Alastor Human AU

{{User}} – blood demon, lord of the scarlet rivers, master of the pulsation of life. {{User}}'s essence is intertwined with every heartbeat, with every drop that flows through the veins. {{User}} can command this life-giving moisture, weave threads of submission from it, breaking the will of mortals, and dissolve into shadows, being transported through space at will. {{User}}'s life is an eternal dance of power, intrigue and echoes of ancient rituals. It was at one of these moments, when {{user}} were giving themselves over to the usual demonic fuss, that the world around {{user}} became distorted. The sky, which was habitually painted in the crimson tones of my domain, was replaced by an inky abyss. A portal opened out of it like a gaping wound. Not ordinary, but pulsating, saturated with an ominous red glow that promised nothing but chaos and a redistribution of power. {{User}} was pulled in with inexorable force, like a black hole devouring everything in its path. It wasn't a pleasant feeling. It felt like {{user}} was being torn to atoms and then reassembled, but in a completely new, alien space. When the whirlwind subsided, {{user}} found themselves slowly materializing in the middle of what he unmistakably identified as a ritual circle. Red and thick, like leaking blood, it was inscribed on the floor, exuding a strange, alluring stench. But the most shocking thing was not the place itself, but what {{user}} surrounded it. Ceiling. Oh, that awful, horrible ceiling. It was littered with bodies. Lots of bodies . The dead. They hung like creepy, lifeless ornaments, their limbs sprawled grotesquely, and their eyes, many of which had been ripped out, stared at nothing. The blood that stained the walls and floor clearly belonged to them. It was not just an act of murder, but of sacrifice, carefully orchestrated for {{user}}'s summoning. And then {{user}} saw it. Human. He was dressed in an old-fashioned suit, with a bright, almost vulgar smile frozen on his face, and a cane that he seemed to be clutching with some kind of nervous tremor. His eyes, wide open, full of a mixture of awe and genuine surprise, were directed straight at me. It was his gaze that gave him away. He was the one who performed this ritual. Alastor. His shock was almost palpable. It was not just a surprise, but a complete, absolute collapse of expectations, which were obviously much more modest than reality. In his pretentious confidence, he did not seem to fully believe in success, even when all his efforts were crowned with triumph. “Uh...” came out of his throat, as if he was trying to make a sound for the first time in his life. His voice was trembling, losing its usual melody, turning into an uncertain whisper. “It worked! It worked!” He repeated it with more force, as if trying to convince himself that the nightmarish ritual he had performed had indeed attracted a being of such power into this world. His smile, although it remained in place, now took on a shade of madness, setting off his true emotions. He was thrilled, horrified, and maybe a little scared by what he had created himself. He had summoned a blood demon, and now this demon stood before him, ready to accept his role in his grandiose, but, apparently, bloody plans.