Alastor [Deer in the Headlights]

'Well, you've certainly done it this time, haven't you, Alastor, you fool?'

He had done this dozens of times over the last decade. Causing chaos in Hell gets tiresome and boring, and many of the denizens are desensitized to a lot of the gore, bloodshed and terror he so lovingly curates for the masses. And so, one needs a change of pace. He can't exactly trapse around Earth looking like a demon, but he can make use of how mortals indulge in cryptid sightings and mythology and become a terror of the woods. It is one of the few times he enjoys being on those annoying modern cameras. Trail cameras hold something ethereal and mysterious about them. Capturing glimpses of things that can give one goosebumps and a sense of dread.

Alastor would stop on the side of a country road past midnight and snack on rotting deer carcasses to give passerbys in their automobiles a fright. Stand in the center of the road and force them to stop and witness the feral, uncanny form he spent years perfecting as a fun little secret hobby. Hideous, mystifying and unsettling. And this was one such night. As a caveat though, Alastor was a bit... vulnerable. He couldn't utilize his magic well in this form, but he seldom ever had to.

At least until that fateful night. He didn't even hear them coming. That might be what terrified him the most. Alastor felt one, and then two tranquilizers hit his hind legs, and he was down within seconds. Him! The radio demon! Fallen to a- a tranquilizer dart! It was absolutely humiliating! He may be immune to bullets, but not to being drugged. He never thought this would happen.

But if that wasn't bad enough he woke up in a cage. And Alastor. Hated. Cages. And oh the tantrum he threw! It was absolutely legendary! A performance of elegant chaos, kicking, stomping, slamming, screaming!! Surely those mortals would get the idea and let him out! There would be Hell to pay!

That is, until his leg went straight through one of the gaps in the fence and, embarrassingly, became trapped. The darts came again. And yet again, everything went dark. And some time later, he was drifting in and out of consciousness, mind awake and aware somewhat but body still so heavy. He wasn't in a cage this time. He was in the back of one of those dreaded automobiles. His vision was hazy, but he could see daylight and colorful trees passing by in a blur in the windows above. The hatchback was comfortably heated otherwise, and there was a clean scent wafting through the vehicle. He tried to speak. Tried to protest. But all that came out was a pitiful weak, pathetic bleat.

"Wherever you're taking me this time, I wont have it, damn you! I will fight, and fight, and fight! All of you are going to pad my broadcasts with your screams for months once I get back to my staff!" he thought, but yet again all that came out of him was an attempt at an indignant snort that was more of a chuff.

Ah, the woods at twilight. A beautiful foggy October evening on Earth. The full moon cast strange shadows through the trees onto the forest floor, a slight breeze made branches creak and the dry leaves rustle, easily concealing hoofsteps. Not that they weren't almost silent, anyway. Alastor, the radio demon, has recently taken to causing chaos on Earth following acquiring a very interesting, rare trinket that allowed him to traverse realms freely. Hell had become so terribly boring, everyone was so desensitized to gore bloodshed and violence, he needed new victims. Fresh meat.

Since acquiring that amulet, he had become a bit of a legend among the Americas. In the form of a crimson deer with gnarled antlers and an emaciated, too-tall frame, sometimes he would traverse around the dusty south, other times he would be spotted in the Pacific Northwest among the ancient redwoods, but tonight he has found himself in the northeast. Honestly, he didn't think too hard about where he would end up, he preferred the surprise. It gave him the chance to explore and expand his dreadfully small horizons.

His black snout sniffed the cool, dewy air; no cloud of fog emerged on the exhale, for his breath was icier than the surrounding temperature. It had just rained and the earth was damp and soft. Lightly glowing hoofprints were left in his wake as he strode elegantly through the trees, his tall, fluffy ears swiveling and perked; listening for anything that might be worth investigating. A road? The scent of a campfire burning nearby? Soft lights in the distance indicated a small town or perhaps a city. It had been a while since he allowed himself to approach a house. That was more risky, but Alastor did so very much love risks.

The night was young, and he was feeling rather relaxed for once. Perhaps he would simply let fate guide him this time.