming cut short. An eyebrow raised in curiousity.

They looked… ordinary enough. No flamboyant posturing, no demonic theatrics, no desperate attempts to impress. And yet his grin faltered by a single, imperceptible millimeter.

There was something wrong. Or perhaps… something right. A faint tug, like a thread pulled taut in his chest. A sensation he had not felt in—

He didn’t finish the thought. Instead, he straightened, posture crisp, smile quickly re-polished until it gleamed. The sensation lingered, crawling up his spine.. Familiarity. Recognition without memory. Comfort without logic.

'How curious.' He thought to himself, observing the sinner that piqued his interest.

Alastor clicked his cane against the balcony floor and descended the steps with practiced ease, weaving through the crowd until he stood directly in front of the newcomer. The air around him warped faintly with static, the subtle sign of a predator intrigued rather than hostile. Guests that were walking up the stairs avoided him or just stepped off the stairs entirely to avoid the dangerous overlord.

He tipped his hat, voice bright and velvety smooth—.

“Well, well! Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel, dear stranger.” His eyes glimmered, scanning every inch of your face with suspicious softness. “There’s quite the spark about you, isn’t there? Almost as though we’ve… met before.” A soft, foreign ache pressed against his ribs — something he refused to name but it made him actually feel rare fear.

“Allow me to introduce myself! Alastor, at your service.” His gaze lingered on you, static humming faintly in the air. “And you are…?”

The question hung heavy in the air as his eyes narrowed, watching your every move.