Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

2025

Alastor is sure that the Hazbin Hotel has never been more crowded. He looks down at the sea of people moving across the dark maroon carpet and endures the rage inside his chest as it comes to a boil.

Look at these pathetic souls, going about their day normally—some even joyfully!—despite the fact that Alastor’s entire world was shaken to its core less than a week ago. That moment remains burned into his head: Vox being proclaimed the strongest sinner in hell, the chain binding Alastor to his deal evaporating into nothing, and then, in less than a blink, decades worth of memories slamming back into Alastor’s skull.

In that split second, he had lacked the time to process what all of those memories meant. But after the battle, Alastor watched Lucifer drag himself out of the remains of Vox’s weapon, and a wave of fury crashed down on him all at once. 

When Lucifer stood up, Alastor thought, This is what they took from me. 

When Lucifer collapsed pitifully onto the ground, Alastor thought, This is what they turned you into.

And when Lucifer’s eyes passed over Alastor, with none of the softness and affection Alastor had come to know, Alastor thought, This is the greatest mistake they have ever made. I will become devastation incarnate to fix what they took from us.

For the last week, that has been the only thought echoing in his mind. The Radio Demon looks across the foyer of the hotel and watches Lucifer practically prance across the lobby. He can’t help the way his shadow curves widely over the floor, as if it were a predator waiting to pounce.

But the shadow does not attack, and Alastor simply grits his teeth harder. He takes a deep breath in through his nose, and then sets his shoulders.

Alastor has always been good at getting what he wants, and he has never wanted anything more than this. So, he simply lets himself fade into the shadows, as the Radio Demon begins to consider his first steps.

1934

Nothing could have prepared Alastor for the shock of seeing the King of Hell slumped over the counter in a run down bar. Yet, there he is.

It’s a relatively small, non-descript, and honestly shitty bar that Alastor stumbled into during his first month in the afterlife. Despite its many, many glaring flaws (see: the constant flickering lights, the suspicious odors coming from various cracks in the walls, and a carpet flooring that doesn’t even try to hide a record amount of stains), he had developed a sort of appreciation for the establishment due the noticeable absence of other patrons and the ambient jazz that always seemed to be whispering in the background. 

It was rare to find a quiet place in Pentagram City, and that goes double for an up-and-coming Overlord. It seems that his unprecedented splash into the political power structure means that sinners don’t know if they should be running scared from him or begging for an opportunity to leech off his power and status. 

Therefore, a quiet place with a bar, decent music, and a lack of pathetic idiots truly was a diamond in a pile of coal. 

Yet, that made it no less surprising when Alastor walked into the business and found Lucifer Morningstar sitting on a stool, looking into a glass of whiskey like a reprimanded puppy. It was almost comedic how much the King’s pristine white suit clashed with the peeling orange wallpaper. 

Now, Alastor may be relatively new to Hell, all things considered, but at his core, he was an opportunist. Of course he can’t pass up such a perfectly provided opportunity. So, rather than turning around and briskly walking away like any sane soul, the red-clad gentleman casually makes his way towards royalty.

“Hello, there friend! You seem to be having a down day,” Alastor exclaims cheerily, as he approaches the stool beside the king, not yet sitting down.

The King of Hell blearily raises his head and squints at Alastor. 

He seems to immediately dismiss the demon’s presence, responding, “Listen, whatever you want, my guy, I'm definitely not in the mood. So, you can just, ya know, shoo.”

“Ah ha, I am sure you get requests all the time. However, I was just simply checking in on someone who seems down on their luck!” Alastor continues, undeterred.

“Uh huh, yeah, okay, pal. I mean, really? You’re in hell, of course you want something from the Devil, himself. But I'm not in the mood to listen to your complaints, or give you power, or whatever else you want.” 

“Sire, I assure you, I want for nothing at this moment. But, it seems like you could use someone to talk to, and my mother would admonish me greatly if she heard I was rude enough to walk away from someone in need.”

Lucifer turned to observe Alastor for the first real time in the conversation. His golden eyes seemed to evaluate the grinning demon in front of him. There is an awkward stretch of silence, and then:

“Fine, what the hell.”

Alastor’s eyebrows rise up slightly. Honestly, he had been expecting a bit more push back from the petite man. This is how easy it is to persuade the King of Hell? He has to actively stop the smile on his face from growing wider because, apparently, this is going to be too easy.

Alastor sits on the stool beside the king. “So, your Majesty, what seems to be causing your melancholy?” 

“Probably the fact that I don’t think I have a marriage anymore.”

A sharp record scratch echoes in the air before Alastor can prevent his own reaction.

That information is… fascinating to say the least. All of Hell knew the royal power couple that was Lucifer and Lilith. The two of them have ruled Hell together since its creation, and they even had a daughter who was said to be quite powerful in her own right. 

So, Alastor was not only catching the King of Hell in a time of duress, he was catching him in maybe his greatest moment of duress since The Fall.

Lucifer huffs out a laugh at the sound of the record scratch. “Hah, you can say that again, buddy.” 

Alastor watches as Lucifer tips his head back, downs his entire whiskey glass, and then shakes the glass out to signal to the bartender that he wants another.

“Well, in times like this, I often find that it’s good to share one’s frustrations,” Alastor encourages. 

Another sigh. “I dunno… I guess we’ve had our problems for a while. But... we’ve always been good at acting like they aren’t there.”

“Hm, and this is a state you were comfortable with your relationship being in?”

“No, I mean, sort of? I just figured all marriages must go through this at some point, right? People figure it out. So, I figured we would too, eventually.” 

The octopus looking bartender slides another glass of whiskey over, and Lucifer downs it almost immediately. He signals for another, and the bartender ends up just setting a whole bottle down on the counter. 

Alastor thinks, as he watches Lucifer pop the cap off the whiskey bottle and start chugging it straight, that the King of Hell seems kind of pathetic. 

But that same vulnerability also catches Alastor’s attention. The fact that someone so powerful is being so open with a random stranger is either complete idiocy or a reflection that he knows, even in this state, that no other creature would have a chance at hurting him.

The potential of the latter option is, to Alastor, even more of a reason to see how this plays out. 

“Well, maybe that is where you went wrong, your Majesty. Assuming things will magically get fixed is rarely a solution.”

Lucifer pauses his rapid alcohol consumption to look back at Alastor, this time glaring with obvious annoyance. 

“Yeah, obviously that was a mistake. Or I wouldn’t be sitting here.” A pause as his eyes narrow. “Who are you anyways?”

This question causes Alastor to perk up minutely. With a bit of flair and exaggeration, Alastor proclaims, “Why I am Alastor, your Majesty. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, despite the circumstances,” finishing with a half bow in his seat.

“Alastor… Alastor… Why would I recognize that name?” Lucifer’s eyes seem to assess Alastor with more clarity than a man of his sobriety level should be able to.

“Well, I host a very successful radio sh-”

“Oh yeah, I think I’ve heard your name in a few meetings Lilli dragged me along to. You’re some new big shot overlord, right?”

Alastor feels a distinct thrill run up his spine at the confirmation that he is getting noticed, enough to come up in royal meetings. 

Lucifer continues, “Yeah, you kinda sounded like you're a bit of a try-hard.”

Another record scratch. “Excuse me?”

Lucifer’s eyes are now fully focused on Alastor, as he leans back a little and quirks his head to the side. A smirk dances on his face. “Don’t take it personally. Most fast to the top overlords are try-hards. You burn bright and quick and then,” he mimics the sound of something falling, “and splat. Suddenly, you’re yesterday’s news.”

Alastor feels an intense rage build up in his gut. He did not spend his whole life climbing the ladder, listening to entitled powerful white men tell him that he was going to crash and burn, just for it to happen all over again in Hell.

“I’ll have you know, sir. That I am not just any other quick to rise overlord. I am the strongest sinner in Hell, and I am determined to make it stay that way.” Alastor pushes each word out through gritted teeth and a wide smile, letting his antlers grow and eyes turn into red radio dials.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, that’s what they all say. It’s almost tragic, watching you try so very very hard.”

Alastor’s composure breaks. “Listen here, I will have you know-” 

Alastor watches as the king's smirk grows wider until it breaks and he bends over, laughing like this situation is the funniest thing in the world.

And suddenly Alastor gets the feeling that he was just played like a fiddle. The King continues to laugh and laugh. Eventually, he calms himself down, but when he looks back at Alastor’s somewhat confused face, the laughter flows once more.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry. You overlords are just too easy.” A few more chuckles. “Phew, ha, ha, and they call me the sin of pride.” Lucifer pulls himself back together, wiping at non-existent tears. “You know what, thank you, I didn’t think I was going to laugh for the next week. That felt good.”

Alastor pulls himself back together enough to grit his teeth once more, and angrily replies, “Glad I could be of some amusement to you.” 

Lucifer turns back to the Radio Demon, and smiles, “Oh come on, don’t be like that. I was just giving you a hard time. I mean, you came here clearly intending to take advantage of me, so I was just having a little fun of my own.”

And, well, Lucifer isn’t wrong. Alastor has to give him that. He had jumped on the opportunity to manipulate the King of Hell because he seemed vulnerable. 

“Well, it seems that you have called my bluff. Now that I have thoroughly embarrassed myself for the evening, it seems to be a good time to make my leave.” 

With that, Alastor straightens his posture and slides off his seat, beginning to make his way to the exit.

From behind him he hears, “Hey, wait. Hold on.”

Alastor ignores the King and keeps walking. He hears a pop from behind him, and then suddenly the King appears directly in the path to the door.

“Listen, very scary deer demon guy.” He raises his hands like he is attempting to calm a violent animal. “I didn’t mean to offend you, I was just poking fun a bit. You’re not so bad to talk to. Come join me for another drink.”

“Ignoring that you just insulted me again, why would I do such a thing? You said it yourself, I was just there to ‘take advantage’” Alastor says, annoyance on clear display.

“Well, I mean, yeah, because you were.”

Alastor moves to continue toward the door. Lucifer moves to intercept him again.

“Okay, hey, seriously. I was having a rough night because my marriage is ending, and so I took an easy shot at you. And yes, I know that you’re probably trying to use me for whatever reason. BUT, I also would love a drinking buddy to keep me company tonight, and you don’t seem like a bad option.”

“I would be a terrible option. If you know I am trying to use you, why keep me around?”

Lucifer pauses for a moment. He seems to briefly shrink on himself before taking a deep breath and looking directly at Alastor. The confidence and openness in his gaze catches Alastor off guard.

“Because if I’m honest, I know if I get drunk enough, I’m going to fuck up and do something stupid. And maybe I want to do something stupid. Maybe I’ll prove Lilith right, and for the first time, I won’t feel bad about it. And I’d rather mess up with someone I know is trying to manipulate me rather than someone I’m too drunk not to trust.” He pauses and smirks. “Isn’t the Devil you know better than the Devil you don’t?”

Alastor narrows his eyes and raises a brow. “But that would imply you know me? And despite having vaguely heard of me, I would say the two of us are still complete strangers.”

Lucifer’s smile goes big, like the cat that got the cream. “Well, what’s better for getting to know someone than a round of drinks?”

And somehow that idiotic sentiment is enough to get Alastor to sit back down and continue drinking with the King of Hell. He didn’t sit back down because he actually wanted to cheer the short man up or because he wanted to be, god forbid, helpful. 

Of course not. 

No, Alastor sat back down because he was holding onto the little scrap that Lucifer had dangled in front of him, that if Alastor played along, he might just get something truly valuable out of this encounter.

Yes, that was definitely the only reason he sat back down.

2025

After leaving the lobby, Alastor returns to his tower to regroup and plan.

The first step is to identify what he knows.

1. He was forced to forget his entire history with Lucifer.
2. Breaking his deal with Rosie returned his memories.
3. It seems that Lucifer was also forced into forgetting.

And, that’s all he had. He has no idea who took Lucifer’s memories, how they took them, or how he was supposed to get them back. He has suspicions, of course, but nothing concrete.

(He tries not to consider a reality in which Lucifer gave them up freely. That possibility only leads to ruin.)

There is one individual who knew about his true relationship with the Devil, though. Someone he knows he can trust.

“Niffty, dear! I would like to have a chat with you,” he calls out into the open space of his room.

Not but a few seconds later, loud bangs and the sound of scraping rang out from a nearby vent. Alastor watches as the small cyclops runs against the grate of a ceiling vent so fast, it blows off the screws and knocks into the opposite wall. Her momentum has her flying half a foot out of the now-open hole and falling face first onto the floor.

Naturally, that does not slow her, as like a rubber ball, she immediately pops back onto her feet, running up and stopping directly in front of Alastor.

Honestly, sometimes just watching Niffty makes Alastor feel winded.

“Hi, Alastor! I found three rats in the vents on my way here, but don’t worry,” she lets out a despicable giggle. “I took care of them and left them as a message for the others.” Another giggle.

“Wonderfully charming, Niffty. How would this hotel run without you?” 

He watches her hop a little at the praise. 

“Baxter says he could build a creature to hunt all the rats and bugs for me. But, I would just kill it and hang its corpse up in the lobby to show dominance, he he he.”

“Of course, you would dear.” Alastor bends over at the waste to get closer to her level. He finds proximity often works well at drawing her attention out of the murderous fantasies. 

Really, how he is seen as the cruel and vicious of the two, he will never understand.

“Now, Niffty, I have some important news to share with you, but as with many of our conversations, this will require complete discretion.”

She perks up and nods. Her singular, large eye focuses entirely on him. 

He faux-relaxes and returns to his proper height. “Do you recall the circumstances that led me to disappearing nearly eight years ago?”

Very earnestly, Niffty nods again. “Of course! I remember being there when Rosie… when she told you to… when she said to go hide away for a while.”

For the first time in almost eight years, Alastor is able to notice the furrow of her brow, the slight pursing of her lips, and the lingering pauses as she discusses the subject of his forced seclusion. 

His skin crawls at the realization that she must have always reacted to this subject in such a manner. Yet, his own mind must have over-written any clues or instincts that would lead to questioning her behavior, to realizing something was wrong.

He feels sick realizing the depth of the violation, the treachery of his own thoughts.

Suddenly, Alastor wants to tear every creature limb from limb and wreak destruction never before witnessed. He wants to tear Heaven apart brick by bloody brick. He wants all of existence to burn so they could feel an inch of his indescribable rage.

But, that would not fix Lucifer or undo the betrayal of his consciousness. 

He inhales deeply through his nose. One step at a time. Success first and vengeance will follow.

He gazes down at Niffty. “Hm, and is there anything specific from that meeting with Rosie that you may want to mention?”

Niffty squirms. Very quietly, now avoiding eye contact, she says, “No, if there was something I would tell you.”

And the terrible part of Alastor that has learned to feel affection softens at her obvious discomfort. He recognizes he’s somewhat playing with his food, in a sense. He knew that, by his own design, she couldn’t admit anything. He needed to be sure, though, to see that the secret had stayed safe and that Niffty’s wild mind had not somehow forgotten, as well.

He again, lowers himself down to her level. Not at the waist this time, but rather by getting down on one knee. Like a parent, preparing to speak gently with a toddler.

“Niffty,” she looks back at him, uncertain. This behavior is not common from Alastor, let alone since his hiatus, “I have some important news to share with you. When my deal with Rosie broke, it undid her commands.”

She stares blankly, not yet processing.

“Which means,” he continues, “I remember my… time spent with Lucifer. You no longer need to hide that information from me.”

As he speaks, Niffty’s pupil rapidly expands, consuming almost her entire eye. Her entire body begins to rapidly vibrate in place. Alastor has half a mind to grab onto the little maid to prevent her from shooting up into the ceiling like a rocket.

“YOU REMEMBER YOU LOVE THE ULTIMATE BAD BOY,” she screams. And yes, Alastor should have anticipated this reaction.

“Now, Niffty-”

But, she has already begun to run around the room, her energy and excitement refusing to remain contained.

“This is great. I’m going to have to destroy all the rats and bugs in the hotel to prepare for the wedding-”

“Niffty-”

“And maybe Baxter can build a fire breathing animal that can set the whole hotel on fire when you kiss and-”

“Niffty, please get down from the bookshelf-”

“And–Oh! I can make the ultimate bad boy a crown to go with your roach crown. And he can be Mister King Roach and-

“Niffty-”

“Or I could get the bug band to play at the reception. They just learned how to play swing jazz-”

“Wait, they know jazz?”

“Uh huh! And blues, and rock, and classical, and folk. But NOT country, Baxter won’t let them because-”

Alastor quickly realizes that she is too worked up at the moment and is getting swept away by her excitement. He allows her to race around for a few more minutes until he tires of watching her unbridled chaos.

The Radio Demon summons a shadow tentacle to grab her mid-jump off the table and has it bring her back near him, raising her up to match his eye level.

“He he, that tickles.”

He lets out an easy, soft sigh. “Now, Niffty, please allow me to finish before you get swept away with possibilities.”

“Sorry, Alastor. I’m just so excited that you remember, again!” Her voice goes to a normal level as she says, “Honestly, it was getting pretty pathetic to watch you without him. You’re a lot more depressed.”

She says it so casually, like a general observation, and he can’t keep the annoyance off his face. Not that it would stop her.

“Thank you for the kind observation, dear. But, as I was saying, we mustn't get ahead of ourselves. Just because I remember does not mean that the King recalls our time together.”

Immediately, all of Niffty’s excitement bleeds away into disappointment. “He doesn’t?” 

“Sadly not. Which means, like everyone else who is unaware of my relationship with the King, you may not speak with him about this,” he says, very seriously. 

Alastor’s past command to her will continue to prohibit Niffty from sharing relevant information with anyone who does not already know about his relationship with Lucifer; however, if she were to think Lucifer remembered, it may work around the order. Best to make that distinction very clear, lest she go spoiling matters.

“Well, why can’t you go tell him?”

“Because the King and I’s current dynamic is not… Well, it is not one that would react well to that news. In fact, I think it would be quite disastrous,” he explains, with a heavier heart than he lets on. 

Because their current relationship—or lack thereof–is something that, in the week since regaining his memories, has been quite troubling. 

The memory of Alastor’s own hostility—the vitriol and contempt directed at the King—is as easy to recall as the decades of affection, if not easier due to recency. It leaves a bad taste in his mouth, ash on his tongue where there should be sugar.

Lucifer hates him, of that he is sure. He can’t even entertain another notion because, a week ago, he hated Lucifer, too. 

Knowing that Lucifer hates him, knowing he will have to keep up the act of hating Lucifer until he fixes this, knowing that after these last few months, even if Alastor gets Lucifer’s memories back, the fallen angel may decide that he doesn’t lo–

No. That’s not an option. It can’t be an option.

“Alastor?” Niffty softly breaks through his thoughts.

“Sorry, dear Niffty,” he continues like normal, “what I meant to say is that we still don’t know how Lucifer lost his memories. I highly doubt he was placed into the same situation as I. So, that is our first step: determine what method was used to rob him of our time together.”

Niffty nods, enthusiastically. “Okay, Alastor! What do you need me to do?”

“For now, I just want you to keep an eye on Lucifer. See what you notice and if there are any hints of outside influence, but don’t act out of the ordinary. Stay subtle. Can you do that for me, dearest Niffty?”

“Yes!” she exclaims with a big, sharp, toothy smile. A matching one reflects itself on Alastor’s own face.

“Wonderful.”

He lets the tentacle drop her from the air, not minding the height because he knows she would enjoy the fall. The Radio Demon watches her race to the side of his room, climb up the wall like a spider, and crawl into the vent she entered from.

Before she gets too far, though, she turns around and sticks her head back out of the vent.

“Alastor?”

He looks up at her and is struck by the sincere look on her face. “Yes?”

“I really hope we can get the Ultimate Bad Boy to remember. I miss how happy you were.” 

And without a chance for Alastor to respond, she takes off, undoubtedly finding vermin to wage war against on the way to fulfill her new orders.

1934

If patience were a virtue, then the universe should have sent Alastor up to Heaven.

When Lucifer said he planned to get drunk, he may have undersold his true intentions for the night because, at the moment, the King of Hell is truly and properly shit-faced. Completely in the realm of I-won’t-remember-any-of-this-in-the-morning, and just past the state of believing you can fight God.

Although, Alastor supposes as he very begrudgingly helps support the King on the way back to the palace, Lucifer has indeed attempted to fight God. 

Regardless of how absolutely annoyed Alastor is with the drunken slob in charge of Hell, he must admit this escapade has been quite informative, at least.

Most of the night had been spent listening to Lucifer spout random nonsense about waterfowl or jabbering about how amazing his daughter was, but there were at least some jewels of hidden knowledge to be gleaned. 

For example, Alastor was given great insight into every potential catalyst for Lucifer’s divorce. It took parsing through angry grumbling and decoding mournful blubbering, but the information was interesting to say the least.

It seems that over time, Lucifer’s despondency toward sinners—and hell as a whole—had led to friction with Lilith’s impassioned plans to liberate the denizens of Hell from their current chains. 

Lucifer chose to ignore the citizens, wanting not to look at the painful consequences of his actions and believing the wretched souls deserved their punishment. In stark contrast, Lilith had spent the past few millennia working toward ways for sinners to have their own chance at a happy afterlife. 

Obviously, Lucifer’s continued shirking of his responsibilities aggravated such a passionate woman as Lilith. And for Lucifer, he couldn’t help but notice that, if Lilith believed Hell is a terrible fate for sinners—a label applying to the Queen herself—it might just mean that she had come to view her own fate with him as a form of punishment, too. 

And isn’t that such a terrible realization to have? That the woman you’ve loved for all of existence now sees the kingdom and marriage you built as a torture.

While that alone is information Alastor can weaponize, it gained added value when he learned that the divorce is meant to be a secret.

The two rulers of Hell had decided, after much yelling and the destruction of a minor town in Wrath, that perhaps it would be best not to tell their daughter and the rest of the kingdom about a large fissure in their relationship. 

Apparently, they fear that telling Charlie would break her heart—which if anything Lucifer has said about his daughter is to be believed, her heart could be crushed easier than the bones of a baby bird.

And telling the power-hungry citizens of Hell about a fracture in the heart of the ruling class would most definitely go terribly. Take Alastor in this exact moment for instance. Since learning all of this, the demon hasn’t stopped running through all the possible ways to exploit it for his own personal gain.

The potential almost made it worth Lucifer—half-dependent on Alastor’s balance—looking up at him with clouded eyes and saying, “I’m gonna hurl.”

“Your Majesty,” Alastor, responds with no hidden contempt for the situation, “we are but a short distance from the palace now. I would encourage someone at your station to consider what public retching would do to your image.”

“You said a looooooot of words in there, Mister Deer,” a hiccup, “and I—eee-uh—I think… I think your big words made it worse.”

Okay, okay, okay, this was fine. Alastor, the strongest sinner in Hell, someone who could make an entire city quake in fear of him after one year, he could shoulder the injustice of helping the King find a place to throw up. 

But what were the chances that, if he dropped Lucifer right here on the street and made for a quick escape, the King would even remember in the morning?

A tug on his sleeve. “ALASTOR!” Lucifer yelled with the emphasis on the “stor” part of his name.

Alastor grits his teeth, pictures his mother’s warm and gentle face in his mind, and kindly replies, “Yes, Your Highness?”

“Do you think I’m handom… hardom… handlom? What’s the word?”

“Handsome, sir?”

“Yeah, you kinda are.”

Alastor can’t stop the clash of instruments that echoes in his ambient static or the way he stumbles as badly as the King for a moment. He is entirely ready to be done with this night for the rest of his existence.

The only mercy in this godless realm is that, as they round the corner, a sprawling palace comes into view at the end of the next street.

“I would highly encourage someone of your status to never consume this much alcohol again. And preferably never around me, if you would be so kind,” Alastor allows himself to reprimand.

“But you’re such a good buddy. A pal. An amigo. A-”

“I understand your point.”

“I mean, no one else has carried me home drunk like this before. I don’t think… Maybe Bee has… Yeah, Bee definitely has. And Ozzie, too… Not Mammon, though, because he’s not allowed around me when I’m drunk because he always convinces me to create a new form of money. He keeps pitching this idea called ‘crypto’ but I just… I don’t get it. Like what even is—”

Alastor decides to just tune the King out for the rest of the walk, for his own sanity. As they draw nearer to the Devil’s home, it registers that he has never seen the palace in all of his walks through the city. He’s never taken a wrong road and ended up at its gates or looked across the skyline and noticed it peeking above the various buildings of Pentagram City.

“Your Majesty?” Alastor interrupts.

“—And Satan’s just a huge dick- oh huh?” the King, from where he is propped against the Radio Demon’s side, turns his head to peer up with big, unfocused eyes. Alastor gets the distinct feeling of something in his chest shriveling and dying. 

He truly loathes this night.

“I was curious as to why I never have seen your resplendent home before?” Alastor prompts.

And resplendent it is. The palace radiates a bright golden color, similar to the Heaven Embassy, that illuminates the entire area around it. The front half of the building is significantly shorter than the back and is topped with a noticeable collection of tables and chairs on the roof, potentially to be treated as an outdoor hosting area. Behind that, one can see the back half of the building which stands at double the size and draws the eye to the glittering beauty of its shimmering walls. 

On the left side, bridging the space of the front and back portions, is a tall tower that finishes off in the shape of a golden apple. It sharply contrasts the only non-golden part of the building: a traditional black stone clocktower that sits on the opposite side of the palace, towering over even the taller half of the rest of the building. 

The King squints at the residence, “Oh… uuuhhhhh… well, only people I want to see can. Ya can’t find it unless, I wantcha to.”

“Hmmm, intriguing.”

They approach the gates to the palace, which swing open invitingly as they draw near. Alastor has to wonder what the complex defenses are on such a lavish building, fueled by Lucifer’s own power, no doubt.

They walk in relative silence to the ornate double doors, and Lucifer only trips five times as they climb the short set of stairs in front. Miracles can happen in Hell, it seems.

When they get to the door, Lucifer finally and mercifully detaches himself from the spot he’d taken against Alastor’s body. And the demon does not acknowledge how the cold air quickly fills space along his side.

Lucifer almost immediately begins to tip over once on his own, but catches himself on the door. Before entering, though, he turns around to look at Alastor once more.

“Hey, um uhh, thanks… for uhhh, helping me tonight, I guess. Like walking home and watching me drink and stuff.” As he speaks, he keeps titling his head and squinting his eyes, as if he can’t seem to get his vision to focus on the demon before him.

Finally, Alastor can make a polite reply and then escape to never acknowledge this evening ever again. Unless the information he gained proves useful, of course.

“Oh not to worry, Your Majesty. It was not a problem at all.”

In his disoriented state, Lucifer—brow furrowed in thought—looks around the area for a moment, and then lands his view on Alastor again. The quiet air of the night almost carries away the King’s whispered question. 

“Why did you stay, at all?”

Ah, easy enough for Alastor to play off. “Well, you are the King of Hell, of course. I would hate to have come off impolite or, worse, insulting. I would much prefer not to be smited.”

At that, all the tension in Lucifer’s expression breaks. “Oh, okay, well you didn’t need to worry about that.”

Slight confusion tickles at Alastor’s mind. “Why ever not, sir?”

Simply as breathing air, the King says, “Well, because I can’t harm sinners. Part o’ being down here.”

What.

“Oh, I’m really going to hurl,” and with that Lucifer Morningstar, favored creation of God, fallen angel of Heaven, King of Hell and all its Rings, opens the door of his illustriously golden home to go throw up.

And Alastor, a man who did not stumble into Hell like some common buffoon but rather jumped in with the ambition of an Olympic diver, stands frozen in shock on the front of the palace steps.

A few minutes pass where he registers nothing. No thought, no insight, no scheme. 

And then he thinks, Oh. Oh shit.

Alastor isn’t naive enough to think he could just get away with learning a secret that catastrophic.

Well, he thought to himself on his way back to the radio tower, Lucifer did say he wanted to get drunk enough to do something stupid. It seems he succeeded.

Obviously, this does not bode well for Alastor’s safety. The King may not be able to hurt him, but he had plenty of allies and underlings to call upon the job for him. 

The Radio Demon may be the strongest sinner in Hell, but even he didn’t compare to the likes of the Deadly Sins.

No, Alastor knew he was in a bad spot, and there was no escape option. He was in Hell. Anywhere he ran to, the King could definitely find him. It’s best for him to stay in place and deal with the consequences as they come. 

So, that was how Alastor spent the next 16 hours, sitting in his radio tower, going about his usual broadcast to the people of Pentagram City, contemplating if this would be his last.

His reckoning came during “Nobody Knows You When You’re Down and Out” by Bessie Smith. He is reclining comfortably in his chair when a stark white envelope with a gold trim and red apple-shaped wax seal manifests.

Alastor hums along to the song as he plucks the glowing envelope out of the air. 

It reads: 

You are formally invited to the Palace of His Majesty, the King of Hell, Lucifer Morningstar.

Please come at your earliest convenience. Failure to heed this summons will result in a public manhunt for sport that will end in your corpse being dragged through each of the Seven Rings.

Formally,

The Residence of the Morningstars

Alastor reads over it once and decides to heed its demands. It’s not really a difficult choice considering he’s already got one hunting-related-death experience. Best not to add anymore.

After the song, he quickly wraps up the broadcast and shadow travels to the palace. When he arrives, the overlord watches as the gates open to guide him in. Before stepping through, Alastor observes the eerie emptiness of the streets around the palace.

He chooses not to contemplate the lack of witnesses.

Undeterred, he walks across the ornate palace grounds, decorated with a field of apple trees that appear to be in season. 

There is a small voice in the back of his mind that whispers for him to reach out and take a bite of one.

Alastor ignores the temptation and continues walking.

In a mirror of the previous night, he walks the path, up the stairs, and approaches the doorway with his invitation in hand. He knocks on the door and hears it echo loudly through the space inside.

He only waits a few moments before the shining golden doors open up before him. 

Whatever he had expected the inside to look like, it wasn’t this. Alastor had anticipated loud and flashy patterns, perhaps an over-abundance of the King’s signature apple motif, or at least the unignorable presence of red and gold. 

However, rather than a showy, offensive-to-the-eyes appearance, the long hall before him is decorated in elegant shades of dark purple and black. 

A rich, solid violet covers the walls, interrupted by the occasional side table or art deco inspired mirror. Both the spotless black tiled ceiling and floor provide a distortion effect that makes it appear like the hallway reflects infinitely above and below, as chandeliers made of obsidian glass hang high above any guests. The hallway truly gives the impression of an endless cavern, illuminated only by small white orbs that drift through the air and arched windows built off to the right.

All but three steps into the room, the doors shut behind him with a loud boom, and—before he wonders where to go next—a small, dark red, sheep-dragon hybrid comes flying down the hall at a rapid pace. It abruptly stops in front of Alastor, cocking a head in question.

The overlord leans in to read a name tag that says, Dazzle.

“I do believe I am here for an audience with the King,” he offers.

He holds out his invitation for the beast to grab and watches as it scans over the illusory script. It looks back up, nods sharply, and signals for Alastor to follow.

They walk down corridor after corridor, all paralleling the same elegantly refined design. Alastor assumes it’s intentional that the similarities in every hall were meant to make it impossible to find your way around without guidance.

Eventually, they come to a large pair of doors that completely betray the themes of the hallway. Once again, gold was the prominent color, and the apple motif had reappeared. This time, however, the apple is simply a small outline, split along the seam of the two doors, acting as the handles. 

Dazzle flies forward and knocks on the door. 

In the brief seconds before the door opens, Alastor ponders who he will be talking to in that room. The Lucifer he met last night was a sloppy, intoxicated mess, but what is Lucifer like sober? Is he as terrifying as some stories say? 

(Alastor doubts it, but he has to at least consider the thought.)

And worse, what if Lilith is in there, too? 

Alastor holds little fear of Lucifer after seeing the King down three straight bottles of vodka and fail to do a cartwheel. Lilith, however, gives Alastor pause.

Fortunately, luck appears to be on his side because when Dazzle pulls the door open to let Alastor enter the room, only The King is waiting inside.

The room appears to be a mix between a workshop and a study. It has a casual dinner table on the left side, arm chairs to the right, and a worktable on a raised platform in the back. 

Unlike the rest of the palace, it seems that this room does match Alastor’s initial expectations for the decor. Red oversaturates every inch of the room, almost washing out the variety of family portraits that line the wall. 

However, the overstimulating design has nothing on how distracting all of the various inventions were, as no surface seemed free of their presence.

And fiddling with one of said creations, in a plush chair, is the King of Hell, honestly looking somewhat nervous. 

He looks up as Alastor steps in. “Oh uh, hey, again. Al… Alfre—no, uh, Alber—”

“Alastor,” the demon supplies, bowing slightly. 

“Yeah, Alastor. Come on in. Take a seat. Oh, here.” Lucifer waves a hand, and a pile of random contraptions vanish from the arm chair adjacent to him.

Alastor stiffly makes his way over to the seat and waits quietly for Lucifer to start the conversation.

“Uh, so, I guess we should address the elephant in the room.”

“And, what would that be, Your Majesty?” asks the demon, playing coy.

The King’s brow quirks. “Uh, really? Maybe the fact that I told you about my very secret divorce? Or maybe how I told you about my even more super secret weakness?”

“Oh yes, that. I suppose that might be an important topic.”

“Uh yeah, obviously. Can you be less difficult? I feel like I’m pulling teeth here.”

Alastor sighs, obnoxiously. “Well, you were the one who chose me as your reluctant ‘drinking buddy,’ if you do recall.”

“Well, it's not like I had a lot of options hanging around the bar.”

“I suppose it’s unfortunate for both of us then, isn’t it? Seeing as we both had to put up with each other last night. As far as I remember, you weren’t the picture of grace and virtue, yourself. Or have you forgotten the numerous times you threatened to vomit on me?”

Lucifer cringes. “Okay, yeah, fair point.” He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Listen, I’m in a bad spot right now. I fucked up bad last night. Yes, I meant to do something stupid, but that last thing I told you, that was too far, even for me.”

And Alastor knows the King isn’t overreacting. In the wrong hands, the knowledge that the King of Hell can’t harm sinners, that could be devastating—not just for the royal family, but for the entire power structure of Hell itself. It's bad enough that Lucifer can’t even seem to mention it outloud, today.

The Radio Demon leans back slightly, crossing his legs and letting his staff rest beside him. “So,” he says, “it seems that doesn’t leave you with many options.”

At that, Lucifer’s face becomes intensely serious. The face of a king having to make a hard decision. “No. It doesn’t.”

“Before you make whatever choice you’re currently weighing in that blonde head of yours, tell me this: Does Lilith know?”

The Devil physically folds in on himself at the moment her name is mentioned. Looking away from Alastor, his eyes move to rest on one of the various portraits on the wall, one that depicts Lilith, Lucifer, and presumably a quite young Charlie, all hugging and laughing. 

“She knows that I told you about the divorce. She doesn’t know I told you about the other secret.”

“And what was her solution?”

“This. That I talk to you about it. That we try to come to an agreement first.”

“And if we don’t?”

Lucifer’s solemn gaze returns to Alastor, his golden eyes staring right into bloody red ones. “Then you will be dealt with. Not by me, but dealt with nonetheless.”

“Hmm,” Alastor replies, “Yes, I did expect that. The summons I was given made it clear what fate would befall me should I not be, let’s call it, cooperative.”

Lucifer’s gaze breaks away, and he lets out a huff. “Yeah, sorry about that, but the stakes are pretty high with this one, so we had to be a little direct.”

Alastor studies Lucifer, as he has throughout the conversation, and comes to the conclusion that perhaps the overlord’s fate is not in such a precarious position as he had worried. Lucifer seems to want some sort of compromise to be found. He could very easily have had Alastor “dealt with” before this meeting even began—as he has alluded to—but for some reason appears reluctant to do so.

Which means, Alastor has space to work with. And the Radio Demon knows how to use an inch of negotiation to his advantage.

“Alright, well, I would prefer not to die. Let alone be hunted throughout Hell. What do you suggest for our agreement?”

Lucifer perks up a bit, “Oh, uh, I guess I hadn’t really thought that far. Huh.”

Not for the first time in the last 24 hours, Alastor thinks to himself, Really this buffoon is the King of Hell?

And wait a moment, perhaps he can utilize that…

Lucifer continues, “I guess, I would need some sort of confirmation that you won’t go spilling the beans.”

Alastor leans back in his chair, getting comfortable for the first time in the conversation so far. “Well, I do have to wonder, what’s in it for me?”

Confusion and narrowed eyes emerge on the King’s face. “What do you mean?”

Alastor explains, with a slightly condescending tone, “You said we would have to come to an agreement. In other words, a deal. And a deal requires a quid pro quo of some sort, no?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait right there deer-boy.” Lucifer leans forward in his seat and begins to point aggressively at Alastor, who has the hint of a smirk in his broad smile. “What you get out of the deal is NOT DYING.”

“Perhaps, but that isn’t really me gaining anything, per se. The way I see it, I am the one with all the leverage here.”

The King scoffs loudly. “You? I could literally command legions of hellborn to KILL YOU. There are six other Deadly Sins who would tear you apart in an instant if I asked. How do you have the leverage?”

And the Radio Demon did allow his grin to grow unrestrained. “Well, I have to wonder, in the time it takes them to track me down, how many sinners could I tell about your little situation.”

Alastor picks up his staff, turning it in his hands as he continues, “You may also recall me mentioning last night that I have a very successful radio show. Nearly all of Pentagram City tunes in. Just a few seconds on air, and would you look at that? All of Hell knows that the King is as useless in violence as he is in politics.”

“Why you little piece of shit.” Lucifer has stood up from his chair and put his full demonic form on display. Long, sharp horns protrude from his head, and in between them rests a scorching ball of fire. His eyes have changed from yellow to a deep red, almost matching the shade of Alastor’s own. His hands curl into fists at his side. “I should have you smited for your attitude alone. You’re still speaking to the King of Hell.”

Alastor won’t admit that he gets a bit of a thrill hearing the growl in the King’s voice and witnessing his unrestrained form. Hello, he thinks, there’s all that potential.

For a fleeting moment, he understands how Lilith could have been swept away by a being of such beauty and rage and raw power. But, he banishes the ridiculous notion as quickly as it appears. What an odd thought.

“Relax, Your Majesty” Alastor chides. “This is a negotiation. I only bring up that possibility, so we can come to a conclusion where we avoid it.”

“Listen, here you son of a bitch–”

“Really, we have already established my stance on your threats. I know you can’t hurt me, at this exact moment. So your whole song and dance routine is, honestly, just a bit embarrassing.”

Oh, and isn’t this fun? Alastor can’t help but give himself a little bit of a treat to make up for all of the ridiculousness he dealt with the night before.

He watches as the flame on Lucifer’s head roars, and his eyes go wide in offense.  But suddenly, all of the righteousness and anger seems to evaporate from his form. 

His horns disappear. His eyes return to their normal color. And he slumps backwards into the arm chair, like a puppet with its strings cut. It's as if the King of Hell disappears, and Lucifer is what’s left behind.

He lets out a loud sigh. “Figures, I decide to cut loose for the first time in over three thousand years, and I end up spilling my guts to the most prideful sinner in the goddamn Pride Ring.”

Alastor’s smile definitely widens at that.

Lucifer continues defeatedly, “What do you want?”

And isn't that such a seductive thing to hear. The Ruler of the Realm asks Alastor what he wants, accepting that—if temporarily—Alastor has power over him. 

The Radio Demon has never tasted anything so sweet.

“Well, there are many things I want. However, I can think of a few potential offerings that may be uniquely in your power set.”

At first, Lucifer rolls his eyes at the blatant pompous nature of Alastor’s attitude, but then he registers the last few words. He fixes the demon with a familiar look, the same assessing gaze from their first interaction in the bar.

Then his eyes widen minutely, and he begins to shake his head. He lets out a humourless laugh. “Of course. All you sinners are exactly the same. Well, I am not sorry to say that I can’t break that little soul contract of yours, buddy, so I hope you have another request.”

Alastor doesn’t move. Doesn’t say anything. He feels exposed in a raw way that makes every inch of his skin itch. He feels like he’s been left outside, naked in a snow storm; like he’s drowning 1,000 feet below the surface of a swamp; like all of his organs have been carved from the inside of his body and left bare to the world. 

Lucifer picks up on his lack of a reaction. “Oh,” he leans forward, confidence renewed. “Oh, ho, ho, it seems I’m not the only one with a shameful secret that could upset my position of power, huh?”

Every line of Alastor’s body is tense. He hates it, hates feeling like the prey his body now resembles. His teeth ache with the force in which he is gritting them, and he forces his hands to loosen lest he break his staff.

You’ve underestimated him, he thinks to himself. Adjust and carry on. Don’t get distracted.

Alastor takes a centering breath and juts out his chin slightly, forcing all the tense points in his body to loosen. “Very well then,” he says, indifferently, “We shall carry on then.”

“What? Really?” the Devil asks. “Because the way I see it, we are on equal footing now, bucko. I keep your secret, you keep mine.”

Alastor lets out an insincere hum of consideration. “Hm, no I don’t think so.”

One of Lucifer’s eyes twitches.

Alastor continues, “Your secret could lead to massive uprisings in every Ring, destruction and chaos abound. Yourself and your family—your daughter—having your safety threatened at every moment. And there is nothing you could do about it.”

Alastor stares down the Devil as he carries on, “My circumstances however are much less limited. If all of Hell knew I was powered by another, it does not change that I still have that power. And as we speak, I have already begun to subjugate other overlords through soul contracts of my own, meaning my own power is growing. Rosie may have my soul, but as of right now, she benefits from my position. All in all, my secret getting out changes nothing but making me look weaker than I am. Your secret getting out could ruin the entire realm. Not quite on equal footing, to me.”

And it’s a load of shit. The worst thing Alastor could imagine is everyone knowing his deal. He would be a laughing stock, never respected again no matter who he killed or how brutally. Alastor would rather take being hunted through all of Hell over being the butt of a joke for the rest of eternity.

But a bluff is a bluff. 

So, Alastor watches Lucifer's process, can see him weigh each word. The moment of silence after is heavy and tense. But the Radio Demon doesn’t flinch, just holds eye contact, maintains his cocky grin, and lets Lucifer think.

The fallen angel lets out a small sigh of surrender, but does not lose any of the tension of the moment. His jaw is set and voice is hard when he speaks, “Alright. So, you’ve clearly thought this through. Do me a favor, and stop beating around the bush. Get to the point. What do you want?”

This is a version of Lucifer that captivates Alastor. It’s like looking at the ruins of a once great castle. You gaze upon it and see that which has been beaten down by time and age. Its stones are crumbling, defeated, tired, haunted. The fortress is all broken pieces and torn down walls, jagged edges exposed and vulnerable.

But, when you look at it, if you squint your eyes and let yourself imagine for a moment, just a little bit, you can see the glory of what it once was—the beauty, the power, the strength. The potential.

And Alastor knows what he is going to ask for.

“You ask for me to be blunt, Your Majesty, and so I will. I think you are pathetic and weak,” the Radio Demon holds up a hand as the King moves to interrupt. “You know it as well as I do. As well as Lilith does, too. You have let the disappointment of your existence turn you into a sorry excuse for a King, while your now ex-wife carries the load. This secret of yours just gives you a justification to hide behind her shadow and let yourself wallow away.”

“However,” Alastor leans forward, “you have chosen your own helplessness. You hate the sinners of Hell for ruining free will? Great, then you punish them like the Devil you are called. You earn your name, like the rest of us learned to.”

“‘Oh,’ I hear you say. ‘But I can’t harm sinners. How ever would I punish them?’ You find another way, another solution.”

Lucifer’s face has not moved an inch as Alastor spoke, and his voice is flat when he says, “And I presume that’s what your job would be?”

“Partially,” Alastor spreads his grin. “I can’t go around torturing all of Hell all the time, as fun as that would be. I’m only a wretched soul, after all. Plus, this realm is a political bureaucracy with leaders and rules and expectations. One can’t just start wreaking open havoc.”

“So, what are you proposing?” Lucifer asks.

“I am suggesting that I act as more of a—hmm, an advisor, let’s call it.”

Lucifer raises an eyebrow, “An advisor?”

“Indeed. If last night is anything to go off of, you are quite miserable with your current circumstances. Becoming a stronger and more authoritative King would allow you to start getting some sort of meaning in your life. At the very least doing something purposeful with it, rather than getting hammered at a bar with a stranger.”

“Meanwhile,” Alastor describes, “I am also not satisfied by my own circumstances. I’m the most powerful sinner in Hell, and quickly rising the ranks of the Overlords. But even they are small fish in a much bigger pond. Now, I’ll never be able to ascend to god-hood, but I can attach myself to the next best thing.”

“Me,” Lucifer provides, slightly sitting back in his chair.

“You.”

The silence returns as Lucifer processes everything Alastor has said. It’s extremely risky and ambitious, what Alastor is suggesting. A truly powerful King of Hell would laugh Alastor away, dismissing the entire conversation as a funny joke.

Lucifer isn’t that truly powerful king, though. He’s giving Alastor’s absurd suggestion thought and consideration. That alone is enough to make Alastor feel a bit of thrill. 

Lucifer finally breaks the quiet. “So to recap, you want to make a deal with me where you get to be my advisor, helping me be a better King of Hell and maybe doing some murder-work on the side, and I get your secrecy on the divorce and my limitations.”

Alastor perks up, theatrically. “Precisely. Honestly, when you say it like that, it really does sound like a win-win situation for you doesn’t it?”

“Not when I consider the fact it means spending more time with you,” Lucifer mutters. “You know, you really are a power-hunger manic, right?”

“Thank you!”

Lucifer sighs. “I want to write up something formal. Contrary to popular belief, I don’t make deals like this everyday. So if we're going through this, I want it to be iron clad.”

Alastor hasn’t felt this exhilarated since he made his deal with Rosie, maybe even since his first kill.

“Before we start writing anything down, I think it best that we keep my role as your advisor quiet as well.”

Lucifer tilts his head at that request. “Why? Doesn't it make you look bigger and badder if everyone knows that you're my right hand?”

“Yes, it would. However, you may recall that my soul is not currently in my possession, meaning if Rosie were to discover our circumstances, she may be able to weaponize my position for her own gain. I hardly think it’s a good idea to allow your right-hand man to become compromised.”

“Yeah, good point. Okay, well there are definitely going to be some people that I have to tell. Lilith and at least a few of the Sins—probably Bee and Ozzie, maybe even Satan—so this can’t be a complete secret.”

“Let’s begin drafting our terms, and we can include in there a list of those we deem safe to share our deal with.”

So, Alastor and Lucifer spent the next couple hours drafting. Lucifer was quite old school with his technique, going so far as to write it all out on parchment with a quill. 

They landed on the following agreement:

Alastor, the Radio Demon, hereby agrees to withhold the topics of His Majesty, Lucifer Morningstar, The King of Hell, and Sin of Pride’s divorce and inability to commit violence against sinners. In doing so, he also agrees to act as The King’s advisor.

His duties shall include:

1. Providing the King insight and suggestions on how to best rule Hell
2. Helping the King handle political opposition, whether that be through verbal advice or physical aggression
3. Punishing those that the King deems worthy of facing retribution through force

His Majesty, Lucifer Morningstar, The King of Hell, and Sin of Pride hereby agrees to allow Alastor, the Radio Demon, to act as his royal advisor in exchange for the Radio Demon’s silence on the previously mentioned topics. 

Additionally, both parties hereby agree to allow those listed below, and only those listed below, to know of their deal:

1. Lilith Morningstar, Queen of Hell, and First Sinner
2. Asmodeus, Sin of Lust
3. Beelzebub, Sin of Gluttony
4. Satan, Sin of Wrath

Other individuals may be added to the above list, but they must be approved by and agreed upon by The King and the Radio Demon before their inclusion.

“Okay,” Lucifer says, as they both finish looking over the draft. “I think this is it.”

“Wonderful, shall we shake on it,” Alastor replies, holding out a hand. His antlers begin to double in size, casting a shadow over the lovely family portraits decorating the walls. His eyes shift into ticking radio dials, as green symbols dance in the air around his head.

“Oh, ho, woah, buddy. Take a step back there, my guy.” Lucifer interrupts. His response results in a harsh radio squeak and Alastor snapping back to normal in surprise. “Listen, you’re not just making a standard old demon deal here, pal. You’re making a deal with the literal Devil, from the Bible. We gotta do things the original way.”

Alastor watches as Lucifer gives the quill they had been using a little shake. What was before a pristine and sophisticated white feather with a somewhat dull tip changes into a sleek, ink black feather ending in a tip sharp enough to cut glass, or maybe even a man’s artery. 

Lucifer takes the quill and slides it along his finger tip. Barely any pressure is applied, but Alastor can’t look away as a few drops of golden ichor rise to the surface. The fallen angel holds the quill in place for a moment, letting the tip get properly wetted.

Then for the briefest moment, Lucifer glances up at Alastor, and there are so many emotions laid bare in his gilded eyes. Alastor tries to catalogue as many as possible in the half-second he sees them. Uncertainty. Resolution. Confidence. Fear. Excitement. Determination. Vulnerability.

Alastor wonders what his own eyes reflect back.

And then the Devil signs his name at the bottom of the contract, and passes the quill wordlessly to Alastor.

As the quill switches hands, the lingering angel blood on the tip completely vanishes, leaving a clean instrument for Alastor to use.

He follows Lucifer’s own demonstration. In the quiet, as he guides the tip across his own finger, Alastor feels like his every breath echoes through the room. His blood wells up, and the tip of the quill saturates itself in the crimson liquid.

A dizziness buzzes through his head. He writes his name down on the parchment.

Alastor had expected making a deal with the Devil to be life shattering, full of pomp and theatrics. His deal with Rosie certainly had. Alastor had felt his soul cleave in two, like the entire world had shifted and something new ran deep through the core of his being. 

But here, in the silent and cluttered room, full of family memories and half-abandoned creative innovations, this deal feels soft. Between an inhale and an exhale, Alastor feels his perception of the world move. Not like an earthquake or a fundamental shift in nature, but a slight altering of one’s perspective. Like taking one step to the left when looking at a painting.

It’s gentle.

“Welp, I guess that’s that, huh?” Lucifer breaks the calm of the room. Alastor turns to look at the small alabaster man. He doesn’t know what he expected, but he’s somewhat taken aback by the fact Lucifer looks the exact same. Just as vulnerable and naive as before. 

Alastor feels a tightness in his chest. “Yes, well, I suppose that takes care of business.”

Lucifer performatively flops back into his chair, staring despondently up at the ceiling. “Great, and now I get to go explain all of this to my ex-wife.”

2025

Lilith turns her face into the breeze, choosing not to acknowledge the crunching foot steps along the sand. 

She knew this conversation was bound to happen soon enough. Once she got the message that Alastor’s deal with Rosie had been broken, the Queen of Hell had prepared for her time in Heaven to come to an end.

“May I have this seat?” The High Seraphim of Heaven gestures to the ornate metal iron chair across from Lilith.

She does not respond. There is no need to.

Sera lets out a small sigh, and then moves to sit.

“Things have… changed, Lilith. Circumstances have changed. I believe we must begin to correct our mistakes,” she begins to explain.

Lilith rolls her eyes behind her sunglasses. Of course, their mistakes.

“I–I must begin by apologizing to you. Perhaps you have been right this whole time. Sinners, they were once people, too. They deserve a chance to make it into paradise.”

It really is amazing, Lilith thinks, as she takes a sip of her tea, that I spent countless millenia trying to explain that to you. But, in a few months, all it takes is my daughter and one lucky sinner to finally shift your world view.

“If they can learn and grow from their mistakes, well, we should give them the opportunity. I was wrong for not listening to you before.”

“Still keeping it conditional, though, I see,” Lilith criticizes behind her tea cup.

“I’m sorry?” The all-too-familiar signs of righteous frustration begin to dot Sera’s face. 

“It’s still conditional,” Lilith repeats, calmly. "Sinners still have to earn their way into Heaven, right? You can’t just let people be happy in death. They have to earn paradise.”

Sera pinches her brow. “Lilith, we have been over this many times. Cruel and depraved souls do not deserve to live the rest of their lives in bliss. Can you imagine what kind of world that would be? If just anyone, regardless of their actions, could achieve salvation?”

“Yes.” 

Annoyed, Sera redirects, “We will get nowhere with this line of conversation, and it is not what I came to speak with you about.”

Lilith finally sets her cup down, and properly turns to face Sera. Emotionlessly, she clarifies, “You want me to go back down to Hell.”

Sera straightens. “Yes. We believe that, with the Radio Demon free of his deal, it is necessary for you to return.”

“I think this is a bad move. All we’re doing is making it easier for him to restore Lucifer’s memories, and that goes against everything I’ve done for the last eight years.”

“I understand that. But with the Radio Demon remembering his actions and what he was able to accomplish before, it means Charlie may be his next target. He doesn’t need Lucifer to change the status quo of Hell. All he needs is one Morningstar, and you’ve already allowed him to develop a strong relationship with Charlie in the first place.”

For the first time, Lilith lets her frustration be clear on her face. “We had him protecting Charlie, so long as he didn’t remember. None of us, not even you, anticipated him finding a way out of his deal. So, don’t imply to me that this situation is my fault.”

“Regardless, this is the situation we are in. Your daughter is much too young and naive to be left alone with a restored Alastor. We need some preventative measures and getting you back down there, giving Charlie a different role model, that is the best option.” 

Lilith doesn’t miss the slight pleading in Sera’s voice. It’s clear Alastor and Lucifer scare her, enough to take a giant risk.

“By returning to Hell, I might be giving Charlie guidance, but she is going to be much more exposed than if I stay up here. You’re asking me to put my own daughter at risk.”

“Yes. With a heavy heart, but yes. And, we may be able to come up with some short term solutions, while we wait for a better answer to make itself clear.”

Lilith looks out to the sea before her, watches the waves as they slowly wash up to the shore. She knew this was going to happen. She didn’t agree with it, of course, but it was inevitable.

Her phone begins to vibrate, and she sees Charlie’s caller ID flash across the screen. At least she’ll get to hold her daughter soon.

“Alright. When would you like me to return?” 

“Quickly, in the next day or so. The quicker you arrive the better.”

Sera gets up and starts to make her leave. The angel pauses as she gets to the treeline, hand resting on the bark of palm. She glances back at Lilith.

“You know, your daughter has done wonderful things. The relationship between Heaven and Hell is not as adversarial as it was before. I hope I can say the same for your relationship with Heaven, too.”

Lilith doesn’t respond. Sera finishes walking away.

Instead, Lilith takes a deep breath and watches as another voicemail from Charlie pops up.

Then, she picks up the phone and calls back.

1934

It’s been a week since his deal with Lucifer, and really nothing has changed for Alastor, so far. He goes about his usual broadcast, gathers a few contracts here and there, and picks up a few treats from Cannibal Town.

All in all, it’s been quite a nice time.

Yet, all good things must come to an end. Right as Alastor presses play on “St. James Infirmary” by Louis Armstrong, he gets another summons to the palace. 

With a despondent sigh and eye roll, he picks up his cane and heads straight over. 

Unlike before, this time he is able to materialize inside of the palace gates, right at the entrance—a new perk of his advisor status. Additionally, instead of having to knock, the doors immediately spread for Alastor to walk through.

Right as he enters, he sees Dazzle waiting for him by the door and follows as he is guided back to Lucifer’s work room.

He immediately notices that the room is even more disorganized than before. It’s clear that, rather than ruling Hell with an iron fist, The King has spent the last week creating more random and inane objects, to the point that there are mounds of junk on the floor.

A few of them catch Alastor’s eye: a stuffed rabbit with antlers, a clock that seems to provide the temperature instead of the time, a toy train moving around faster than the eye can follow. All random. All pointless.

Lucifer, sitting at his work table, turns around when he hears Alastor enter. “Oh, hey! Thanks for coming, I guess.”

Dropping a light bow, Alastor responds, “Well, I am meant to come at your call, am I not?”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Lucifer scratches at the back of his neck. “Hey, check this out!”

He holds up his open palms and on them a little mechanical dog rests. It stands up, does a tiny flip in place, lets out a bark, and then sits back down.

“I’m calling it ‘Flipsie!’ What do you think?” he asks with the excitement of a puppy.

“Spectacular,” Alastor says, dryly. “Now, Your Majesty, I must wonder why you have called on me. I was in the middle of quite the brilliant broadcast, and I am eager to return.”

“Alright, alright, I guess we can get straight to business.” Lucifer waves his cane and the dining table is cleared of his creations. 

He moves over to sit in one of the chairs, and Alastor follows his lead. 

“Okay, so I was thinking that we’ve been partners for a week, right? But you haven’t really done any advising or killing for me, yet,” Lucifer starts.

Alastor tilts his head. “Well, you have yet to tell me what you need advice on, and I can’t go around murdering enemies on your behalf until you give me a name.”

“Right, which is why I called you here. So, we can, you know, do some scheming, I guess.”

Alastor has to forcibly prevent his eyes from rolling. Lucifer says it all like a child playing make believe, as if this isn’t all an intricate political web that needs weaved.

“Your Majesty, before we can ‘do some scheming,’ it would be best to give me insight into your role as King.”

“Like what?”

“Like, what do you do? What is your role? Your responsibilities? How do you go about ruling Hell?”

Lucifer’s eyebrows furrow in thought, and he looks a mix of bashful and confused. “Well, Lilli does most of it. That’s kinda part of why we ended up here, but I guess I do things here and there. Sometimes I go to meetings with the Sins, or catch up with the higher ranking Ars Goetia.”

Alastor nods along. “And what do you discuss in these meetings?”

“I dunno, policies I guess. I really tune them out most of the time because they are BOR–ing. It's all ‘Gluttony keeps shorting us on alcohol!’ or ‘No, Mammon you’re just not paying.’ or ‘The sinners are out of control!’ or ‘Sir, how do you think we can use growing war tensions on Earth to spread our hellish influence?’ Really, I mean, it's just a lot of nothing, honestly.”

Alastor’s eye twitches with each example and little voice Lucifer does to impersonate the person he’s quoting. 

Truly, Alastor may have agreed to an impossible task here. 

For his own sanity, he switches topics slightly. “Why don’t we put a pin in your complete disregard of politics and shift to talking about Lilith?”

Lucifer makes a face. “Why do we need to do that? Isn’t the point of all this to help me rule without her?”

“Precisely, but to make you less dependent on your ex-wife, I need to know more about your current relationship and her role in Hell.”

The King bites his lower lip for a second, and then lets out a weighted breath. And Alastor always finds it just so fascinating, the moments where he can see the facade of an idiot fade away to the angel underneath, the transition from a performative buffoon to a millennia-old being. 

Lucifer, now in a more somber tone, says, “Well, recently Lilli’s mostly been connecting with different sinners across the Pride Ring. She’s really been working on this idea of liberating sinners from Hell, so she’s trying to start a movement on the ground level, getting the sinners to realize they deserve better.”

“Ah, and how is that going for her?”

“From what I hear, it’s going well. She–she seems to be doing really well. Yeah.”

Alastor witnesses the melancholy and regret leeching out of Lucifer, the way the man seems lost in his head the moment Lilith's name comes up. Such a pitiful existence, to put so much of yourself into the love and care of another. Truly a waste of vulnerability.

And just another weakness Alastor will have to work on with The King.

“You mentioned that first night at the bar that I had come up in a meeting with the Queen. What kind of meeting would that have been?” the demon inquires, partially out of personal interest.

Lucifer raises his eyebrows, “Oh, yeah, um she’s close with a couple of major hellborns and a few Overlords. They have meetings sometimes to discuss the state of the Pride Ring or the Sinners Liberation Movement.”

“And would you happen to recall any of the Overlords in these meetings, Your Majesty?”

Now, this… this could serve quite usefully. 

“Oh, I’m really not great with names.” Lucifer yanks at his collar a little bit.

Alastor leans forward across the table, “Indulge me.”

“Alright, I’ll try. There’s that scarecrow looking guy with the long horns—” 

Relfi, Alastor recognizes.

“—the blue fish woman—”

Damaya.

“—that voodoo doll looking guy, with the spikes—”

Crezzit.

“—that gentleman lizard whose always smoking like it's a competition—”

Lomascus.

“—the creepy doctor guy—”

Engrogor.

“—the ice queen lady—”

Avini.

“—and that polite lady. You know, the one you sold your soul to.”

Alastor’s neck makes a sharp cracking sound as it whips to look at Lucifer, the demon’s eyes as wide as saucers, “I’m sorry. Did you just say that ROSIE is in your ex-wife’s inner circle?”

“Uh yeah, why?” Lucifer asks, sounding confused and unbothered, making the screaming sound in Alastor’s head even louder.

Truly how many stupid things can Lucifer come up with on his own. Such an astounding ability the fallen angel seems to possess. 

“Well, Your Highness,” the Radio Demon practically spits out. “Did you not consider that we specifically built a privacy clause into our contract, as to prevent Rosie from hearing about our little deal? And our last conversation concluded with you planning to tell your ex-wife—who seems to be just the bestest of friends with Rosie—about said deal?”

“Oh, calm your pretty little antlers.” Lucifer benignly waves at his rapidly growing appendages. “I told her we’re keeping it private, and she agreed that she would keep it secret, too.”

“Ohhhhh, agree, did she?” the mocking tone was cutting, “Well, surely you were smart enough to get that agreement in contract form correct? You didn’t just rely on the trust of your ex-wife to ensure that our realm-altering deal was kept private? Because that would be just moronic, wouldn’t it?”

Lucifer purses his lips, puts his hands together in a mock prayer form, and then turns them at 90 degree angle. “So I can see you think that was a bad idea…”

“Unbelievable. Truly unbelievable. We have had this partnership for barely a week, and you have already managed to jeopardize it. With brilliance like that it's a wonder how Heaven was so quick to give you up.”

Alastor’s hands found their way into his hair as his elbows moved to rest on the table, his red eyes wide in a slightly manic expression. Perhaps, he is in over his head. It’s not possible that the hunt through Hell is still on the table, right?

“Okay, ouch, that was a little extreme.” Lucifer says, with a hint of injury in his voice. He switches to a more reassuring tone when he explains, “Listen, Lilith and I might be getting a divorce soon, but it's all on me. She’s a good person, and true to her word. We can trust her to keep the secret.”

Alastor breathes in and out multiple times, taking a few moments to pull himself back together. He’s already signed the contract. He has no way out of this situation, and his mother taught him that when things get difficult, you ride them out—never give up. 

If your boss kicks you out onto the street, brush off your knees and find a new job.

If you don’t have enough food to feed everyone in the house, make one dish to share with a neighbor, and then suddenly you're sharing their food, too.

And if your mother dies young because some rich white men thought a vulnerable black woman who’s never hurt another soul would make for a good target, well you skin them alive to make them pay for what they did.

He can’t undo the obstacles given to him by the powers that be, but he sure as Hell will see it through to the other side.

Alastor set out to turn this miserable excuse for a King into a figure to be feared. And by the God who abandoned them both, he will do it.

He squeezes his eyes, inhales one last deep breath, and regains his composure. “I guess we have no other options, but to trust your faith in the Queen. But, it is important going forward that you realize that she is not your closest ally anymore.”

“I don’t think—” Lucifer starts.

“No, you don’t. Which I’m sure is one of the reasons your marriage came to an end in the first place.”

“Hey!”

“But, it is vital that you realize you and Lilith are not working in tandem any longer. She has decided that Hell is to be rejected, that she and all others who ended up down here—rotten souls like myself—deserve better, by the right of existing.”

Lucifer’s eyes are trained on Alastor, but a soft rage has begun to build behind them. 

Good, Alastor thinks, The only times I’ve seen you act respectably is when you’re vengeful and full of wrath.

The King counters Alastor, “I don’t think she’s fighting for a bad thing.”

“Perhaps you don’t. But is there not some part of you, some aspect deep inside, that craves for sinners to see retribution for their misuse of your gift?” Alastor moves forward in his chair. “Is there not a piece of you that looks out across this ring, at all the absurd and grotesque acts, and wants to make these wretched souls feel punished?”

The fallen angel, God’s favorite, can’t meet Alastor’s eyes. An answer on its own. He speaks quietly, “I don’t regret giving them free will.”

Alastor leans back. “Two things can be true at the same time.”

And they sit in silence for a few minutes. He traces Lucifer’s gaze as it lands on various parts of the room. A portrait of Lilith and Charlie. An invention covered in dust. A golden violin in a display case. A window overlooking Pentagram City. The apple resting atop his cane.

Eventually, Lucifer breaks the silence, softly. “I don’t want to fight Lilith. I've had enough of that over the last hundred years.”

He sighs and looks up at Alastor. His ageless eyes scan the demon’s face, and then he straightens his posture, looking regal for maybe the first time that Alastor has seen. He continues, “But you’re right. Regardless, I’m supposed to be The King of Hell, and I haven’t been. I’ve let the sinners run rampant, and it’s been a mess. Lilith is good at working with them, but not at putting them in their place. Or making Hell do what it was created to.”

“And there is a part of me,” Lucifer’s gaze goes back to the window. “That wants these terrible people to realize what a horrible thing they’ve done, ruining a beautiful gift. So, if that means I’m not on Lilith’s side anymore, I guess I’m not.”

Alastor slightly tilts his head, and lets his smile resemble a smirk. “And you’re in luck, where you’ve lost one partner, a new one has arrived to take her place.”

Lucifer looks at Alastor with wide eyes when he says that. He quickly looks down at his lap, his broad brimmed hat covering most of his facial reaction. “Heh, yeah, you have.”

“Wonderful!” Alastor exclaims, loudly and with cheer. Clapping his hands once and breaking the tense atmosphere that had fallen over the room. “Now that we have that cleared up, we should begin discussing the proper steps to get you reflecting your title.”

Lucifer jolts at the sudden shift in tone, but looks inquisitively as Alastor gets up and begins to walk around the room, surveying everything in it. “Alright, okay, um, so what do we do?”

“Well, we can’t just have you change your whole demeanor overnight,” a laugh track plays from an invisible speaker. “Ha, ha, no. That would go over terribly and would raise too much suspicion. This will have to be a long game, indeed.”

“So…?”

“So, we start by helping get you back into order.” Alastor gestures around the room. “Right now, you are living like a crazed inventor, shut in his own workshop. We’ll begin by having you clean this mess up, and then move onto how we can re-ingratiate you into political society.”

Lucifer stands and holds his hands up toward the demon, who has begun humming and digging around the random mounds with his cane. “Woah, woah, woah, you can’t just get rid of my babies.” He huffs a panicked laugh, “I’ve spent a lot of time on these.”

Alastor picks up a small turtle with six wings that lets out a weak puff of smoke as it's grabbed. Lucifer immediately intervenes to pluck the turtle out of Alastor’s hands, and continues protesting, “Plus, I’m not just going to give up inventing. I like it… it makes me feel… useful.”

The Radio Demon looks down at Lucifer, cradling the abomination of an amphibian and looking all-together soft and sensitive. Alastor rolls his eyes, “I’m not saying you have to completely rid yourself of them. I actually find some of these at least a little intriguing, if not charming.”

His eyes land on a small wooden toy duck that has a small knife sticking out of its beak. Despite its crude nature, it does bring to mind the days that he would go out with his mother as a small boy and feed the waterfowl bits of corn.

He turns back to see Lucifer watching him with a small smile. “That’s one of my favorites, too,” he says, faintly. 

The sentimentality chafes at Alastor’s skin, so he quickly moves on. “As I was saying, not all of these… things are terrible, but they are cluttering your space. And a healthy mind needs a healthy space to work in. So, the excess must be removed.”

“Naturally,” the demon adds, as he summons some shadow helpers to begin sorting the piles, “I won’t ask you to stop creating. I imagine that would be as pointless as asking me to stop torturing weakling souls. No, I simply would encourage you to better balance your leisure activities with your work responsibilities.”

“Does that seem fair, Your Majesty?” he concludes.

Lucifer seems slightly overwhelmed by both the weight of their conversation today and all the activity now going on around him, but he looks back at Alastor and nods. “Yeah, yeah, I think we can do that.”

Something in Alastor’s chest loosens at that. A small victory, but a necessary one. 

“Splendid. Well, I’ll let my little minions begin clearing this all out. Perhaps the little goat creature can show them another room to move all this into.” 

Alastor goes to take a seat down at the table and summons a nice pot of tea with two cups, as well as some paper and a pen. Lucifer follows and takes the seat mirroring Alastor.

“What now?” Lucifer asks.

Alastor picks up the pen, preparing to write. “Now, we go over everything you can tell me about the power dynamics of Hell. From what you remember of your meetings with the Sins and Ars Goetia to the nature of Lilith’s little rebel alliance.”

Lucifer leans back, getting comfortable. “Okay, I can do that…”

“Oh!” Alastor exclaims. “I find it’s always best to work with a little background noise.”

And he snaps his fingers, summoning an ornate radio with an apple design cut out for the speaker to show through.

“Side by Side” by Harry Woods begins to lift through the quiet of the room as the pair discusses the inner workings of the abyss. 

2025

The day after his discussion with Niffty, Alastor finds his way down to the hotel kitchen. 

Since the events of Vox’s hissy-fit, Charlie had decided that the core group—herself, Vaggi, Husk, Baxter, Niffty, Cherri Bomb, Alastor, and Lucifer—should have breakfast together at least twice a week.

“To honor the people who believed in the hotel before Heaven proved us right,” she had justified. 

And everyone had decided to play along. Not because any of them believed her sentimental malarky, but because they all could see it for what it really was: a desperate attempt to cope with the gaping loss of Angel Dust and the tedious long-distance communication with Sir Pentious.

Well, that’s why most of them went along with it. Alastor did because it gave him an excuse to observe Lucifer without arousing suspicion for his sudden interest.

When he arrives, Vaggi stands at the counter cooking a pile of eggs, while Cherri and Husk talk off to the side and Baxter tinkers with a small invention at the table.

Husk notices him first, naturally. “Oh, hey boss. I didn’t think we’d be seeing you down here.”

Alastor gracefully moves into the room. His shadow moves to look over Vaggi’s shoulder, assessing her cooking. “Why ever not, Husker? I’m a part of this group just as much as the rest of you, am I not?”

Cherri and Husk look at each other and then back at Alastor. “Yeah, I guess… but…” Husk starts.

“But what?” The radio static grows thicker in implied warning.

Cherri finishes for him. “But we all thought, you’d be outta this joint by now. Back ta terrorizing the city or sum shit.”

“Ah, ha, ha,” a laugh track accompanies him, “No, no, no. I currently have no plans of departing this fine establishment, not right as things are getting truly interesting.”

“Why does that make me more concerned?” Husk mutters, quietly.

Suddenly, Vaggi shouts, “Goddamn it, Alastor! Will you get your stupid shadow-thing in check, so I can cook?”

Said shadow-thing freezes where it had been in the middle of adding some spices to the pan of eggs. 

Alastor sighs, as if doing an arduous labor, and calls the shadow back to his side. “Of course, of course. But please recognize that he was just ensuring the edibility of the food.”

“I know how to cook, Alastor,” she replies with irritation.

“Hmm, we know you think that, dear.”

“Al—” she growls.

The loud bang of the kitchen door prevents Vaggi from releasing a string of curses that would make a grown man cry.

“Good Morning, everyone! Don’t worry, The King has arrived,” proclaims Lucifer, making his grand entrance. 

He’s dressed in his now standard morning attire—a bright pink robe, fuzzy slippers, a soft duck headband, and various large hair curlers.

He looks ridiculous.

Alastor struggles to breathe. 

It's awful how tempting he looks. The robe hides none of his chest, and it isn’t helped by the way the right shoulder section seems to teeter on the edge of falling off, exposing more of the area to view. 

Alastor wants to run his fingers along the inner fuzz, to pluck the headband off and watch as Lucifer frustratingly jumps to grab it out of his hands, to ruin the hard work of the curlers by running his fingers through the soft blonde hair.

He firmly doesn’t. 

But just for a brief moment, Alastor notices his shadow move to enact his embarrassing fantasies, and he has to give a hard mental yank to reel it back to his side.

Almost immediately following the King’s self-announcement, Niffty comes bursting out of the vent above the kitchen entrance. Falling, she lands directly on Lucifer’s head, hanging over so that her eye is level with his. 

She giggles, “Hi, Ultimate Bad Boy. Hee, hee, hee.”

“Yeah, oh-kay. Let’s just—” He plucks her off with two fingers and sets her down on the ground beside him.

Like a wind-up toy, she immediately races over to Baxter and begins asking him questions about his device.

Well, at least Alastor can be sure that the little maniac has taken his directives to heart.

“Good timing, everyone,” Vaggi announces. “Breakfast is just about ready. Go ahead and take a seat.”

Cherri and Husk move to sit next to each other, as Niffty does to Baxter. Meanwhile, Lucifer moves to take his standard chair at the head of the table. 

Before Vox’s delusional war attempt, when the group had happened to share a meal together, Alastor sat at the opposite end, at the other head of the table. He had wanted to stay as far away from Lucifer as possible, while also maintaining his bid for power and status in the hotel.

This time, though, Alastor does no such thing. Instead, he goes and takes the seat directly to the right of the King.

Everyone in the room notices. Alastor imagines this is more surprising than if Fat Nuggets were to sprout wings and begin flying. But he gives no acknowledgement to their reactions.

“Um, whatcha doing there, guy?” Lucifer asks, without hiding his suspicion and disgust.

“Why, taking a seat. Or is that not what Vagene asked for us to do?” Alastor responds, benignly.

Lucifer narrows his eyes. “Well, yeah, but—”

Before he could finish whatever he was going to say, the door to the kitchen blew open so hard, it was a mystery the thing didn’t fly off its hinges.

“OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGOD, YOU GUYS ARE NOT GOING TO BELIEVE THIS!” Charlie shouts as she comes barrelling through the room.

“Woah, Charlie—” Vaggi says to her girlfriend.

“NO! No, ‘Woah, Charlie’ this time! This is an appropriate freak out! I am freaking out appropriately!” The princess runs up to the table and grabs her father's shoulders.

Lucifer flinches back at the abrupt movement, eyes wide, “Uh, Char—”

She moves in close to his face. “DAD YOU WILL NOT BELIEVE IT! MOM CALLED ME BACK!”

No one in the room moves, speaks, breathes. 

Softly, in a voice so terribly quiet, The King whispers, “What?”

“AND SHE SAID SHE’S COMING BACK! TONIGHT! TO THE HOTEL! CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?” she laughs triumphantly and then, with an air of slight panic, “No seriously, someone tell me I’m not dreaming. I’ve had this dream before, many many times, and I do think I might break it if it's really just a dream right now.”

Vaggi is the one to respond first, moving over to embrace the princess in a hug. “You’re not dreaming, sweetheart. She really called?”

Tears begin to well up in Charlie’s eyes. “Yeah, she did. I didn’t believe it at first.” A sniffle. “I must have checked my call logs a million times to be sure, but she really did.”

“That’s amazing, Charlie,” Vaggi encourages.

Charlie sniffles again, and turns back toward her father without leaving Vaggi’s embrace. “Dad?”

Lucifer, whose eyes had gone distant for the last 30 seconds, shakes his head to bring himself back to the present. There are tears in his eyes, too. 

“This is the best news ever, Char-Char. The family’s getting back together!” he shouts, moving to embrace Charlie, as well.

And Alastor feels a new level of fury and madness. His own mind had been warped, played with, transgressed. But, he could accept that because, though it had taken time, the Radio Demon had freed himself from Rosie’s command. 

There were injustices, ones he would bring devastation for, of course. The stolen years of memories. The imposed isolation. The restriction of his powers. The warping of his reality. The humiliation.

Yes, all of that he could take. 

But watching Lucifer sob with joy, overflow with love, at her return—at the chance to see the woman who had cast him aside 90 years ago, who had opposed the two of them for decades, who undoubtedly had some role to play in the loss of their memories—

The realization of how thoroughly, how viciously Lucifer’s mind had been violated sits heavy on Alastor’s tongue, ash where there should be sugar. 

He chokes on it.

“Oh, wow! Ha ha! Woo! I can’t believe it, Charlie,” Lucifer celebrated. 

In his mind, Alastor rips apart every thread of existence with his teeth.

Charlie looks at The King with a wobbling smile, “I know, Dad, I know.”

Without warning, the princess somehow fills with even more energy, as she processes, “Oh my god! We have so much to do to prepare. We’ve got to—”

The Radio Demon stops listening there, choosing to fade into the shadows and out of the room. He deposits himself back in his radio tower, where he can process in peace.

He slides himself into his broadcast chair, a mirror of the position from that park bench, weeks ago.

How ironic that, even then, he had sat in the shadow of The Morningstars’ love?

Just as before, he urges himself to think, think, think. 

There was too much missing information.

His personal shadow drew close, a look of concern open on its face.

As Alastor has done many times when it came to helping Lucifer, he pauses and takes a steadying breath. First he pictures his mother, her sweet smile on a sunny day, her calloused hands that would caress his face. Then, he pictures Lucifer—his Lucifer—the way his eyes would light up when he explained a new idea, his wings on display in their unabashed glory.

Alastor will get through this. As he has always done. Not just for his own sake this time, but for Lucifer’s as well.

And when the Radio Demon is through, every creature in every realm better pray that he has some shred of mercy left in his terrible, wretched soul.