Chapter Text
Alastor hid a lot of secrets behind his vivacious and ever-present smile. After meeting him only once, Lucifer was certain that the overlord possessed many skeletons with the potential to be uncovered. Inaudible, they practically wailed through that signature simper from within the depths of the cannibalistic belly as if to say, "should you reach me, you will come to know his Achilles."
Alastor was an enigma to the King of Hell, whom had been around far, far longer than hell itself. Most of the miscreants who call this realm home are of the pathological type, so finding someone who wasn't afraid to look the king in his eyes wasn't unheard of. Even so, the subtle challenge in the smoldering gaze of the former-man-turned-demon held a peculiar air of mischief. Naive it certainly was, yet what threw the sovereign off was a lingering sense of cautious intellect that made him double take. There was something there to discover, and the infuriating curiosity as to what gnawed a sore spot into his skull.
Lucifer had met a lot of characters throughout his life. He had seen so many faces that he would eventually see duplicates, doppelgängers, people who were basically twins in every way having lived millennium apart. He’d seen every set of eyes and their multitude of colors, and every shape and size of nose; he had examined every height and weight and questioned why he couldn’t have been made taller—he didn’t mind so much anymore. He’d witnessed every grin directed at him, and every scowl that mocked him behind his back.
A smile that brewed mysteries and never faltered had never been seen. A strange man, indeed, to stretch his face so unnaturally and uncomfortably and make it seem so easy. Even within cannibal city where snarly grins multiplied into a surplus, no other was so eerily detached from the expression of joy that a smile usually expressed whilst a simultaneous glint of sinister delight sparkled at the points of each sharp tooth.
Lucifer was understandably weary. He worried for Charlie and her friends, as they cohabited so close to a stranger as strange as Alastor. That particular sinner was supposed to be his daughter's friend as well, so perhaps his unease was unwarranted. Friends in hell. What a joke. He simply couldn’t tell what the man was thinking, which wasn’t often the case.
Lucifer had kept up with rumors and news through his decades of isolation. He knew of the conquests and the horrors accomplished by the Radio Demon in the past hundred years of his reign as top broadcaster. Aastor's insurmountable rise to a power so great it was on par with some of hell’s original members should have never have happened. It wasn’t on par with Lucifer’s own power, of course, so there was absolutely no reason for him to be concerned. No, there was only concern for his beloved child because he couldn’t be with her every minute to protect her. Especially from a nuisance who lived with her.
There was more than a tick of intrigue for that famous sinner so utterly doused in pride.
Lucifer was so intrigued that mere days after visiting his dear daughter Charlie’s ‘remodeled’ hotel for the very first time ever, he couldn’t shake the restless urge to immediately return through the front doors of that malodorous residence. He crinkled his nose at the unbecoming moldy odor that still lingered in his nostrils as if he were currently there among the poorly ventilated corners and dusty, high-traffic carpets. The dreary interior should have been a deterrent. Should've been.
While he wasn't shy to admit that he found Alastor alluring, the pull he felt to the Hazbin Hotel was his daughter's doing. Indirectly, he had business with the hotel's proprietor. Directly, to meet Charlie again was an open rush of dopamine he'd been missing. Missing it was his own fault, but oh, how he had missed her. There were still plenty of harbored regrets concerning her. Now more than ever he wanted to correct his mistakes. He’d spent too long lingering in a state of inaction, paralyzed by the humiliation of everything he ever set out to accomplish biting him square in the ass--and, well, laying him flat on it. Now that his daughter had come into her own, she had shown a lively determination to fight for her philanthropic dreams. Witnessing her passionate spirit, a spark had lit itself within him, as well. Where, once, he had believed her ambitious goal surrounding sinners to be futile, now he would do anything to make her hopes realities. There was no way he was going to leave his baby girl to face any of the dangers awaiting her along her chosen path without him. More than anyone, he knew it was only a matter of time before those dangers surfaced to strike.
(I’ve been dyin’ to find out who you are.)
Lucifer had been formulating an excuse to visit the Hazbin Hotel all day. Did he need a reason? Of course not. He was the king, after all. But his relationship with his only child had only recently taken a good turn and he didn’t want to hinder her important work with as trivial a matter as his desire for a simple day-visit. No matter how much he wanted to lay his sights once more on the being who embodied red so well, he needed a good excuse. She really did have a lot of work to do to help those residents’ souls. If they could be helped at all, that was.
He fought an inner battle of discontentment, and spoke to his companion ducks about his hangups. In a way, he felt unworthy of Charlie’s attention all together. Extremely unworthy. Every second he missed her more and cursed himself. He also knew he had no right to impose on her when he’d been withdrawing from his only family for so long. He was a victim of his own making, one that should've picked himself up by the bootstraps a long time ago. Everything was his fault. All of it. From Lilith ultimately leaving him, to Charlie doing the same. In both relationships, and every relationship outside of them, he was the problem.
Before he was the devil, Lucifer had always been the black sheep, so divergent that he could never fit in anywhere. In a prison created solely for him, there was no place for the fallen angel. That was the simplified version of why he was the ruler of the damned. Lately, he especially felt the unbearable weight of his own choices. It was hard for him to change his ways. Aging really had made him inflexible, and he didn’t really know where was a good place to start.
(So in the end, it’s the view I had of you That showed me dreams can be worth fighting for.)
Maybe it was time to finally take the plunge, and pull himself away from his empty estate and act upon the allure he was hyper fixating on. He hadn’t felt fascination for a while—any feelings outside of self-loathing for a while—so the heartrending pull gave him a drive to act. Whether it was to protect Charlie from a perceived threat by observing said threat, or merely to pass the time in the company of his daughter, both reasons were enough for him to click his cane to the marble floor and open a portal behind him that led directly to the stained glass doors of the hotel in question. He puffed his collar to get the flow of confidence in his stance. When one presented confidence, one exuded it.
Before he could turn around to step through the conjured portal, however, one of his servants appeared beside him in a huff of exertion. Zeke, the poor imp, nearly toppled over in his haste to enter the private quarters. There was an alarming look of fear upon his small, childlike face. “Grave news, your Highness, very grave news!”
Lucifer scrunched his brows. It wasn’t often he heard a statement like that. Everything in hell was terrible, though, so he had little interest in what the demon butler would say. He rolled his eyes, snippy. “I was just about to leave, what is it?”
The servant tried to catch his breath, but ended up having to continue without doing so. His lungs over inflated between each pant. “It’s… Zestial… Ms. Carmine found him… torn… to pieces. He’s been murdered, your Highness…. Murdered!”
A disbelieving, open grin let out an inappropriate laugh that lacked of credence. It took several moments for Lucifer to digest the truth hanging in the air above the only two occupants of the room. Once it settled in, wispy smoke seeped from behind his black lips. Zestial was—no. “No… no, no.”
Whatever happened, not only was this a sorrowful tragedy about one of his oldest acquaintances—well, as close to one as Lucifer had—but also a devastating turn of events that would undoubtedly stir a world of chaos and disorder. Trouble like this had the potential of finding its way directly to his own doorstep.
Zestial in particular was an important piece in the king’s empire, who played his part well. With him gone, he left a gap in power that could swallow up the entirety of Pentagram City.
Worse still, he wasn’t the only overlord this had happened to. More and more were disappearing, some killed forever as their souls were lost. No, no matter how he thought of this newfound information, nothing added up. Something was dreadfully, dreadfully wrong.
His curiosity of the broadcaster was going to have to be put on the back burner.
XXXXXX
Later that evening, there was a moment of hesitation as Lucifer adjusted his black bow tie to perfection on his neck. He swiped the motion wrinkles from his otherwise pristine, white tailcoat. His entire suit, as well as the large, crowned top hat that housed a model of his beloved pet snake, were a matching bone shade with red and gold accents. He believed these to be the only colors that truly suited him to make his charms pop and contrast. The apple accessories were just icing on the cake to him because how could he not wear his favorite dessert?
Those little trinkets were really there to comfort him and remind him of who he was. Seeing the things he took pleasure in helped to maintain a degree of sanity, especially when a day like today happened. All previous notions of confidence he had set out to mimic at the start of his day were now afterthoughts behind the grim gray that plastered itself across his demeanor. Gray in spirit and with a gray cast on his skin, he was sunken in every regard that mattered.
After receiving the news via his butler, he had popped over to Carmilla’s dwelling on a dime. She would never reject a visit from her king, even in her time of grieving, and Lucifer used that to his advantage. Their conversation was heated, timely, and toward the end, quite sorrowful.
Zestial’s soul couldn’t be located yet. It was very probable that it ceased to exist, but he couldn’t be sure either way. There were no funerals in hell, but for the first time since being cast away from heaven, he wished there were. He wished there was a protocol for mourning, for remembrance of a precious comrade. Alas, he spent enough time already regretting decisions of his past, now he must lie in the consequences. Hell was not earth. There would be no funeral for his friend and the city would simply sweep up his remains.
There was, however, an investigation. That was precisely what he had discussed with the crying overlord when he confronted her. For as close as they were—barely, but they did often see eye to eye—he could not trust her. She was just as reserved and unforthcoming as the next self-serving demon who called the pride domain home. He couldn’t trust Zestial, either, but he didn’t have to anymore. Humans were only sentenced here if they had committed a carnal sin, and that often meant the inhabitants shared similar hideous characteristics.
Carmilla, for what it was worth, claimed her innocence and wanted just as much justice for her friend as Lucifer did. He would believe her for now, because little did she know, justice alone wasn’t on his mind. He would miss Zestial and his wisdom, but he was also concerned with an unknown kindling sparking deep in the city’s underground. He would snuff it out one way or another before it touched those he truly did care about. To kill an ancient was almost unheard of.
Whatever happened and whoever accomplished the monstrous feat was a dangerous puzzle. One thing he was sure of was that he was the game master who controlled all the pieces in this afterlife, regardless of if the pieces knew they were puppets or not.
The blonde monarch squeezed his eyes shut, he had to think of a well thought out plan quickly. There was no count down to impact, but he couldn’t help but to feel a looming pressure and urgency.
His golden serpent eyes snapped open again almost immediately when he heard the door in front of him swing wide. It barely missed him by a hair as he dodged. Alastor stood there, grasping the door handle, just the way that Lucifer remembered him. An electric blur of red that rather suited him, with a little black sprinkled in to break up the monotony.
“Oh.” Short and frank—as if to say, ‘it’s you.’ The buzz of an old radio filter filled the space between them. Alastor leaned down, elevated by his height and the slight step of the door frame. His thick hair swayed into his face at an angle. “Hello again, Sir. It must be our lucky day to have the king of hell himself grace our hotel with his presence again so soon. Miss me already, do you?”
Lucifer’s temple ticked and he glowered. He couldn’t look away from those sharp teeth that were so close, mesmerized by the points that so resembled his own. Alastor noticed the direction of his stare, but left it alone. The redhead was clearly making a mockery of his height again. It poked a nerve in him, and he knew he needed to maintain appearances to not set off any bells or upset Charlie.
So, he turned his frown upside down, an expertise of his, and fired back. “As charming as I’m sure you were as a host of your own station, your antique contraption blisters my eardrums. I miss you about as much as a swatter hits a fly.” He kept his chin level, refusing to look up at the overlord. A clownish smirk fitted his cheeks, as well, and both hands supported his apple top cane regally in front of him.
Alastor hummed into his own staff, leaning ever closer. Lucifer wanted to recoil back, but knew he absolutely couldn’t slip even a fraction. “Hmm, a fly swatter does hit its mark some times, Sir.”
Red eyes narrowed in amusement behind his monocle, thinking he had gotten the upper hand in their bickering. Ever the gentleman, he moved to the side. He gestured for the other to head in first while holding the door wide open.
A long arm wound itself around slender shoulders when he passed the demon, guiding and welcoming him into the building. Oddly, he let the touch be. It didn’t particularly bother him. That familiar smell of the old tapestry that Lucifer dwelled much earlier on hit him like a train, but so did a scent presumably from Alastor. Suddenly it wasn’t so bad to step into the entryway. It wasn’t perfume as the king himself wore, not even close. It was woodsy, salty, and subtle—as if he had walked through the woods recently.
Unrelated, he felt the hairs on his neck stand under a scrutinizing stare. Undoubtedly, it was Alastor’s drilling holes in his skull and wishing him away. He was negligent, not stupid, and could sense jeopardy without looking at it.
He passed by Husker at the front desk, acknowledged him, and kept walking. As much as he wanted to greet everyone, he had more important matters to take care of. Relaxing was a pipe dream until they were handled.
Husk couldn’t help but look after the two receding figures and silently wondered why his touch-adversed slave master was participating in such an act. Especially with a male he just had a tiff with a few days before. Impassive, he chose to mind his own business.
Once he was far enough into the main lobby, Lucifer turned to the hotelier and was again elated at the colors upon his being. Somehow red never looked more enthralling. The king refrained from staring into a pair of eyes that promised to bewitch him. Not because he was smitten—satan, no. Instead he looked slightly above, at the sinner’s darker red eye lid. With red everywhere, he truly was annoyed—definitely not smitten. They were close enough that the tails of their blazers slid together in the space between them.
“You know, Alastor, you wear red so well it makes me want to change my favorite color. Maybe I should redo all of hell in orange, instead.” The paler of the duo tapped his cane on the carpet and the entire scarlet ensemble was changed to various shades of a lighter and brighter orange. Ew, but easier to look at.
The hotel’s manager seethed at the action, a red aura rising from behind him. If he were a lesser man, he’d lash out at his ruler. No one fucked with his outfit. He was not a lesser man, though, and he knew that any display of true disrespect could end rather poorly. “No need for jealousy, Sir. If you admire my outfit so, I can always have one made for you in its likeness. Just say the word, and you shall receive.” It was Alastor’s turn to snap his fingers and change his outfit back.
The anger was detectable behind the carefree smile, and he felt good having ruffled those scarlet feathers. That good feeling was short lived, since everything that fucker said grated on his nerves. He played it off well, and chuckled, “as if I would be caught dead in a dingy getup from my grandfather’s moth infested wardrobe. I prefer something much more fun, modern, and sleek.”
Alastor laughed right back. “Tacky, I think is the word you’re looking for, Sir.”
Lucifer’s snake slit globes glowed angrily. Horns peeked from the top of his slicked back hair, but he willed them back down just as quickly as they appeared.
How.
Dare.
He.
This was the latest style coming from the top designers in Pentagram City.
It was in season!
“Ergh! Are you going to tell Charlie I’m here or not, you flesh eating bacteria?!” He stomped, on the verge of a tantrum. Yes, that was the best he could come up with as a short-fused insult for the known cannibal.
As furious as the deer demon was, he was able to keep his composure at the sheer ridiculousness coming from a man that was supposed to be a sovereign. If it were anyone else in hell, he wouldn’t hesitate to tear limbs from sockets on air for even looking at him the wrong way. Unfortunately, there was only one person in this entire dimension that Alastor would let insult him straight to his face, and he was looking at him. The allowance wasn’t by preference, of course, but by obligation. As disgraceful as Lucifer acted, he was the ruler. There were far too many goals he still had to accomplish to ruin his future now.
“Resorting to insults already? I thought you of all people would be above that, Sir. Charlie isn’t here. She’s out with Vaggie this evening, taking time to formulate a strategy on how exactly to win the angels over at their meeting next week.”
The king was still huffy, but started to calm down after realizing that put a damper on his plans. Actually, this rough patch with Alastor also put a damper on his plans. He may have done more damage than he could mend in order to start a play. “O-oh. Okay.”
He barely got the words out before Alastor interrupted, turning to walk away, “if that’s all, Sire, I must get back to my work. Some of us have limited time on our hands as is without constant interruptions—“
Lucifer reached out to grab at the hotelier’s arm. It would’ve been his shoulder, but that was a little too far out of reach. The tension he felt underneath his fingers was palpable and stone-hard. He released him instantly, regretting the brazen move. “A-actually, I need to speak with you, as well, Alastor.”
(I need to save my people more than anything.)
XXXXXX
Lucifer had walked into the towering headquarters belonging to the overlord Carmilla Carmine. Even through her tragic loss she glowed as brightly as an angel herself. She was beautiful, dressed in her signature black and white ensemble. She bore striking similarities to a graceful ballerina. There was a crowd of others surrounding her, most likely there to support her or gather information. They were too preoccupied to notice his presence yet.
“We need to find who did this!” Carmilla screamed through fresh tears. Her daughters at her side, weeping themselves, consoled her. They were spitting images of her, much like Charlie was of him. “He barely had true enemies, that ancient fool. Por Dios, it shouldn’t be this difficult!” She didn’t mean the insult with malice. The hurt in her voice resonated with a defeated rasp.
“Rest assured, we’re doing everything we can.” There were a few cops speaking with her from the Pentagram City Police Department. They had taken their caps off before her, acknowledging her loss. Lucifer knew it was for show. The police in hell usually took the highest bid when it came to what laws to enforce and which ones to ignore. They were just as corrupt as the rest of the sinners here, and he didn’t trust them even a fraction. A real investigation nor justice would result from their efforts.
“Can you tell us again how Zestial was acting in the days leading up the incident? Was there anything unusual?”
Despite her sobs she pulled herself together as best she could and answered the basic question honestly, “I didn’t see him before this. The last time I spoke with him was… maybe, two weeks ago? He was acting—your Majesty?”
He had been content listening in on them. He was going to interrupt them at some point, but she noticed him first. Giving her a small, forced smile, he put his face on. The other’s around them turned in surprise toward him.
“Carmilla! Darling, I came right away when I heard the news.” There was a lot he held back—his personality, his disrespect, his anxiety.
There were silent whispers, but nothing said aloud until Carmilla got her wits about her and stood up, “what do I owe the pleasure, Sire?”
Giving a side eye to the men in uniforms, he walked forward with his cane and heeled boots clicking loudly into the room. He performed, “I’m here to express my deepest condolences to the closest friend of our dear, departed Zestial. I know I just got here, but could you guide me to the kitchen? I’m parched after that long trek up this skyscraper. Did you have to make it so high?”
Her eyes flitted between him and the direction of his gaze. Taking the hint, she made her move. “Of course. Gentlemen, seeing as how a prestigious guest has come to visit me, how about I go to the police station a bit later to answer your questions? Is tomorrow morning agreeable?”
Perturbed, they begrudgingly agreed. Lucifer had a certain reputation aside from being the King of Hell, and they didn’t want to spend a moment longer around him if they didn’t have to. They gathered themselves, bowed there respects to the king, and left.
Carmilla crooked her finger for him to follow and called out, “right this way, your Majesty.” She headed down a hallway on the opposite side of the room. It was silent again as he made his way across, head high and feet light. The others, no one he recognized, watched him as he went.
When they made it far enough away from everyone to talk freely, he spoke first. “He truly was one of a kind, he tortured other sinners like a godly saint himself. It was admirable.”
She interrupted his pre-planned speech. “I didn’t think you would come at all, let alone this quickly, Sire. I sent the messenger less than an hour ago.”
He whirred. “Yes, well, there are dark forces at work here. I don’t need to know every detail to understand that.”
She stopped in her tracks, stunned by his admission. “Even you, Sire? My daughters felt the same, and so do I. Nothing here makes sense. The police are being vague, but they haven’t finished their investigation yet so maybe I’m looking too deeply into it.”
Lucifer chuckled through his teeth. “I doubt they’ll be of any help, they’re utterly useless. No, whoever did this… if they don’t elude the cops, they’ll bribe them.”
Her hand rose to her lips, coming to a conclusion. “You’re not suggesting I did this, are you? Is that why you’re here?”
Golden eyes stuck to ghostly white. He couldn’t trust her himself, but her and Zestial had a strong bond. It could’ve been her. She was so adamant on producing weapons of war, who knew what else she was scheming and could already be up to behind the scenes. Despite this, he wanted to believe her. “Prove to me you didn’t, Carmilla, then I might believe you!” His friendly voice was forced.
Anger flashed and replaced her sorrow. “I have an alibi, your Majesty. I was working at my warehouse all night. With the threat of the next extermination happening so soon, I need—we need to be prepared.”
Her micro expressions showed no discrepancies, so he would take her at her words for now. He would confirm her alibi later. Suddenly, he became more serious. “Don’t talk to the police, at least not honestly, and hire a private investigator.”
Astounded, she stuttered out, “W-why, exactly? Your Majesty, it’s unbecoming to treat someone grieving like you are.”
Lucifer dismissed her passive aggression, and graced her with his insight. “Don’t trust them, Carmilla. If you’re as innocent as you say, and I’m not doubting you, someone else did this. Someone else powerful, more powerful than Zestial, perhaps. You’re one of the few who match up to him, but think of who else in this plane is.”
Her eyes went wide.
“If it’s not too much to ask from your king,” he abused his position happily. “Would you be a dear and call the overlords to a meeting as soon as possible? They’ll be emotional, excited for the new bid for territory. Examine their behavior, express your penitence and anger, and ask the right questions to dig deeper.”
XXXXXX
Alastor was so sure he was about to get rid of this annoyance. Having to pause once again irked him. He also hated being affected from behind. Nonetheless, he baited, “a bacterium can’t speak, Sir.”
Oh.
Oh.
Of course.
They were definitely in the middle of a power struggle, without it being obviously so to the blonde. Pride got in the way of a lot of things, including ego. Alastor wanted him to apologize for his transgression, with the unsaid consequence being that they would end this here now if not. He was trying to teach his king a lesson. Lucifer almost laughed out loud at the presumptuousness, but he refrained. He couldn’t remember the last time he apologized to anyone, including his ex Lilith, who he was with for thousands and thousands of years. He chose to skip over that that might’ve been the reason why she became an ex.
“Uhh…”
“Err…”
“Uhm…”
Alastor blinked expectantly, clearly reveling in watching him blunder.
“Ugh, okay, satan damn it, you’re not bacteria. You are flesh eating, though.” The shorter man practically growled, exasperated.
His subject was not impressed.
Clicking his tongue against those sharp, looming teeth, static vibrated a quick, “uh huh.”
Lucifer’s flushed cheeks deepened layers, and a strained expression fell onto the alabaster face. An ominous heaviness swelled in Alastor’s core at the display, and inky drool gathered in his mouth. A flustered king was a power trip like no other he had experienced before. He rather liked it—perhaps too much. He wasn’t sure how often he could reasonably indulge in this treat before it wore its welcome out, so he savored every inch of the reactions as they told their story.
“I will… refrain… from… insulting you anymore. To the best of my abilities.” Damn it all, did he really have to do this? Surely he could find someone else to do his bidding without all of this banter and word chess. …He supposed he did, in the end.
He couldn’t look at him as he finished for real this time, knowing his half-assed attempt still wasn’t cutting it for the sinner. Sinner, he couldn’t believe he was about to do this. “I… I’m… I apologize for saying you’re a flesh eating bacteria. It was unbecoming of your king and rather rude. I may have… do have… maybe… a slight issue—not a problem, mind you—with my anger.”
The utter humiliation of what he just said would haunt him, probably for the rest of his life. At the end, he peaked up with one eye from below his blonde lashes. What he saw on his companion’s figure shocked him out of his unease. He looked… possessed. Lucifer could swear that his antler grew. They did, didn’t they? And his eyes changed, they looked like some kind of bright absinthe clock hand or… dial?
“A-Alastor?”
Alastor flashed back to normal in a fraction of a second, red eyes firmly back in their original place. “Ah, yes. Apology accepted, Sir.” A cool, clothed hand found it’s way back to his shoulder, an arms length away.
“It would be nice to talk to Charlie first, or together, but I’m also running on limited time.” He cleared his throat, fist covering his mouth. Another awkward, yellow tint of embarrassment marred his cheeks. “I’ll give her a call later, this little inconvenience doesn’t change that I must speak with you, as well. Care to chat now?”
A flexible neck cranked slowly, bending in irritation. “Right this way, Sire.”
The Radio Demon walked quickly, so quickly that his companion had a hard time keeping up without running. Why was he going so fast? It was as if he was trying to run away from him. Up, up a few flights of stairs, clear to the very top floor of the Hazbin Hotel. As they walked down what he assumed was the last hallway until their destination, he caught sight of a broadcasting room labeled clearly. This floor must mostly be for Alastor’s sole use. Interestingly private if that were the case.
When they finally arrived at the destination, Lucifer did his best to even his breathing lest his rival hear. He wasn’t out of shape, but that was at least a thousand flights of stairs if he had to guess. They stepped inside the office, the more polite of the two holding the door once more. Being royalty, he didn’t fight the deed, having been subjected to it for as long as he could remember.
“Sit here, Sir.” A chair was pulled out for the ruler. Instead of walking away to his own chair, Alastor waited for him expectantly. Reluctantly, the shorter creature took slow steps over. He tried not to mind when he had to turn his back to his rival. Cool fingers brushed against his shoulders, the temperature difference penetrating layers of clothing. His white flesh prickled into unseen goose bumps. “Whatever was it that you so desperately needed to discuss with me?”
What he wasn’t used to, and a bit peeved by, was that Alastor took his place at the head of a gorgeous mahogany desk with a shining finish that showed no imperfections, while he himself sat across the way like a prospective resident.
Ha! Ridiculous. There would never be redemption for the King of Hell. He was the first sinner. Lucifer already had his chance to sit at God’s side as a trusted confidant, and he ruined it. He committed the gravest of offenses against Him, and was consequently catapulted beneath all of the layers of the earth as punishment. Heaven would never welcome him back, but he would never want to go back.
Yet this thought made him ponder in the present, “Do you truly believe that sinners can change, Alastor? That this endeavor of Charlie’s can possibly work out in the end?”
A booming laugh cut through the atmosphere. “Haha! No, Sire. I’ve never known one of my peers to change for the better. I’d rather be on the side of a possibility, though, and since I’ve been here there’s been ample entertainment! Watching them continuously fail fills me with utter glee.” He continued to laugh maniacally until it casually fell away into static.
Dark red lids fell to half-mast. Lucifer latched onto the other’s eyes as they emoted. Just as he feared, he couldn’t pull away. They were mesmerizing in a way that the oldest soul in hell couldn’t read. He wondered what was behind them, wiggling through the interesting mind of this sinful psychopath.
Behind the strange mania, the demon confessed a mighty contradiction; ‘I don’t believe in it, but I’ll give a little faith.’ That sounded like the views he now held himself.
In the darkest of his aspirations, however, he wished for this project of hers to fail. What he wouldn’t give to dive back into the shadows of his own corollary with Charlie held secure in his embrace. He wished her safe from angels, from sinners, from pain and from hurt and from all of the other turmoils of this dangerous plane—as there were an infinitude.
(I’ll shelter and adore you more than anything.)
He knew that the reason for this deer assisting his daughter was for his own amusement. Maybe somewhere, deep down, the other did believe in her. He just couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t the full story, and couldn’t bring himself to question the demon further on this subject. If this kept up he would be sure the other had mind control powers, as he didn’t voice any inquiry.
“As auxhilerating as this little meeting is, that isn’t why you’re here, is it, Sir?”
The king leaned back in his chair, hanging his head fully backwards over the headrest. Fixating on the Victorian style ceiling, he confirmed, “I’ll save the reason I came to speak with my daughter for when I see her next… I wanted to offer her my help. My change of heart was thanks to her, and I’ve come to realize that I should spend as much time with my only family as I can before it’s too late. She may very well be making a huge mistake in meeting with those sanctimonious cult leaders in heaven.
“No, the truth is, something truly terrible happened today. I came here to seek assistance with an incredibly important matter.”
Scarlet pupils focus on the bob of the exposed throat as it moved in sync with his words. Transfixed, Alastor’s head hung to one side, and his tongue flicked out to lick the sharp points of his teeth.
He undoubtedly preferred the company of the fairer sex. There were too many reasons as to why to mull over casually. One ground was that they were much better company for polite conversation. They usually chose to speak of their dreams and aspirations. They didn’t tend to constantly excrete overconfidence or foul language, like this male here.
To be clear, he didn’t prefer the fairer sex for sex, no. Sex in general had no allure to him. When he thought of the act, there was no spark igniting in his brain nor stirring in his loins. On the few occasions he’d actually witnessed people engaged in the act, which wasn’t an uncommon occurrence here in hell, he especially felt disgusted. Frankly there weren’t many men he could tolerate at all, and the devil certainly wasn’t one of them.
Yet somehow, somehow, the ghostly white of his pallor seemed as soft as any dame’s. The little king acted tough, but there were hints of a more feminine nature that leaked out every once in a while. When that happened, he couldn’t look away. The red haired demon had a blasphemous question of what angel meat tasted like.
“I’m sure by now it’s been in the news. I don’t know if you’ve heard it, yet.” When silence was his only answer, Lucifer continued. His attention remained upward. “I’m talking about Zestial. He was found murdered in the heart of his territory just this morning.”
The hotelier focused back to reality to answer. “Yes, I was delivered the news early this afternoon. I don’t watch the picture box, but an underling of mine came knocking. What does that have to do with you and me, Sire?”
Something in that moment occurred to Lucifer that he didn’t think of before. He lifted from his perch to look toward the antlered and furry sinner once more. “Are you going to try to gain his territory?”
The gentleman rose casually and slowly from his seat then, standing tall. This was interesting. “And if I was?”
“Uh… well, do you want the territory? To be forward, I must ask you to assist me. Someone killed Zestial, and I need to find out who. Of course, if you help me, I’ll reward you. I can give you something you want, as much as I’d hate to. Hence, Zestial’s domain.”
“I admit I had thought of it, but helping your daughter is my top priority right now. She needs me, and I’m not sure that I could accomplish both.” The words fell easily from his moistened smile. It wasn’t a lie, but a play on his true thoughts. Since he heard the news a few hours ago he had been mulling over what course of action to take. He had priorities and goals of his own that he couldn’t stray far from.
Alastor suggesting that Charlie needed him made the king cringe. That was supposed to be his role. He had a hard time with the fact that the deer demon had stepped up for her when he didn’t.
Hooved heels clicked on the hardwood as he took one slow step after the other around the desk. “You can easily find out who did it yourself, can’t you? You have every possible resource and immense power at your finger tips. Torture goes a long way down here.” He relished the memory of his favorite pastime.
“You also have the authority to make me do whatever you want. I fail to understand why you’re asking me for help.” The simmering disgust and fury in his words were disguised by a soft voice laced in the hum of the condenser microphone.
Lucifer never had forced this demon to do anything, even though he would love for him to leave the hotel and never return. An affronted tsk-ing sound came from the chair. Fuzzy ears flicked at the hit of the sound wave. “This is a delicate matter. Whoever did this would end up weary if they knew their king was searching for them personally. I need someone to be my eyes and ears in the city’s underground. Someone is plotting something big, I feel it. To kill one of hell’s strongest overlords in his own home cannot be left ignored.”
“And… as much as I hate your attitude… you’ve done a lot for Charlie and I’m cognizant of that. I wanted to offer you something personally, despite my better judgment—if you’ll agree.”
Alastor finally approached the occupied chair, neck again kinking to the side. There was an intent brewing by the flames in his eyes. Arms positioned behind his back that he kept straight, he sneered down at the little sovereign. “You’re asking for something extremely dangerous to not only my position, but my life.”
Lucifer pursed his lips. Clearly, he needed to give into the other. Showing a bit of vulnerability, as much as it hurt his pride, would get him what he wanted in the end—without reprieve or argument. He figured that out earlier, though he was positive the deer only liked to watch him squirm. Now he just needed to bite the bullet and commit.
After a moment of contemplation and hesitation, he slipped his favorite hat from his head. It shifted down into his lap. His pale tresses were akin to true golden thread, causing red irises to dilate at the display. The Radio Demon hadn’t seen him without the obnoxiously over-sized adornment yet. Without it he appeared even smaller.
He was beguiled with the gesture, and not only because it was uncharacteristically respectful. How could a being as powerful as the ruler of all hell be so beautifully compact and look easily squishable?
“I know. I’ll grant you a favor in return. If it’s Zestial’s territory you want, I’ll make sure you win the struggle for it over anyone else. The others just can’t know I was involved, but that’s easy enough to work around.” Gloved fingers tapped the rim of the white top hat, as if desperate to put it back in place.
His brows furrowed together. There was an expression of tenacity on his face mixed with a hint of discomfort at having to be in this position. He looked and felt like he had fallen quite a few pegs. “You’re the only one who can help me. No sinner can be trusted, but so far you’ve proven yourself to me by helping Charlie.” He couldn’t tell the other about Carmilla—not yet.
Alastor had a laughing fit. “My king, I could take Zestial’s lands ten times over if I so please, and I may please. On my own.” He leaned in, invading personal space again. He held his body weight on arms that grabbed the chair. It was hard to contain his excitement for the possibilities that could come. A new world had just opened up to him through a locked door he never had the key to. He was going to utilize every drop of this life nectar offered. “To do this for you, though, I would need something that only you can do for me.”
The one who sat had a spike in a deep rooted ire and was about to bounce out of his seat.
How bold.
It shouldn’t have surprised him at this point, really. He grasped the edge of the armrest tightly to release some tension. There were two limbs that grazed each other, two pairs of eyes that locked onto each other, and two breaths that mingled together so close they could taste each other. Not many could say they’d been able to get close enough to touch the fallen angel. Yet Alastor seemed to take every opportunity, from when they first met a few days ago to now. “Let’s say I entertain it. What is it you want?”
That sinisterly sharp smile deepened. “I can’t tell you unless you agree to it.”
“What nonsense is this?” He exclaimed, his body moving with it.
Their noses were a fraction apart until the redhead pulled away first, shrugging. “Then you’ll have to find someone else.”
Lucifer settled back into his chair, willing his heart to calm. He couldn’t lose this chance. After a moment, he called out. “Wait… will it threaten my position as king?”
Alastor never tired of games, but he was growing impatient. He kept his replies short. “No.”
“Would it harm Charlie?”
“No.”
Lucifer cocked his head backward again, envisaging, and let his eyes close to reveal violet lids.
It contrasted well with the smooth skin that bedeviled the hotelier. Surely it was a jest to be omnipotent and compact, a male and prepossessing. The Radio Demon thought he really had quite bad luck in the height department. He watched as a gloved appendage shot upward to rub at its owner’s cheek, itching away the indignation.
“…Damnit, you make this so difficult. If I agree, you must hold up your end of the bargain and get rid of these puppeteers wreaking havoc. First, I need names.”
Alastor tried not to get his hopes up. The mere thought of a possibility of changing his fate with this favor made him exude more excitement than he’d felt in seven years. So much excitement that his pupils changed to dials for a second time that night. He blinked them away for a second time that night. “You have my word, Sire. I will use everything in my arsenal to complete this task you ask of me.”
That black fist at his face continued to rub, obviously trying to ease the strain in his aching head. It wasn’t working. “I can’t believe I’m considering this. You do know you can’t ask for my soul? It would be an act of treason, and all of hell’s authority would be sure to erase every particle of your being from existence.”
That sounded extreme, and it was. Because he was hell’s authority, and he would be the one to erase this imbecile if he ever dared to ask for something so priceless.
“Rest assured, it is not your soul I’m after.” There was an inflicted emphasis on ‘soul.’ Laughing to himself, he was high on just the thought—but he clearly couldn’t have that, so he moved on.
The hand lowered and the slits in bright eyes snapped wide open. Metallic gold met shimmering ruby. “So you do want something of mine?”
Alastor couldn’t resist raking his now naked fingers along the king’s exposed throat from behind. He had discarded his own glove somewhere along the desk on his way over. The large, ashen brown palm cupped the supple flesh. Crimson claw tips teasingly sunk just below the folded, white collar. It took quite a lot of resistance not to force his touch heavier, opting for the lightest he could muster.
So light, it nearly tickled the king. It definitely sent a shiver down his spine. He wasn’t afraid. There was nothing this lesser demon could do to hurt him. He could have his throat slit now and not only would it heal within the hour, but Alastor would be as good as gone the moment he’d make such a decision. He couldn’t exactly place why it sent tingles down his body. He couldn’t tell if it irritated him or if he welcomed it. Perhaps neither, perhaps both.
The ubiquitous static filter rumbled in his ears. A warm, moist breath feathered his lobe. He could practically feel the Radio Demon’s lips on him. Just a hair closer and they would be. Drawn in enough to almost want them to touch him, he awaited the reply. Something in him ached to see how far he would go.
“In due time, Sire. I really can’t ask you unless you agree. I have to maintain what precedent I’ve set in my short century in the Pride Ring. I’m sure you understand. If it puts your mind at ease, I assure you that what I’ll ask—while no small feat—is nothing you can’t handle, my golden king.”
The patronizing, near-compliment was too much. It lit an intensely pleasant fire in Lucifer’s core, and it was offensive and derogatory to be praised like that. Reversing suddenly, he forced the feeling from his belly. He turned around in the chair and climbed up to kneel onto it. Alastor’s hand stayed in place around his neck, gliding easily with the movements. His height reached close to the red dipped demon’s, and he forced a mirrored smile filled with outrage. The large hat toppled to the floor, forgotten. Pupils set ablaze and his long horns grew to size. A pointer finger jammed into the muscled flat of the chest before him. Lucifer’s ego was pure fury.
“If you fuck me, I will end you.”
Alastor squeezed the throat ever so slightly in warning while his own aura flashed. “Only in your dreams, then.” He taunted.
Lucifer recoiled, taken completely aback. The surprise snapped his true form out of existence, and his mouth parted slightly. Alastor took the opportunity to bring his palm up and caress the king’s rosy buccal. “It seems we can become wonderful allies, Sir. I wouldn’t dream of betraying such faith in me. You’ll just have to take me at my word. I don’t make a habit of lying. I find it dull and apprehensive.”
The king growled and his anger once again surfaced uncontrollably. The touch on his cheek finally dropped, but Lucifer replaced their connection with his own. He seized the collar of the other in a shaking death hold. Claws pierced the fabric and heat radiated with the impedance of a summoning blaze. Alastor couldn’t take the time to be affronted at his clothes becoming ruined again.
“Take my hand, before I change my mind.” The words were spoken with a trembling demonic voice. He was losing more jurisdiction over himself as the conversation dragged on. This needed to end before he did something he couldn’t take back. He was already losing the ability to move off his own accord, and he was hoping Alastor took the hint and fought his tightening fists away. This was either going to be the worst decision of his reign, or mutually beneficial.
“Easy, my king.” Alastor hushed Lucifer and engulfed the trembling hands, taking the order as spoken. He had goaded enough for the night, and he recognized that the blonde had had enough. It was time for some aftercare. The hot touch burned him, but he untwined the king’s fingers gently.
When he managed to undo them enough to gather them into his own, a dazzling effervescence of glimmering gold and luminescent green mysticism spread like wildfire throughout the room. The magic sparked the world around them in explosions that resembled fireworks. Bursts of iridescent light reflected enchantingly across every surface, growing in intensity until it rippled along, beyond their space. They were both sure the mix of voodoo and angelic magic in the atmosphere could be witnessed through the entire hotel and then some.
“It’s a deal, then.”
The king portaled away. The dust settled. Alastor clutched the charged air where he had disappeared. The feeling of the wonders at his fingertips was too magnificent to let go.