raisoramizu

[raisoramizu]

Welp, tonight turned into… Bunny Lucifer 👀🐰😈

[raisoramizu]

My NSFW Radioapple mini comic is complete! You can find the uncensored version exclusively on my Patreon, available for subscribers only!

Once Radioappleweek is over, I’ve got more comics in the works. Would you prefer more Radioapple… or maybe Mediapple / Radiostatic / Staticapple? v_v

Patreon link: https://www.patreon.com/posts/deer-demon-of-130870409?utm_medium=clipboard_copy&utm_source=copyLink&utm_campaign=postshare_creator&utm_content=join_link

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I didn’t manage to finish this drawing for my birthday yesterday, so here it is now... happy birthday to me 🎉🎉🎉

[raisoramizu]

Chapter 20: The weight of the truth

Hazbin Hotel Fanfic "New Order" (Radioapple/Radiostatic/Applemedia)

Previous Chapter: Intro - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14 - Chapter 15 - Chapter 16 - Chapter 17 - Chapter 18

The images for this fanfiction are for illustrative purposes only, and all credits go to their respective artists.

---

Held tightly in the embrace, Charlie's sobs slowly quieted into heavy breaths as Lucifer gently stroked her hair. He tried to control his emotions, but seeing his daughter so shattered was consuming him.

Suddenly, the lights flickered, and a shiver ran through the room. Lucifer felt the familiar pull of Alastor's power thrumming through the walls, a sign that something significant was happening elsewhere in the hotel. His instincts screamed danger, but he forced himself to remain present with Charlie, refusing to let his constant paranoia pull him away.

Charlie noticed it too. "What's happening?" she asked, her voice trembling with panic.

Lucifer took her hands, squeezing them to reassure her. "Something I need to handle," he said, with a note of apprehension. "But it can wait. Right now, you're more important."

She looked at him, questioning.

"Charlie..." the angel murmured again, his voice heavy with restrained pain. "It breaks me that you had to go through all of this. That you lost her... because of me."

Charlie stiffened, biting her lip. Then, raising her tear-filled eyes to her father: "Because of you?" Her voice trembled with disbelief.

Lucifer closed his eyes, searching for the right words. His thoughts drifted back to his toxic relationship with Lilith—the secrets, the power struggles, the way their love had twisted over time into something suffocating and dangerous. He had thought that keeping Charlie in the dark would protect her from the darker aspects of their existence, that it would allow her to grow up serene and strong in her hopes. But his silence had only made her vulnerable and unprepared.

"I told you... didn't I?" he began, his voice little more than a whisper. "I knew everything she was planning to do, and for years, I helped her. I kept silent about where she was. I stayed distant, passive, wallowing in depression..." His voice trembled, but he forced himself to continue. "...We were trapped in a cycle of pain, lies, and manipulation. I wanted to protect you from all of this—to keep you away from how cruel and merciless the world could be... from how cruel and merciless we were."

At that admission, Charlie froze. She had known some of this; her father had told her pieces before the apocalypse broke loose. But now... now he was being honest. It was clear. She could no longer pretend nothing was wrong, no longer ignore the weight of disappointment, betrayal, and resentment she felt toward both of her parents. Toward her dead mother.

Her mother was dead.

Charlie felt herself tear apart inside as if that realization had yanked her soul so hard it had ripped her apart. From the cracks of that tear, a dense darkness began to pour out—deep as the abyss. It was the darkness she had repressed all these months, the one she had crushed for so many years. The one she had hidden, thinking she had sealed it away inside herself, ignoring every warning and barricading herself in joy, understanding, and forgiveness.

Lucifer stared at her with growing fear, his eyes wide, his lips parted. The expression Charlie reflected in the angel's golden eyes was the same one he had always feared: disappointment and hatred.

Her body stiffened, and she pulled away, distancing herself from his touch. Lucifer's alarm grew.

"...!" The Seraph knelt, grabbing her ankles and burying his face in her knees. "Forgive me, Charlie, please! I was selfish, and I didn’t think about the pain I would cause you." His voice trembled as he clung desperately to her.

"How many times have you already apologized, Dad?" Charlie's cold voice cut through the silence, freezing Lucifer. His claws tightened around her ankles.

"...," he widened his eyes at the question, feeling its weight like a boulder he couldn’t carry. Swallowing hard, he answered: "Yes... too many. But... I’ve been trying to fix the problems I caused for a long time. I tried talking to your mother, I protected Alastor, all of you. I tried to prevent Roo's power from swallowing more than it did... and—" He began to list, lifting his tear-streaked face to search for Charlie’s again.

"..." But Charlie's gaze—Charlie’s gaze was bloodshot.

She looked at him like a sinister inquisitor judging the worst of criminals. Lucifer felt the full weight of that judgment, one far deeper than anything he’d faced during his fall.

Suddenly, she was no longer Charlie.

She was no longer his cheerful, sunny little girl. The one who’d gone through a slightly "emo" phase but remained full of hope, capable of seeing the good in everything and everyone.

And if Charlie was no longer herself, it was all his fault.

"Charlie..." Lucifer whispered her name, trying to infuse a reassuring sweetness. His uncertain smile trembled on his lips. "I’ve made so many mistakes, but... I swear, I’ve tried. I’m still trying..."

"I won’t become Queen of Hell, Dad."

The princess spoke again, interrupting Lucifer's words. He froze once more, watching, mouth agape in terror, as her gaze slowly descended onto his face.

Charlie gently caressed his cheek, but the angel didn’t move. "That role belongs to you. You are the King of Hell, and this is your chance to start over and manage it as a duty."

"Charlie..." Lucifer repeated, his voice cracking with a new, trembling anguish. "...You can’t do this to me... you can’t..."

Outside the Hazbin Hotel, in that dark desolation that had now become Hell, the air was still tense. Valentino had taken a while to connect the synapses and understand what had happened: that headless, cybernetic body on the ground was Vox. And Alastor was there, with his sickly sweet and triumphant smile, standing straight, staring at him curiously. He hated that face, those eyes, that smile; he hated that damned deer. Valentino's hatred exploded instinctively when Velvette frantically knelt by Vox's body to check on his condition—though there wasn’t much to check.

The Moth Demon’s red coat flared, creating a shockwave that hit anyone within several meters, making the flaps of Alastor’s jacket flutter. Vaggie took two steps back, still holding her angelic spear, while the others tried to shield their faces. But the Half-Deer didn’t react to the coat unfolding, revealing it was the Moth’s wings.

“Mmh... have your wings healed, my dear Val?” The radio-like voice suddenly cut through Valentino’s rising aggression, halting him in his tracks. “...Would you like me to tear them off again? Oh, because in that case, I think we could get along very well, you and I~” It purred vibrantly.

Alastor uncrossed his arms from behind his back. With a fluid motion, he planted the base of his cane on the ground. “You should thank Voxy if right now you’re not looking into my eyes while I rip your tongue out,” he hissed, elongating his smile. “...Do you want to nullify his sacrifice of tolerating your abuses?”

At those words, Valentino flinched, folding his wings against his body and taking a step back. His red eyes narrowed into two slits of fury. “You... feo cabrón...” he snarled through gritted teeth, directing his attention toward Angel Dust.

At that glare, the Spider flinched in fear, clutching Porchetta tighter in his arms.

“Don’t even think about it.” Alastor shrilled again, his voice vibrating with menace. “Your contract states everything happens on set, right? Too bad there’s no more set, currently.” He shrugged, sighing a static buzz. “So...” He resumed, clicking his red claws on the shell of his microphone. “...Tell the Faceless Megalomaniac that I accept his deal. I’ll come ~ personally ~”—musical—“...to find him, once he’s fixed and...”

Alastor tilted his neck unnaturally, his shadow stretching ominously as the radio hum filled the air. His eyes became small black radio knobs. “...Get out, now!” he thundered, slamming his cane into the ground.

Valentino’s next leap was followed by Velvette’s desperate voice. “Val, let’s get out of here! There’s nothing we can do, we need to help Vox!”

The Moth Demon growled slobberingly at Alastor, then darted forward, picking up Vox’s body from the ground and starting to move quickly down the hill, followed by Velvette. Alastor remained blissfully still, watching them leave without a change in expression, until:

“Al... Alastor?” Vaggie’s uncertain voice made him turn sharply in her direction, startling her: his eyes were still demonic. “Yes, Vaggie dear ~?”

But the fallen angel didn’t answer, merely staring at him with concern—the same look all the others present had, scared and stunned. The Half-Deer switched off his demonic traits, bouncing his attention back to all the faces. Those faces. Were they afraid of him? Of course, anyone would be afraid of him. Fear made him respected. And yet... what was that annoying feeling gnawing at his chest?

“Come on! What are those faces?” he suddenly exclaimed, turning in their direction as he theatrically raised his cane in the air. “Come in for a nice cup of tea and to listen to some good music, you all look a bit shaken, my dear!” He waved his free hand, signaling them to enter the hotel.

Grumbling, everyone started to enter, including Angel Dust, who paused, letting himself be preceded. Still holding Porchetta tightly between two of his four arms, he stared at Alastor with a guilty expression. The Half-Deer stopped, studying him with curiosity.

“...Thanks, Sexy Deer,” he muttered, still a bit shaken, but gradually loosening his jaws into a sharp smile. “...and apologize for them. They’re just scared, but they know you’re the one who saved all of us.”

At Alastor’s inscrutable silence, betrayed only by the slight widening of his gaze, Angel Dust continued with renewed sarcasm.

“And here we are... who would have ever thought it would be you pulling us out of this mess? So... whenever you’re ready, I’ll give you your reward, huh!” He shook his rear playfully.

At that suggestive gesture from the Spider, Alastor’s eyes became sharp. He exhaled a hissing, ancient sigh. “Oh, be careful how you provoke me now, feminine boy~” he smiled maliciously, letting the implication hang heavy in the air, filled with dark foreboding.

And then he dissolved into the shadows, disappearing in no time from the scene, under the incredulous gaze of Angel Dust.

In Charlie and Vaggie's room, Lucifer had gotten back on his feet. The angel had his hands in his hair, nervously pacing back and forth, his footsteps echoing in the room. He stared at the floor while his daughter, still sitting on the edge of the bed, watched him with a furrowed brow.

“...Even your reaction to my choice is selfish, Dad,” she hissed coldly, too cold. Her voice was still high-pitched and feminine, but this time it was laced with a tone Lucifer had never heard before. At those words, the angel froze, his golden eyes—terrified—shifting toward her.

Charlie smiled. A smile full of rage that began to stiffen her body. Her claws tightened around the blankets. “You want to leave that destruction to me so you can have fun with Alastor here, without any responsibility. Isn’t that right?!”

Lucifer felt himself freeze once more. He had often felt his soul shatter lately, but here he was again. He truly had an immortal spirit. An angel would never die from heartbreak. How much more could he endure? He could bear anything: the fall from Heaven, the apocalypse, even Lilith’s death, but the thought of Charlie hating him had been a real fear since she was born. And now there she was, before him, manifesting like a nightmare coming to life.

“ISN’T IT?!” Charlie growled in disbelief, her long blonde hair flaring into a vortex of fire.

At that emotional explosion, Lucifer staggered back, bumping into... Alastor, who had just reassembled himself from the shadows. The Seraph flinched, turning around and lifting his gaze as the Radio Demon’s claws gently wrapped around his shoulders to steady him.

“I see everything’s going perfectly wrong for you, as usual, Lucifer,” commented the Half-Deer with his unerasable smile. He glanced at Charlie’s condition before his eyes fell on the angel’s broken expression, which immediately crumpled against his chest. Lucifer started to stumble and gasp, burying his face in Alastor’s red shirt, clearly on the verge of a panic attack.

It hadn’t happened in weeks. He had managed to keep it at bay during the apocalypse, but here he was, exploding at the worst—or maybe the best—moment, since after a brief hesitation, he found himself surrounded by Alastor’s embrace. This wasn’t enough to calm him: Lucifer scratched his hands against his chest, overwhelmed by the sensation that had flooded him. He gasped desperately for air, his eyes wide open. He felt like he was suffocating, dying, crushed by two presses that had numbed his limbs, and despite the warmth and the contact with the Sinner’s body, he couldn’t surface. There was no way out. He felt the weight of everything crushing him in his anxiety.

“Lucifer...” Alastor hummed faintly, speaking his name as if to hook it like a fishing hook into his consciousness. “...Project the scenes of tonight into your mind...” He continued, softly sinking his claws into the angel’s sweat-damp blonde hair. “...Do you remember?” He lowered his head even more to whisper into Lucifer’s ear. “It will always be like this, tonight and forever... my little failure ~”

Charlie watched the scene in silence, with no reaction, except for the anger that made her rigid. Seeing Alastor gently holding her father to try and calm him would have been a scene that, until the day before, she would have found both astounding and wonderful. She would have melted at the sight of her father finally in the arms of someone he loved and who seemed to reciprocate sincerely, but now... why did she feel nothing? Actually, something was there: anger. Frustration, pain, disappointment. She didn’t want to feel all this, but something had broken inside her.

Charlie’s nails scraped the fabric of the blankets, leaving deep marks as her breathing grew more erratic. She felt the heat pulsing under her skin, a fire contained, ready to explode. Something was rising within her, while in Lucifer, it was sinking.

The angel’s tremors slowly began to subside, and his breathing slowed; his heart still beat heavily in his chest, but he could breathe. He could swallow again, he could smell the ancient, wild scent that Alastor gave off. He rubbed his forehead against the Sinner’s chest, feeling his face covered in burning tears.

"..."

"Alright," Alastor said, softening his embrace to let the other breathe more freely and pull away if he needed to. "Sit down and calm yourself. I'll handle it." He guided Lucifer into an armchair.

"Did you know...?" Charlie’s voice cut through the silence like a blade.

Alastor tensed slightly but allowed himself a moment to check on Lucifer, still hunched over with his hands covering his face. Straightening up, he turned toward her. "..."

"Oh, Charlie, I..." he began, his sarcastic old radio host tone creeping in, "...something—"

"YOU KNEW EVERYTHING!" Charlie’s scream exploded in the room, making the walls tremble as she lunged at the Radio Demon with inhuman speed.

"Charlie!" Lucifer shouted, leaping from his seat despite still trembling and drenched in sweat from his earlier panic attack.

Alastor barely had time to widen his eyes and brace himself before Charlie’s fury slammed him against the wall. The impact shattered the Princess’s cheerful desk beneath him; her cane clattered to the floor, papers and rainbows fluttering everywhere as the table splintered. The wall cracked under the force, vibrating ominously. Alastor groaned, teeth gritted, and glared at the transformed figure before him. His acid-green eyes burned with anger.

Charlie was no longer herself: her arms, pinning him to the wall, were massive, black, and scaly, as if forged from hellfire. Her once-blonde hair twisted around jagged horns, and her eyes had turned entirely black. Her breathing was ragged, her chest heaving, her heart pounding in her demonic form.

Alastor clawed at her thick wrists, struggling to lessen the crushing pressure on his chest. He glared at Lucifer with flickering eyes, a silent warning to stay back.

"Your soul..." Charlie’s voice trembled as she swallowed the lump in her throat. "...belonged to my mother." Her distorted form loomed over him. "Did... did you kill her? Tell me..." Her grip tightened on his jacket, ripping it open before slamming him back into the wall. "TELL ME!" she screamed.

The room began to shift. Cracks in the walls glowed with a sinister green light, and glowing voodoo symbols appeared. The air thickened, heavy as smoke, and the acrid stench of Kalfu’s magic burned their eyes and blurred their vision. Charlie’s arms seared with heat as her rage boiled over.

"Ahh, Charlie, dear..." Alastor coughed, glancing awkwardly at his boots as he fought to maintain composure. "...I admit that..." He stretched his eerie smile, though his narrowed eyes twitched. "...I would’ve loved to gouge that bitch’s eyes out."

Charlie’s grip tightened, and Alastor’s ribcage groaned under the strain, forcing a spurt of saliva from his mouth. "No... it wasn’t me," he said through a crackling radio buzz, his twitching eyes flicking toward Lucifer. "It was Roo." The lie slipped effortlessly from his lips.

Lucifer’s brow furrowed, confusion flickering across his face. That lie, so small yet devastating, began to extinguish Charlie’s monstrous form. Her blackened features wavered, her doubts flickering like a fading flame. Lucifer froze, torn between intervening and staying back, every word from Alastor like a dagger carving into his soul.

Charlie’s transformation wavered. Her arms shook, her grip weakening. Her confusion was palpable as the demon’s words echoed in her mind. Slowly, her horns receded, her scales faded, and her golden hair fell back into place.

Sensing the pressure on his chest ease, Alastor pressed on. "Your mother... wanted to destroy Heaven. She sought to overthrow the order and take control of everything." His claws gently tightened around Charlie’s now slender wrists. "...To do that, she didn’t hesitate to sacrifice thousands of demons she claimed to protect. She didn’t think twice about awakening a mindless creature of destruction—one that would’ve killed you too."

Alastor’s feet touched the floor, his posture straightening as Charlie slumped forward. Her grip on his torn, blood-soaked jacket shifted to one of desperation, needing it to hold herself upright.

"...Charlie..." Lucifer whispered, his voice trembling.

With the Princess’s dimming rage, the oppressive energy in the room dissipated. Kalfu’s magic retreated like a shadow, sinking back into Alastor’s body. His hands steadied Charlie, one still holding her wrist while the other wrapped gently around her waist to support her.

"What do they call it in some religions? Ah, yes: Karma ~" Alastor murmured, his hair drifting like crimson shadows around his sharp face. "Your rage is natural. The world is full of terrible things born from reckless choices. But sometimes, those choices are made with good intentions."

He lifted his gaze to Lucifer. The angel flinched under the glance, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. The weight of Alastor’s words, tinged with an unsettling forgiveness, struck deep.

"And you," Alastor continued, turning back to Charlie, her name rolling off his tongue with a crackling warmth, "are born from the darkest core of those choices. A daughter of Hell. Look at you... a child of the place where evil thrives, yet filled with hope and good intentions. You’re a rarity, even among the heavens."

Charlie’s knees buckled, and she sank to the ground, but Alastor never let go. He leaned closer, still holding her steady. "Now that you’ve seen how ruthless the world can be... find the balance between judgment and forgiveness."

And now...

"...it’s time for you to keep your part of the deal, my little Charlie ~"

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Chapter 18: Fragments of Old Chains

Hazbin Hotel Fanfic "New Order" (Radioapple/Radiostatic/Applemedia)

Previous Chapter: Intro - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14 - Chapter 15 - Chapter 16 - Chapter 17

The images for this fanfiction are for illustrative purposes only, and all credits go to their respective artists.

---

Vox swallowed hard. He didn't know about Lilith's death or the existence of Kalfu, but an intense sense of apprehension told him that what stood before him was more than just Alastor. The Alastor he was obsessed with, the one he'd never managed to break. It was him, yet not him: there was something else. His red eye—the other still wounded—gleamed in the reflection of the enormous symbol spinning in the air. The place looked every bit like a throne room: the throne of the Radio Demon and his sorcery. Vox took a couple of steps forward, trying to avoid Alastor's penetrating gaze, but he couldn't help catching those vivid red eyes, watching him with a cold, razor-sharp curiosity.

"I... I need to talk to you," he broke the silence, lowering his gaze. "I'm not here to cause trouble. I'm here to ask for a truce."

Alastor tilted his head; his smile didn't fade, but his eyes narrowed into thin slits, studying Vox as if he were an interesting insect.

"Oh, Voxy~" he replied mockingly. "A truce? After everything you did to me? Seriously?" The Deer Demon tapped his shoe on the floor, slowly rising to his feet. Every movement was calculated, almost predatory.

Alastor's rise felt like a weight bearing down on the other Sinner, who withdrew his head into his shoulders, standing frozen in the middle of the circular room. The visibility was minimal, dominated by reds and blacks interrupted by green glimmers; the glitchy blue light of his screen shone like a small, out-of-place beacon. The presence of Alastor was oppressive—overwhelming—but it also stirred something in Vox. He'd never felt his desire for him this vividly. Yes, he'd always wanted him, but now... it was unbearable. He was terrified, yet he needed Alastor to come closer. The Radio Demon was doing just that, moving slowly, hands clasped behind his back and his cane parallel to the floor.

"Heh... yeah, maybe it's a crazy request," Vox replied without looking at him, eyes fixed downward. "But what happened out there... If we want to survive, we have to join forces. I can help with your power; I have the resources. We can't afford to be enemies anymore. Just look at what we created together... the Apocalypse." He gave a tense smile, not even believing his own words.

"AHAHAH~" Alastor threw his head back, his laughter echoing through the room. He stepped closer to Vox, closing the distance even further. "You drugged me... hypnotized me. And now you come here, wounded and desperate, begging for my help?" he hissed, his radio-effected voice dense with contempt.

Vox, visibly nervous, took a step back but couldn't hide his mounting frustration.

"I'm not here begging. I don't have a choice. The apocalypse that just passed... it affects you, too. It's about your soul... the pact with Lilith," he said, raising his voice slightly and meeting Alastor's gaze head-on. "We can't afford to fight each other when everything has fallen apart."

"Mmh..." Alastor hummed, sounding bored as he unclasped his hands from behind his back. "I have my soul again, my power, and... Hell is no longer my concern," he admitted.

At those words, Vox stiffened, a frown forming. "You have your soul again? Then that means... and Lilith?!" His eyes widened with a strange awareness.

"Oooh yes!" the Deer Demon exclaimed loudly. He raised both arms in the air, swinging his cane with a gesture of joy. "It's exactly what you're thinking, my dear Flat Face. So... relax~" he hummed musically, "Lilith won't be coming back to tear you to shreds." His smile stretched, his tone turning sly. "We personally watched her head come clean off. Slice!" he cheered with enthusiasm, but now—alongside his voice—a deeper, ancient one joined in. "...her neck began to spurt blood, painting Lucifer like a marvelous flower!" The voices spoke in unison under Vox's stunned stare. "Oh, Voxy..." Alastor's radio-tinged voice returned, pinning his gaze onto the terrified Sinner's eyes. "...you should have seen Lucifer's face. He'll never recover from the trauma." Amused.

The Media Demon stood wide-eyed, shocked. He could barely move. He should have felt great relief at these revelations, but something continued gnawing at his insides. "So..." He paused, trying to shake off the dryness in his mouth. "...so you have your power back?" Sweat began to flicker across his screen. "Better, right? We're free to create whatever we desire, to control every single corner of Hell."

The Deer Demon didn't respond immediately, taking his time, fully aware he had total control of the conversation. He looked him over from head to toe, relishing seeing him like this: fragile, without a mask, stripped of all control. It must have taken Vox tremendous effort to come here and request an alliance. He must be truly desperate. He probably thought he'd find Alastor still weakened, but he'd guessed wrong: he was more than he could ever imagine. It was the perfect moment to toy with him.

"You seem tense, Voxy. Why don't you take a seat?" he said, snapping the fingers of his left hand.

Behind the TV Demon appeared a large armchair, shrouded in a swirl of green sorcery. Vox barely had time to notice it before a pair of tentacles wrapped around his body, pulling him down into it. He sat with a growl, his antennae electrified on the small black cylinder. He swallowed dryly, watching the tentacles retract as the tension grew, numbing his muscles.

"Heh-heh... yeah, this is better," he chuckled awkwardly, visibly uncomfortable, in a clumsy attempt to ease the situation. He knew he looked more ridiculous than sincere.

His expression turned to surprise when he caught Alastor's shoes before him. His gaze traveled up, finding the Deer Demon standing between his parted knees. In that position, the red Sinner towered over him, and his smile weighed like a boulder on his shoulders. Vox flushed, feeling a powerful heat in his chest. Then, realizing it, he quickly shook his head, trying to regain his composure, and gritted his teeth. He gripped the armrests tightly, lowering his gaze once more.

"We were..." he began, uncertain. "...we were so close. I'd never had a friend like you... someone I could trust completely." As he spoke, his voice grew less shaky but also quieter, as if each word carried a melancholy nostalgia. "The media world is full of sharks, you know... Everyone stays close for interests, for business, but you..." He paused. "You stayed close to me because you wanted to." he whispered hoarsely, lifting a sad, curious gaze to Alastor. "Is that true?"

The Deer Demon's smile widened, revealing his yellowed teeth. "It is." he admitted.

Vox sank into melancholy.

Alastor continued, "You were a frightened demon, but I knew you could become much more, and you did, Vox." The seated Sinner's name sounded distorted. Vox let out another nervous chuckle. "Heh... yeah." "I... I didn't want it to end. I wanted it to continue forever, to grow, even more than we were... together, as allies, as..." He stopped, lips trembling.

Alastor watched him with vivid curiosity, then took another step forward, his pants brushing the edge of the armchair, wedging himself between the other's legs.

Vox tensed suddenly, feeling overwhelmed by the closeness. He pressed his shoulders against the backrest, his uncertain eye fixed on Alastor's face. His scent made Vox's head spin: ancient, like an old suit locked in a wardrobe for a century, mixed with the smell of earth and plants, of a forest, and gunpowder.

"...lovers," he finally concluded.

…

In the meantime, Lucifer had more or less managed to pull himself together.

He'd taken a couple of showers—one just wasn't enough—and poured all his energy into recovering from the physical aches that had left him weakened. Pleasant aches, he had to admit. It was the first time Alastor had thrown himself at him like that—aside from the incident at VoxTek, where Alastor hadn't been himself. But most of all... had he said "I love you"? Seriously? He'd told Lucifer he loved him... just as he did. Now, Lucifer had all the time in the world to process that response.

As he donned his hat, standing motionless in front of the mirror that reflected the room still in shambles from the previous night, he felt his chest tighten. An anxious sensation gripped him. Was this a good feeling? Wasn't he in love? So why did he feel so much anxiety? He clutched his vest with his claws, clenching his teeth. No, it wasn't a good feeling. He was certainly in love, yes, but their bond was anything but healthy. He felt possessiveness, desire, fear of losing him or being destroyed by him, by whatever bound them together. Was this his new hell? The chains of that demon, now a true demigod with a power that eclipsed his own, held nothing healthy. Alastor was not sane. He was not good. But... he was just. After all, justice is neither good nor evil; it sits perfectly in the center. There can be justice by law and justice... by chaos. Even chaos has its own rules.

"Ugh, enough thinking!" Lucifer burst out, clutching his hat. In that moment, he felt an overwhelming urge to lock himself in a room with Alastor and never leave, to shut out the whole world as if it didn't exist. He could do it. But first, he had to take care of unfinished business. He had to speak with Charlie.

He started down the hallway, breathing in the less stifling air of the open corridor. The hotel looked different—now he could clearly see it. His bond with the Radio Demon told him Alastor was still somewhere in the building, and that reassured him. He would reach him once he'd taken care of this... issue. What kind of issue?

Without realizing it, he found himself at the door of Charlie and Vaggie's room. A small sign with a heart—"C&V"—hung from one of the door handles. The angel frowned with sadness; Charlie shouldn't have to pay for any kind of hell. Why Regina? This was all his fault. Lilith was dead. The thought resurfaced, stabbing him like a knife.

He knocked a couple of times. "Charlie... sweetheart?" he called timidly.

Footsteps sounded frantically inside, and then the door flew open, revealing Charlie's disheveled and desperate figure. She looked at her father and, with a cry of "Dad!" threw herself into a crushing hug.

The Seraph stood frozen, tightly squeezed by his daughter, his neck practically retracting into his shoulders as he offered a tense smile. "H-hey, Chachar!"

"Oh, Dad, you're okay! At least you're okay!" Charlie continued to hug him with such force that, in normal circumstances, he could easily have withstood it. But now he was all bruised. Pain shot through him, and he gently placed his hands on her shoulders to ease her back a bit.

"Yes, of course, I'm fine. Alastor took care of me."

Charlie, her eyes swollen with tears, looked at him with fear. "Alastor..." she repeated. "Where is he?" She scanned the hallway nervously, as if looking for something dangerous.

"He said he needed to take care of an issue and would join us later, don't worry. I think he's concerned for you too... in his own way, hehe." Nervous chuckle. "Come on, let's go in... sit down, you're still shaken up." He guided her back into the room and shut the door behind them.

The room looked as it always had; nothing inside had changed since the hotel's previous reconstruction. Maybe Alastor had left the rooms as the occupants wanted, to make them feel comfortable. Yes... now Lucifer could say he understood him. The Radio Demon was incapable of expressing his emotions because he saw them as weaknesses. And indeed, they were, especially in a place like Hell. But one only needed to notice those small details to understand the affection he held for each member of the hotel. Probably even Husk. After all, wasn't this place Purgatory? Even Husk had been granted a chance for redemption.

Charlie sat on the edge of the bed, wrapping an arm around herself. She wore only her white shirt and pants; her hair was loose and messy, with no style, as if she'd been tossing and turning somewhere. Her gaze was rimmed with dark circles and puffiness. Who knew how much she'd cried, how badly she'd slept.

Lucifer looked at her, his heart aching, and calmly approached, removing his hat and placing it on the nightstand next to the bed. "...." He had no words. He should've thought beforehand about what to say. What was he supposed to tell her now? Hi Charlie, how are you? Oh, I know your mother was decapitated; all that blood you saw on me was hers. I've already recovered because I knew what a bitch she was, because I have Alastor by my side, and now I can selfishly be with him without any issues, but you... you never knew the truth because I never told you as I should have. For you, it's just pain.

"So... uh..." Lucifer began with total nonchalance, looking around with his hands on his hips. "Queen of Hell, huh...?"

"...." ... "What a load of nonsense!" Charlie burst out, running her hands through her tangled hair. Vaggie had already hinted at some of it. "You're the King of Hell, with or without Mom!"

Lucifer's eyebrows arched with sadness. "Oh, Charlie... wouldn't it be better this way? You wanted Hell to be a better place. You've seen how I didn't manage it over these thousands of years..." He took a step forward, moving closer to her.

The girl raised her tear-filled eyes. "Yes, but... can't we manage it together?"

"...." At that question, Lucifer remained silent, but the look he gave her spoke for him.

"...." ... "You want to stay here with Alastor...?"

"Yes... I mean, that's part of it... but isn't Purgatory the next step after Hell? Should I go back?"

"So you're saying I deserve to be in Hell?" she snapped.

"Oh no, Charlie!" Lucifer threw himself onto her, literally collapsing to his knees between her legs and resting his hands on her shoulders. He sought her tear-streaked, reddened face with his own, filled with sorrow. He was as desperate as she was, but mostly for her state. "You can't think that way. You're the only one who can make Hell a better place... thanks to you, there will be no more horrible places, no more abyss. Only phases of transition for souls that will choose whether to redeem themselves or stay in that place."

She looked at him, uncertain, her hands once again hiding her face. She began to sob. "But it's all so crazy. Why did Mom have to die? Why is everything destroyed?"

"We'll rebuild it, together. This isn't the first time we've done it. We'll bring order to this chaos... Charlie, please, look at me!" Trembling lips and hands on his knees, Lucifer lifted his face, trying to catch his daughter's bowed head.

She hesitated but eventually peered out through her fingers.

"..." At that look, the angel melted, straightening his back and extending his arms to pull her into a warm embrace. This time it was a genuine embrace, filled with all the need for connection and comfort that moved both their souls. The need to soothe the solitude that, in some way, they both still carried within. Like a hole, a chasm that consumed them.

An embrace in the quiet semi-darkness of the room, while somewhere else, something very dangerous was unfolding.

In Kalfu's throne room, time hadn't stopped. But for Vox, it felt like it had started to slow down. Alastor had gotten too close, standing right in front of him, so near that he could hear the sizzling sound of his breath. The Radio Demon had made his cane disappear and seemed to be there for him, waiting for something.

"...do you remember," Vox resumed, forcing a tense, melancholy smile, "...when Mimzy burst into Hell's Jazz, chased by a pack of Hounds, interrupting your tap dance, and you got pissed off like a beast?" He kept his gaze fixed upward, toward Alastor's eyes, which observed him with detached curiosity. "...you were so drunk that you devoured everyone, and I had to carry you home. Ha-ha," he finished, his heart pounding. Anxiety was gnawing at his insides.

But Alastor said, "Oh yes. How could I forget? Mimzy is always so opportunistic." He chuckled.

Vox chuckled too, relaxing as he widened his smile, easing the tension in his brow. Alastor's laugh reassured him. He was magnificent. So inscrutable and, at the same time, vibrant. Filled with the duality of an old human and a monster.

Vox tapped his blue claws nervously on the armrest of the chair. The urge to touch Alastor was becoming overwhelming. He was so close. Alastor had come closer. He had saved him from the apocalypse. He was angry, yes—Vox had hypnotized and drugged him—but maybe, just maybe, he'd liked it. Impossible. He was toying with him, just as he always had.

"And do you remember..." Alastor resumed unexpectedly, "...when, during one of your first podcasts, that employee of yours barged in, protesting against the harsh working conditions you forced on him...?"

Vox flinched. "Oh right, damn it! Roger or maybe Rosier, what was his name? That damn unionist...to hell with him!" He exclaimed, filling with enthusiasm, and a bit instinctively, a bit deliberately, placed a hand on Alastor's side.

He wrapped his claws around the other Sinner's bony waist in a fluid motion that met no resistance—Alastor didn't move away. Sure, Vox felt his muscles contract, tense up, but the red demon leaned his hips even closer to his face. ...

He lowered the corners of his mouth, almost grazing the bottom edge of his screen, while still watching him from his seated position. The Half-Stag was still staring at him curiously, with that inscrutable smile of his.

Anxiety clawed its way back into the TV Demon's chest, but with it, a strange hope as well. So he really was interested? Then...

"Alastor..." He pronounced his name, adopting a serious, somber tone. ... "I...I'm sorry." He admitted, clutching his claws into the fabric of his jacket. "You...you know why I did it. You know it was because..." He faltered, lifting his other hand to find Alastor's ribcage.

The Radio Demon was especially thin and bony. They were nearly the same height, but Alastor's frame was slimmer than his own. Vox wanted to hold him, to feel him writhe in pleasure and pain under his fingers. Images of that moment on the table, and then on the bed in his apartment, returned to the TV Demon's mind. He had never imagined he'd have Alastor in that way, beneath him. His hands slid under the fabric of his jacket, touching the thinner material of the red shirt tucked neatly into his dark pants. With each movement of his fingers, the other sinner seemed to grow warmer.

"...because," he repeated. Alastor didn't pull away. He stayed still, and Vox lowered his gaze to his hips, averting it from his face. "...because I'm in love with you," he hissed between clenched jaws.

The shark demon's fingers trembled slightly as they neared Alastor's belt. His breathing grew heavy, and his heartbeat pounded in his ears. He could smell the acrid scent of gunpowder and dry leaves emanating from the red demon, so close, motionless in front of him, like a predator watching without moving.

"I...I didn't want things to end this way...eight years ago. I just wanted...I wanted you to stay with me. I know I was selfish... I won't force you to embrace all my modernity again, you saw, right...? I even prepared a setup just for you..."

His hands slid hesitantly along the fabric of the pants, reaching the buckle. He paused, hesitating, as if about to cross a boundary. Then, finally, his fingers began to fiddle with the belt buckle.

"And even the last time...I protected you. I kept you with me...I did it all...for this burning desire..." ... "And we can start over...from now. I can give you what you desire, you know that..."

Vox swallowed, feeling a spark of hope reignite within him. He lifted his head from the backrest, moistening his jaws with his tongue. The Radio Demon didn't step back, didn't resist. Heart pounding wildly, Vox moved closer, starting to unfasten the belt. His excitement began to press under the fabric of his pants, increasingly evident in his seated position. He was a breath away from realizing his most intimate desire, with the other's consent, when Alastor tilted his head slightly and, with a honeyed voice, said, "You're forgetting one thing, Voxy."

Vox froze, his eyes rising to meet Alastor's, surprised. "What?" he asked in a whisper, clinging to that fragile thread of hope.

Alastor's smile widened, and in that instant, the truth cut deeper than any blade. "That your feelings are none of my business."

In that same moment, the room splintered with a sharp crack. Vox's fingers stiffened abruptly, starting to tremble still hooked on the belt buckle, as a torrent of mad electric shocks coursed through them from the rest of his body.

A pair of thick black tentacles struck the back of Vox's screen, piercing through it from side to side, sending it into a frenzy. The tendrils writhed restlessly, slick in the air right in front of Alastor's abdomen, as the TV Demon sizzled, sparks of electricity flaring from his body to the ground. Where his face should have been, error messages and flashes of colors flickered, while his tense body convulsed and spasmed.

Alastor leaned further down toward him, brushing an antenna with his claws. He emitted a gurgling moan, veiled behind a static radio effect, shocking himself in the process.

"...I think I could accept your alliance ~"

At that exact moment, another pair of tentacles totally pierced Vox's rib cage, tangling with his body. The Radio Demon gave one last gasp before his screen came to a halt and was torn completely apart by the tendrils stuck there. He remained headless, from his neck sizzled the electrical wires that made up his internal system, and began to drip that same blood that dripped in abundance from his chest. Alastor stepped back a step, lifting Vox's lifeless body into the air. He raised his face and gaze, admiring his creation with a smirk. He barely winced with a pleasant, distorted effect at the blood that trickled over his head and face and began to lick it with relish. Then, spinning wildly on itself along with the tentacles-which sprang directly from his shoulders-he hurled it against one of the windows that wrapped around one entire side of the room. Vox's body violently smashed through the dark glass, falling back into the hotel's outer courtyard.

Outside, the sound of shattering glass came a moment before the lifeless body of the Media Demon. Valentino barely had time to lift his red eyes upward before he found himself covered in a myriad of black splinters followed by the body's trajectory violently hitting the ground at his feet. The Moth leapt backward, momentarily flaring its wings concealed in its coat, while Velvette let out a high-pitched scream. All the others present on the porch were also alarmed, turning away petrified, their eyes widened to stare at Vox's headless body, from which an immense pool of blood gradually widened. Angel Dust sprang to his feet, clutching Porchetta to his chest. " ... "

" V-V.."  Valentino, trembling, tried to pronounce his companion's name, but only managed to stumble over the words, lifting his face to the window again to frame Alastor's descent. A huge and very long tentacle of shadow dripped downward, touching the ground and dragging behind the figure of the Radio Demon. With his staff once again clutched between his fingers, the buckle of his pants slightly open, and the blood dripping from his hair cutting his right eye in half, Alastor reached the ground. With his back to the porch, his feet touched the ground just in front of Vox's body, separating him from Valentino and Velvette. " Al... Alastor! What happened?"  Vaggie exclaimed, shakily clutching his spear. " Oh, don't worry, Vaggie. I just got a pebble off my shoe ~ "  He answered her, in a musical tone, without looking at her. " It took me less time than I expected. Just as well, because I have more to do."  Staring at Valentino, however.

The Demon Moth had his gaze nailed on the Half Deer with a deeply incredulous expression, trying to realize the situation. Alastor sharpened his red eyes, lighting his smile with gradual and overwhelming menace.

[raisoramizu]

Radioapple Hazbin Hotel Fanfic - Apple and Blood

"Pentalia, 1936

King Michael has allowed Adam’s Regime to take control of the kingdom, establishing a dictatorship. Voting rights have been suspended, and the Manifesto of Race, targeting demons and Black people, is about to be approved. Dissidents are tortured or sent to border prisons—but the desire for freedom can never be completely crushed.

Lucifer "De Stella del Mattino" is a nobleman who has lost all hope, merely trying to survive for the sake of his daughter. But meeting Alastor will make him realize that survival and truly living are two very different things."

Hazbin Hotel Alternate Universe fanfiction – Lucifer x Alastor, set in Fascist Italy in 1930. It’s an honor for me to share a piece of my country’s history—even though it’s a dark period—by reimagining it through the magical world of Hazbin Hotel.

For now, you can read it on AO3 by clicking the title of this post. I’ll start posting it here on Tumblr as soon as I finish New Order.

Follow me on X (@Raima_Chan) or Bluesky (@Raisoramizu) for chapter updates and artwork!

[raisoramizu]

sharks, and lots of them

[raisoramizu]

#DOELUCIFERWEEK2025

Day 3 - Courting/Chase

Heads up for this chapter of the fanfic, check the archive warnings! 👀👀📻🍎🔞🔞💦

The Hunt Is on, Chapter 3 link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/65564251/chapters/168789736

[raisoramizu]

#DOELUCIFERWEEK2025

Day 2: Heat/Rut/Fluff

"Tail" is the second chapter of the fanfiction themed "The Hunt is On"

Link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/65564251/chapters/168789313

[raisoramizu]

Here I aaam toooo!!

#DOELUCIFERWEEK2025

Day 1 – Transformation/Teasing

Fanfic: The Hunt is On 🔞

Link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/65564251/chapters/168788776

[raisoramizu]

Chapter 10 of "Apple and Blood" is out! Fanfic RadioAppleAU set in fascist Italy 📻🍎🇮🇹

TW: dub-con / homophobia / sexism / violence 🔞

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64258225/chapters/170052670

[raisoramizu]

Gnam 😋🤤

[raisoramizu]

Chapter 17: Between Present and Past

Hazbin Hotel Fanfic "New Order" (Radioapple/Radiostatic/Applemedia)

Previous Chapter: Intro - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14 - Chapter 15 - Chapter 16

The images for this fanfiction are for illustrative purposes only, and all credits go to their respective artists.

...

Trigger Warning: explicit sexual and violent content

That night, Lucifer screamed a lot.

There was no more time for talking; Alastor had never been someone to lean on emotionally or seek advice from without feeling mocked, yet the events of recent months had given him a few more skills.

At the very least, skills that could fully satisfy Lucifer, numbing his mind until he detached from every problem. Lilith's death vanished, the dread of facing Charlie disappeared, as did the guilt of not being the one to deliver the news. Even the thought that it was Adam who had killed her faded. Did he hate Adam? It was a fair question. The angel had thought about it, yes, before falling asleep, in his nightmares; perhaps he did hate him, or perhaps he didn't at all, knowing things had to end this way. In a way, Adam had relieved him of the burden of dirtying his own hands.

Lilith was lost. But he was lost too, as he writhed on the bed under Alastor's attentions.

He was always drenched; the Half-Stag had pushed him face-down on the mattress, leaning over his body with a hunger that made him shiver. He adored that the demon was set aflame only for him, and only he could do that. He was the only one able to awaken those usually dormant instincts within Alastor. The Radio Demon wasn't interested in sex; his pleasure was in sowing chaos and ambiguity, but with him... with him, it was different.

The angel could feel it now, clutching the red pillow in his arms, seized by the spasms Alastor's tongue elicited between his legs. He felt it press against his balls, making his wet arousal twitch, then trail up between his spread cheeks, which the demon held open with his claws, before delving deeply inside him.

Lucifer lay there, his knees firmly planted on the mattress, legs parted, his tail snaking in the air, irritated by the tentacles tugging at it, heightening the intensity of the moment. He felt the scars on his wings tingle just as sharply as the drops of saliva and sweat trickling down his inner thighs. He was unbearably hot, having soaked the bed entirely by now. His face shone with the light of his golden blood and the aching desire that furrowed his brow and glimmered in his gaze. He was drooling on the pillow he occasionally bit.

Alastor's red eyes peered over the curve of the Seraph's arched back, narrowing at his bouncing blond head. Licking his sharp lips, he began tracing the tense line of Lucifer's spine, drawing another moan from him.

"How loud you are ~" he mocked, his voice syrupy and melodic, sizzling his radio effect directly against the angel's pale, quivering skin, while his hand slid up to the back of his neck. "I love hearing you scream... but I always wonder if it's because you truly want it or because you have no other choice. Sometimes I wonder if you're trapped too, Lucifer ~" he added, grasping Lucifer's hair roughly between his claws.

Lucifer gasped, forced to tilt his head back and raise his face toward the headboard as Alastor pressed up against him.

"I was made to rule, yet here I am... begging." The angel confessed. "I can't take it anymore," he panted from the pain of Alastor's firm grip and the feel of Alastor's arousal sliding between his thighs.

"I can imagine," Alastor replied, planting a hand beside his face.

Lucifer felt Alastor's whispered reply directly in his ear; he shivered, flicking his gaze aside and finding him there, hunched over him, seeming larger than usual. The Half-Stag's eyes had darkened to black, and his antlers crackled as they branched out along the sides of his head. The room wasn't well lit, but the angel could feel Alastor's shadow cast over him. It wasn't Kalfu, but his own natural shadow, as the spirit seemed absent for now. Perhaps he was nearby, giving the two some privacy, not wanting to disturb Alastor any further, who was already forced to coexist with his presence. Maybe he was lurking on the ceiling or hidden in the room's shadows, but Lucifer couldn't focus on that; he was completely absorbed by the violent attentions being forced upon him.

He felt Alastor's claw grasp him by the waist just as the demon began to thrust his need into him.

Lucifer cried out, his eyes flying open from the pain, instinctively clenching the sheets in his hands in an attempt to escape, but an overwhelming tangle of tendrils restrained him. Alastor had grown particularly strong and swift, far beyond the power he wielded as an Overlord—something even Lucifer found unsettling. The angel wasn't used to dealing with someone possessing a power equal to or greater than his own. Only a few angels held such power.

And now, here he was, under a demon he no longer needed to lower his defenses against, because Alastor had the power to break through them on his own. He did so at that moment, when Lucifer scrambled on the bed, trying to slip away, only to find his arms bound at his lower back and his hips forced upward in a shameless display. His spine arched into an uncomfortable position, his face buried in the pillow, nestled between his trembling shoulders.

"Umhg..." he groaned, his eyes tightly shut and his brow twisted in an expression of pain.

Meanwhile, Alastor kept thrusting into him, baring his slavering fangs, his eyes ticking like two radio dials. Even he no longer thought of Kalfu; his mind was free, wholly focused on the angel beneath him. He felt Lucifer's small body tremble under his claws, with which he held him pinned to the bed. The angel's hips were especially raised so that the Sinner, kneeling between his spread legs, could carve his way into his body. Tear him apart—that was the right term for the strikes Alastor was delivering, each thrust sinking deeper until he achieved a complete penetration, locking their hips together. Lucifer shuddered, his eyes rolling back, as his spine began to flex under the pounding he was enduring.

The Sinner watched him from his elevated position, immersed in his own red hair, still damp and swinging with the same intensity as the bed's rhythmic clatter against the wall. His gaze flickered as he saw Lucifer's serpentine tongue sprawled across the pillow, slick with his saliva. Alastor arched over him completely, continuing to drive into him mercilessly, drawing his face close to Lucifer's and smiling in a sinister, pleasure-twisted grin. "It will never stop amusing me... seeing you so submissive to me. In your head, there'll only be... me, Lucifer~" he hissed, plunging his red tongue into the angel's mouth, making him sob as his red-veined eyes bulged.

A more violent thrust, accompanied by the rubbing of a tentacle around his sticky length, jolted him, causing his wings to explode outward with a resounding shockwave. White and red feathers began to flutter in the air, propelled by that dense wind that knocked some objects off their shelves.

The bed began to creak under the onslaught of wings, as Lucifer writhed like a bird trying to escape an unbreakable grip. He felt as though he were on fire. The demon was too large, and each thrust stole his breath, yet he could do nothing but bubble with saliva against the tongue slithering into his mouth. Alastor, emitting a distorted growl, further tightened his massive clawed hand around Lucifer's shoulders, pressing him deeper into the bed. More tentacles coiled around his wings, binding them into uncomfortable, painful positions as the demon continued to strike and ravage the Seraph's body with growing violence, punctuated by the relentless banging of the bed against the wall. The room became a cacophony of groans, stifled gurgles, and moans of pleasure, dominated by the noise of the furniture, the creak of strained wood, and the sinister glow of Alastor's magic, resonating with Lucifer's darker, more spectral energy.

The angel futilely struggled, flicking his tail in the air, and when Alastor pulled his tongue from his throat, dragging along a thick stream of saliva, Lucifer could only gasp a breathless, "I... love you."

A word that struck the demon right in the chest, making his black-filled eyes widen. For a moment, he stilled, buried inside him, his hairy claws trembling on the bed.

He had meant it. Lucifer had told him, "I love you." And now, what was he supposed to do? He knew Lucifer was in love with him—it would have been foolish not to realize it. But hearing it aloud shattered him. And at the same time, it filled him with an anguished need: the urge to completely devour the little angel writhing under his claws. He wanted to obliterate him, swallow him wholly as he never had before. But he couldn't. Now more than ever, he had to restrain himself because he had the power to. But that need—in some way—had to be satisfied.

Alastor drew his hips back, pulling out of Lucifer's core just enough to thrust back with greater force, compressing him into himself. Lucifer lifted his head, eyes wide with pain, ready to scream. He managed for a moment, before his face was fully wrapped in a tentacle.

"Mmph..! ... !!" The vine gagged him, winding around his head several times until it also covered his eyes, plunging him into darkness.

A darkness without peace, in which Alastor continued to hammer into him, filling him with pleasure and pain so intense that he couldn't distinguish his own climaxes. His body leaked with pleasure, yet the tentacle continued rubbing, as Alastor's form invaded him, scratching his taut, quivering skin until it bled.

Alastor's wet tongue slid against Lucifer's temple, moving his blonde hair aside with a lascivious lick. "... I love you, too," he whispered, dragging along a distinct radio-like hum. Did Lucifer hear those words? He did, but he could do nothing but succumb to the emotions and noise fizzing in the air, like a poorly tuned radio broadcasting chaotic warfare.

How many hours had passed? Lucifer couldn't tell. Now he was asleep, quite literally collapsed on Alastor's chest. The Radio Demon had returned to his "human" form, lying on his back in bed. Shoulders and neck sunken into a couple of pillows, he wore a serene, closed-lipped smile while calmly reading a small book, a peacefulness completely at odds with the room's chaos. Feathers covered the room, with broken shelves and objects scattered around. Strangely, the bed was intact save for a shattered wooden headboard, though the wall behind it was visibly cracked. The arm with which the Sinner held the worn book lay across Lucifer's ribcage, who was sprawled out with his face pressed against Alastor's sternum. The angel had soaked the red fur with drool, right where the scars from Alastor's injuries by angelic weapons were still visible. Alastor bore marks from a few bites—on his shoulder, his side—but nothing compared to the numerous bruises and golden imprints of sharp teeth that marred the pale, nude body of the angel. Lucifer's dark tail rested along with him, lying between his scarred, chafed hips and bruises from their now-dried fluids.

The Half-Stag lifted his eyes from the book, nervously sharpening his gaze on the fleeting shadow of Kalfu as it chuckled against a wall, then looked down at Lucifer. He still found him beautiful, and now even more so—battered, collapsed, sleeping on him. Who would have thought? That he'd find himself in such a situation. In love with someone, feeling an overwhelming desire to have them close. But he couldn't always keep him near. Alastor's fingers moved almost on their own, caressing Lucifer's back as the angel shifted in his sleep, settling further against his body. There was no one watching, no one to judge. I can't always have him close... yet, the thought of him slipping away, or worse, someone else touching him, gnaws at me. Is this love? Or just a trap I set for myself?

Now he had power, but also responsibility. He had to take this place seriously. What if something happened to Lucifer while I was gone? Maybe I could build a cage for him within a protective barrier. I could chain him there when I'm not around. That way, he'd be safe in my absence. These thoughts crossed Alastor's mind just as his senses made him snap his attention toward the door. At that very moment, there was a knock.

— "Alastor? You still here?" It was Vaggie's firm voice. "Your friend, the TV Demon, is here at the Hotel looking for you."

"..." The mention of Vox's name shot through him like an electric shock. He felt a seething hatred surge through his veins, and the serene calm he'd maintained evaporated. Finally, a new opportunity to play. And this time, he wouldn't fail. He loved those feelings: anger and amusement, blended into that delightful mix he adored—revenge. "Tell him I'll meet him in the central room in ten minutes." He called back toward the closed door, setting the book aside and carefully slipping his arm from Lucifer's ribcage to free himself. Vaggie didn't respond, but neither did she leave the hallway. "..." Alastor glanced again at the closed door. "...Is there something else?" he asked.

— "..." ... "Is Luciferoin there? Charlie is awake." She replied from the other side.

With the help of a few tentacles, Alastor slid out from under the angel, laying him face down on the bed. He stood up, still entirely nude, searching for his clothes in the chaos of feathers and broken objects. "Oh, don't worry, he's here. He's resting again; let's say he had a rather... intense night~" he said, picking up his wrinkled, blood-soaked jacket. "I'll send him to her." At that response, Vaggie left without another word, while Alastor used a bit of magic to straighten his jacket, doing the same with the rest of his clothes. He slipped on his pants and shirt, positioning himself in front of the mirror to watch himself as he buttoned up, adjusting the suspenders so they fit snugly over the red fabric. He would once again have to put on his best smile, now just a faint gleam on his lips.

"Mmh... Alastor...?" Lucifer's mumble drew him to seek his figure on the bed through the mirror's reflection. The Seraph was stirring awake, clutching the sheets in a clumsy attempt to prop himself up. "..." Alastor finished fastening his chest straps. "You woke up just in time," he replied, pulling his jacket off the chair and turning, the heels of his boots tapping against the wooden floor. "Get yourself ready and go see Charlie—she's asking for you." At the mention of Charlie's name, Lucifer's eyes flew open, a familiar sinking feeling of fear and guilt in his chest. He clutched at the mattress, trying to straighten his back, but as he nearly got to his knees, a sharp jolt of pain enveloped his lower back, sending him sprawling back onto the bed with a thud.

"Get ready? Are you kidding me?!" he burst out, grinding his teeth. He clung to the edge of the mattress, raising his head to follow Alastor's figure, trying to catch his gaze with a furious expression. "You... you-"

"-ripped me apart?" the Radio Demon cut in, stopping with his legs mere inches from Lucifer's face. "Oh yes~ and you seemed to enjoy it immensely." He added, smiling down at him, satisfied and honeyed, while adjusting his bow tie. Lucifer snarled, furrowing his brow, but his expression was pitiful—he was bruised all over, and his hair was matted with whatever substance a body could secrete. "You're a b-!" he tried to shout, lifting his shoulders, but once again, Alastor stopped him with a swift move. The Half-Stag was so fast that Lucifer felt his face clamped in his claws before he even registered what had happened. His eyes widened, and his pupils shrank to tiny dots. Alastor was bent over him, his nose just a hair's breadth away. The Demon's smile had turned into a snarl, and his eyes boiled with small radio dials, alongside the swirling, eerie Voodoo symbols glowing green.

"...beautiful, marvelous, powerful Demigod..? Ah! Of course~" he continued in a horribly melodic voice. "The very one you love so much tearing you apart to satisfy your masochistic streak." At those words, Lucifer blushed, heating up terribly, remaining motionless and prone on the bed, claws gripping the mattress edge. Alastor was unbearably close, and just his scent intoxicated him like a drug—he was completely hooked now. Their relationship teetered between violence, mental and physical domination, and a strange, unique sweetness. This was what he adored about the Sinner, now the Custodian of Purgatory: his easy sway between good and evil. It was nothing healthy, nothing he'd advise anyone, God forbid he'd go mad if Charlie were to be a victim of such a situation, but it was what he wanted: someone to dominate him, freeing him from all duty. That chain binding him to Alastor was his freedom. He was his, and he'd decide for him. They'd chosen each other.

"God said your exile is over. I suppose he's noticed you no longer have an ounce of pride left—not a single scrap. But now..." The Sinner continued, thick with his radio effect, returning to his normal form and snuffing out the sorcery in the air, though he didn't release his grip on Lucifer's jaw. "...see if you can get some of it back. Get ready and go seriously face your daughter, who will be Queen of Hell. Close every single unfinished account you still have." ... "I have a small, tedious problem to deal with, and I'll join you. Otherwise, I'll go to Charlie myself. I'll call you directly to her, and I can assure you you won't like it." he threatened, a smile stretching the corners of his mouth and lighting up his red eyes with a grin both sincere and terrifying.

Lucifer felt anxiety weighing him down, but Alastor slightly loosened his grip on his cheeks, allowing the angel to open his mouth. "...However... I won't tell her it was Adam who killed Lilith..." he said, voice barely a whisper.

"Good idea. The one lie among the thousands you've told her that might actually be right. Unless, of course, you want to create more pointless chaos... leave that to me."

Before Lucifer could respond further, he found Alastor's tongue in his mouth, the kiss unexpectedly sweet. There was no violence, just possession and desire. After a brief hesitation, he reciprocated, pressing his face into Alastor's and clutching the edges of his shirt to pull him closer. But just as quickly, the demon pulled away, freeing him. Standing up straight, Alastor slipped on his jacket, licking his lips to wipe away the lingering traces of the kiss.

"I'm off. See you later," he said, spreading his claws to summon his staff from a crackling burst of shadows, then moving toward the door.

Lucifer remained there, flushed and breathless on the bed, watching him as far as he could turn his neck. He followed Alastor's reflection in the mirror until the door clicked shut behind him.

...

The three Vees were all at the Hotel, but Vaggie—the current doorman on duty—had certainly not let them in. All the guests—except Adam and Lute—and the staff were gathered under the porch of the only building left completely intact in the entire Pride Ring. It was impossible to know what condition the other rings were in. Husk stood at the foot of the stairs, wings spread and expression severe, like a formidable bouncer. He glared at Valentino and Velvette menacingly, while Niffty peeked out from behind his cat-like ears, making the scene more comical than intimidating. Vaggie stood nearby, one hand on her hip and the other holding her angelic spear with its pointed tip aimed skyward. Angel Dust, bruised and battered, sat on a step, clutching Piggy in his arms with Cherri Bomb beside him, offering comfort.

Velvette and Valentino were also there, disheveled and dirty. Velvette frantically tried to use her phone, but to no avail—all the city's lines were down. Valentino, with two arms crossed over his chest and another holding a cigarette without a holder, smoked in silence.

"Don't try anything funny!" Vaggie hissed, slamming the base of her spear against the ground.

"As if I care!" Velvette rasped back. "I'd like to remind you that we're all in the same boat!"

Valentino's red eyes narrowed, slits under the brim of his top hat. "...Just make sure nothing happens to Voxy."

At that threat, Vaggie raised her good eye toward the circular room, set into the stone of the building like a meteor, staring at its darkened windows with a trace of doubt.

...

Vox still stood in front of the entrance to the room.

Vaggie had left him there a few minutes earlier, but he hadn't yet gone inside. The hallway on that floor was huge, nearly twice as large as any of the others; the walls were made of black stone, illuminated by numerous wall lamps casting dim green light, while the floor was carpeted in red. The entire space seemed to breathe in sync with the faint glow of the undefined voodoo symbols of every kind that decorated the surroundings up to the ceiling.

Unsettling. It was deeply unsettling to be in that retro space, so unlike the interiors of Voxtek. Unsettling were those runes, which made him feel watched, despite the fact that none of his cameras remained intact within the Hotel.

The TV Demon swallowed hard, staring at the door with his hypnotic eye—the only one still fully functioning. He still bore the marks of his confrontation with Lucifer: the left side of his screen was cracked, glitching in places.

He wasn't wearing his jacket, just his vest—no bowtie—and a white shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing his blue forearms. Yes, he was bruised, dirty, and tired. He kept wondering how he had even survived. Surely, in part, it was thanks to Alastor. Oh yes, the Radio Demon had warned him not to listen to the song, and he had managed to save everyone. This made him think Alastor cared for him... or perhaps it was just a side effect of his hypnosis, being, at that moment, the other Sinner under his thrall. Including helping him. A thought that had been haunting him ever since.

Summoning his courage, he knocked a couple of times.

"Come in~" came Alastor's mellifluous, radio-filtered voice from inside.

Vox opened the door and entered, taking a few steps beyond the threshold and immediately widening his eye to take in the walls.

The room was huge, circular, yes, but it felt decidedly larger on the inside than it had from outside. Almost all the windows, arranged in a semi-circle along the wall, were obscured by intricate, root-like branches, resembling deer antlers, all stemming from one point: the throne where Alastor sat.

The Radio Demon was there, half-reclined, proudly sprawled across a vast chair of worn red velvet, his back against one armrest, feet dangling beyond the other. Clad in his iconic suit, he had his microphone-topped cane resting on his lap against one shoulder. On his face, the ever-present closed-mouth smile, illuminated by the lazy glow of the massive Crossroads, spinning slowly above the high back of the chair.

In that precise moment, the smile of the Half-Deer stretched, his yellowish teeth gradually emerging and sharpening his gaze until it became cutting. "Oh, Voxy~" he crackled with a hint of static.

The door slammed shut loudly, causing Vox to startle and spark with static...

...then Alastor flung an arm wide, waggling his feet in the air beyond the chair's armrest and fluttering his claws with exaggerated excitement. "Finally! What do you need~?"

[raisoramizu]

Sorry Vox, I love you, but I’d rather draw the Radioapple (because your screen’s perspective is just too complicated)

[raisoramizu]

Let him farm

[raisoramizu]

Chapter 16: The Prison of Free Will

Hazbin Hotel Fanfic "New Order" (Radioapple/Radiostatic/Applemedia)

Previous Chapter: Intro - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14 - Chapter 15

The images for this fanfiction are for illustrative purposes only, and all credits go to their respective artists.

Kalfu's final words cast a heavy silence over the room. Vaggie, still kneeling next to the unconscious Charlie, gasped uncertainly. "What?" she whispered, but her voice faltered as God's gaze fell upon her. He didn't seem to judge her, but his presence weighed down like a sentence. She had never regretted showing mercy, never regretted being beside Charlie. That was where she belonged. The exile for not killing a terrified demon had always felt unjust. Why the doubts now? Maybe it was His presence. Maybe she was afraid. Perhaps she hadn't understood the Divine Plan correctly. What could she, a mere exorcist angel, know? He had created her, yet she had never seen Him before. In a way, He was a father to her. And to Lute. She shot a glance at the former second-in-command, who was still there, as shadowy as Adam, avoiding direct contact with God. Did she feel the same? Did she harbor resentment and regret? "You heard right. Charlie will rule Hell. It's her destiny, as Princess," Kalfu replied. He had taken on the form of Alastor, but he was taller, blacker, with bright green eyes and teeth. He had once been merely a haunted shadow; now, he was an unsettling reflection of his master. "But how can she rule? Lucifer is still alive, right?" Vaggie exclaimed, still unsure, raising her gaze to Alastor, her heart tight with fear. "Isn't that right?" The thought that something had happened to Lucifer—given Lilith's situation—flashed through her mind like lightning. "Yes, he's alive, Vaggie," the Demon replied, resolute. "He's alive," Kalfu repeated, turning fully toward the couch where Cherri Bomb had stood up, glaring at him with crossed arms. Among everyone present, she seemed the only one unafraid to confront the situation. Even Niffty remained silent, clutching Husk's feline ears, staring at everything with her cyclopean eye. "But Lucifer is no longer capable of managing Hell. Not that he ever truly was," the Loa Spirit added.

Throughout Kalfu's speech, Michael had remained silent, listening, observing; but now he lowered his blue gaze and pressed his lips together, his wings fluttering with strange embarrassment—he was about to explode. And God noticed. That slight tremor in Michael's wings was enough for the six floating eyes—along with the seventh eye embedded in the white cylinder—to turn toward him. "Calm down, Michael. You can visit Lucifer whenever you want: his exile in Hell is over."

That statement left everyone speechless, in disbelief. Vaggie slowly stood up, her eyes wide at God, forgetting the fear and uncertainty from before. Those simple words in response to the Archangel's silence astonished the room, yet no one dared to ask anything. They were all lost in their thoughts, surely filled with a thousand questions—too many—but none emerged. Did they even want more answers? Processing that absurd situation, the near destruction of Hell, the danger Paradise had faced, and God's presence in that very room was beyond their comprehension: no one could have ever imagined something like this. And now? Purgatory managed by Kalfu alongside Alastor, Lucifer apparently having ended his exile, and Charlie destined to rule Hell. But the Princess—or should we call her the Sovereign?—knew nothing of this; she lay unconscious from the shock, surely the final blow after the stress she'd endured that afternoon. The silence lasted far too long for God. "WELL!" He exclaimed, clapping his hands with enough force to make everyone jump. "I'd say the moment has come." He gestured gently with his hand. "Kalfu, go ahead; take your time." And there his footsteps echoed through the hall as he walked toward the stage. Lute immediately noticed him approaching and widened his eyes, taking a step back. Adam, however, kept his head bowed, hands resting on his knees, lost in thought. He only noticed Lute's movement when God was already there.

The First Man's pupils constricted as he saw God's white shoes before him. He didn't want to look up, but the nearness paralyzed him. A wave of vertigo hit him, and he had to swallow hard before finding the courage to meet His gaze. God stood there, hands clasped behind his back, a massive smile on his face where natural eyes should have been. "Adam," He pronounced his name, then clicked His tongue against the roof of His mouth, shaking His head in disapproval, all while continuing to smile. "You've always received special treatment compared to anyone else because you are the first of what I love most." He paused, observing him. "I know you want to ask me why I elected you to Paradise, only for you to end up here... and why Eve is destined to be there."

"The answer is simple: it's all the result of your free choices." He smiled more gently, though his eyes appeared serious. "Even now, you can choose whether to listen to me or not: stay at the Hotel, at least for now." Adam remained silent. Inside, he was shattered. He had killed Lilith, and Eve was no longer Eve. Only resentment, frustration, and a vague sense of guilt consumed him. He tightened his grip around his bent knees, stiffening, but melted back into awe when God shifted His gaze to Lute. In that moment, God's face turned frowning—He even generated eyebrows to better emphasize His discontent. "What is this disgrace, Lute? I made you perfect, and you must remain perfect." He grumbled, making a sharp gesture with his hand in the air as if to swat away a fly. A tremendous light regenerated Lute's arm along with his body; wounds disappeared, and even his clothes looked new, as if he had never been in battle. Lute jolted, eyes wide, staring at his new hand. "Oh..." he suddenly exclaimed, standing at attention like a soldier. "Thank you, Lord!" he added, wearing a fierce expression, though he was literally trembling inside from what had just happened. So abrupt. God chuckled. It was clear by now that He was a bit of a trickster—let's call it that. Not content, He said, "Excellent choice, Adam," abruptly turning to the First Man, who looked at Him questioningly, receiving a cheeky wink in return. "Your free choice." He continued, turning away, hands back behind His back, stepping away from the stage under the astonished gaze of the others. As He seemed to want to return to the bar area, where Michael still stood, He turned toward Vaggie. "And you too..." He began to say. "No!" she interrupted, tensing, though visibly uncomfortable, as if she were expecting that question. "What I mean, Lord..." Her voice softened as she touched her bandaged eye. She glanced at the sleeping Charlie. "I'd prefer to stay this way, as a result of my choice." "Certainly," God commented, chuckling with amusement as He finished standing beside Michael. "Well, you have my blessing." He exclaimed, waving his hand dismissively as if to bless them. "Finish what you need to finish. Let's go, Michael." And with a warm, overwhelming beam of light, God and Michael vanished.

When the light faded, a deep, oppressive silence returned. The silence of guilt, fear, and uncertainty. The room was back to how it had been, everyone in their place. In that moment, Vaggie spoke again, hesitantly: "So, is it all true?" Her emotions were all laid bare, vivid. She was incredulous—definitely incredulous. Alastor looked at her, his usual closed-mouth smile in place. "Yes, Vaggie," he replied with a certain firmness, devoid of the radio effect that almost always enveloped his voice. In that moment, he seemed to do it intentionally, as if he were telling her something beyond his mask. But then he resumed, "Take Charlie to rest. When she wakes up, she'll have a lot to discuss with her father, but... oh~" His voice immediately returned to its syrupy, melodic tone. "I'll make sure to prepare him properly. You prepare her." Then he turned to Adam. "Niffty will take you to your room. Provided you want to follow the advice you've been given."

"UUUUUH, of course! Right away, yes yes yes!" Niffty chirped, bouncing down from Husk's back and beginning to scurry noisily across the floor. "Come on, come on!" she exclaimed, calling to Adam and Lute. The First Man shot her a glare, clearly reluctant to get up. However, a stern and eloquent look from Lute was enough to convince him.

With a deep puff, Adam inflated his cheeks like a boy and stood tall, following the frantic Niffty up the stairs to the upper floors, alongside his companion. He hadn't uttered a word since recovering from Lilith's enchantment, and now he fell back into silence under Lute's worried gaze.

"I'm going to take a breather and look for Angel," Cherri Bomb blurted, pushing a strand of hair from her face. "God or no God, this whole situation has already gotten on my nerves." With a sigh, she started toward the stairs, followed by Vaggie, who was carrying the unconscious Charlie in her arms.

Alastor watched them with keen eyes, turning his head to observe. That's when...

"But..." Husk suddenly grunted, stepping forward. "You've never cared about redemption..."

Alastor rotated his neck with a sinister creak toward the Half-Cat. "Precisely, my dear Husky, precisely," he replied, starting to walk forward but with his head and neck twisted unnaturally backward, never taking his eyes off the other sinner.

Husk's expression twisted into one of pure disgust and fear as he remained under Alastor's unsettling, smiling gaze until the Radio Demon headed up the stairs. Only then, with a swift turn of his face forward, did Alastor vanish, making his way to the upper levels.

…

When the old door creaked shut, Alastor found himself observing Lucifer's figure on the large double bed, just as he had left it. The angel was curled up beneath two heavy layers of red blankets; he lay on his side, making it impossible to see his face, but he still emitted a pungent smell of blood that soaked the cuffs of the sinner's jacket.

The Half-Deer relaxed instantly, recognizing the familiar scent of age that permeated the place. Finally. He had slept for days in Vox's sterile room, and the mere thought brought back flashes of what he had endured or done. One particular thought seemed to widen his smile as, after disappearing his cane into the shadows, he walked toward the bathroom.

The suite had the elliptical, flattened shape that was visible from outside; the ceiling was lower than usual, and the floor creaked beneath his feet. It held everything he loved: a piano that didn't quite follow the rounded shape of the wall it leaned against, shelves filled with objects from bygone eras, all meticulously maintained. His old radio sat on the dresser, and there was a massive wardrobe with mirrors on all the doors. Deer antlers branched along the walls, decorated with red wallpaper that made ghostly eyes seem to peer out from the shadows. But there was also Lucifer.

Not for long, Alastor thought. The angel would decorate the room to his liking, filling it with rubber duckies, but only in his wing: he would never allow such chaos in the master bedroom. Indeed, the second room was entirely for the Seraph; from the doorframe that lacked a door, a golden glow peeked through, illuminating walls already adorned with circus-like swirls and a workbench filled with tools for his obsession.

Alastor tossed his jacket onto an old armchair just before entering the bathroom, which featured both a shower and a spacious bathtub. He moved to the sink and looked in the mirror. He appeared tired and disheveled; he needed to wash off the dust and blood, to be alone with his thoughts and piece together all the fragments of the past weeks, of what had just happened, because yes: it had been absurd even for him, and there had been no time to process anything since his awakening. He had just finished playing the most challenging role of his life, that of the ever-confident Alastor despite everything: assured, emotionally untouchable, even in such a situation. The purgatory? Really? And then Vox... damn, how had that megalomaniac dared? He had gone too far, in a way he never expected.

"I see you're a bit shaken, Alastor."

The deep, amused voice of Kalfu boomed in the Half-Deer's head the moment he gripped the edges of the sink with his claws. He had already loosened his bow tie along with his suspenders and noticed that a button was missing from the shirt that wrapped around his bony frame: when had he lost it?

"It would be strange otherwise, don't you think?" he replied with a thin voice, staring at his reflection in the mirror. Perhaps it didn't show much from the outside, but he saw a disaster. His red hair lacked its usual perfect bob, and some strands were more unruly than usual.

"Oh yes, certainly. I always forget you're just a human soul." Kalfu chuckled again, his grave yet amused voice echoing in the depths of Alastor's mind. "Aren't you happy to have risen to Lucifer's level? Now you have an entire realm of your own. It's what you've always desired, right? To have power."

At those words, a strange apprehension gnawed at Alastor's chest, and his smile tightened. "Yes, but I hadn't planned to share it with anyone. Will you live inside me forever?"

"Yes, if you want to maintain your power. God didn't create a body for me; I am a spirit. I need you, and you need me. It's certainly meant to be; I know it by now. He enjoys testing us to impart some absurd lesson, that trickster!"

Alastor saw Kalfu's eyes shining with two different shades of green and flinched, lowering his head and wrapping a hand around his forehead. He began to tremble, saliva dripping from his bared fangs.

"Stop being afraid. You have everything you want: power, dominion, and an angel who will submit to you. You are my humanity, the part I lack. I control shadows, malevolent spirits; you possess emotions and feelings. You are the other half of the Key, the one that will create balance in this damned limbo."

"..." "Ah!" At Kalfu's words, Alastor burst into hearty laughter, throwing his head back and looking up at the ceiling with his claws still gripping his temples. "Ahahaha!" Then he stopped abruptly, his amused gaze shifting to the mirror. There was only him, and the wall shrouded in dimness behind him. Apparently, just him. "It could be anyone else, not necessarily well-intentioned, but... me?" Just a moment ago, he had been laughing heartily; now he still smiled, but the light in his eyes dimmed, trapping his lips in an expression that betrayed fear and uncertainty.

"Exactly you." "Do you think you've been the only one to summon me in all of creation? Oh no, my dear Alastor. I saw right away that you were the one suited for this. I was in such a hurry to set everything right that I decided to bring you here ahead of schedule."

Alastor froze, his hand suspended in mid-air. His gaze wavered. "So... you were the one who killed me?"

"Exactly. Had you shot in the forehead... eaten by dogs. How delightful it was." "Who said Purgatory must be better than Hell? AHAHAHAAH!"

Kalfu's laughter echoed in Alastor's head so suddenly that it made him jump. The Half-Deer jerked back from the sink, retreating a couple of steps, his face taut with terror as he watched the reflection of the spirit's ghostly eyes fade into the shadows of the bathroom.

"..." He remained like that for a moment, the silence broken only by the slow drip of the sink. Then he sighed. That false freedom was bitter, and he couldn't find a way to rid himself of it. Every thought was under Kalfu's scrutiny. That single flash of awareness was enough for him to hear the spirit laugh again.

Alastor tensed, grinding his sharp teeth, preferring to turn toward the bathtub. Clawing the air, he commanded his tendrils to turn on the hot water as he stripped completely. After carefully folding his clothes and placing them on a stool, he submerged himself, completely naked, in the hot water. It burned. Steam had already filled the room, making the air feel thin, but he felt it was precisely what he needed. To cleanse himself. He felt dirty, wrong. He felt lost. The power he possessed was not his; he would have to share it with a spirit, and that shattered him. He was just a human soul, surely reaching a point no one else had ever reached, but he remained just that, with his limits, his torments, and his weaknesses. Could he not have more?

He plunged his face deep into the water, then resurfaced, leaning back against the edge of the tub and closing his eyes. He felt the numerous rivulets sticking his hair to his face. His ears tilted slightly back, weighed down by the water, further exposing the small curved horns of his typical sinner form.

In his head, a chaos of thoughts and emotions swirled: frustration, fear, anger... but also relief. Lucifer was sleeping in the next room. He had never experienced a sensation like this: for the first time, he felt a genuine attachment to someone who wasn't his mother. Sure, he had grown fond of Charlie, felt affection for Niffty. He had gotten used to Angel Dust's noisy presence and Vaggie's punchable face, but that angel... that damned angel... had him wrapped around his finger.

He had realized it the first night they had been together, while moaning—twisted in ecstasy—beneath his thrusts. It was absurd to think it was all mere coincidence, that he had just happened to be in the right place at the right time... or wrong time? Because he had seen Lucifer in such a vulnerable moment and thought that by blackmailing him, he could extract something beneficial for the contract he had with Lilith. But if he now freed himself from the agreement with Kalfu, he would lose everything. Everything would crumble. He would lose Lucifer too. What more could he want? He had a Seraph totally in love, he could consume his flesh, drink his blood while he begged him to continue. He could let go without fear. Now he could support him. Now he had the strength.

...

...

...

"Alastor?"

How long had he been in that tub? When Lucifer's voice called to him, the water had ceased to steam.

Like an unexpected explosion, that familiar tone struck him in the chest, followed by a searing desire that curled in his stomach. With a subtle smile plastered on his face, Alastor turned his gaze—fired with two shades of red—toward the angel. But his eyes were sharply intense, betraying the desire already kindling in his mind.

The Half-Deer had not had the chance to claim him since he had freed himself from hypnosis; weeks had passed since their last conversation, which had ended in a fight. Yet he remembered, as deeply emotional flashes, the moments they had shared in the Vox Meeting Room.

Lucifer leaned against the doorframe, looking shyly in his direction, his expression weary. It wasn't the first time Alastor had seen him so fragile; in fact, it had become the new normal. Still, there was something different. The Seraph's eyes were vacant, as if clouded by an unusual fatigue that surrounded him, swelling his face. He was still smeared with Lilith's blood, even in his hair. He was beautiful—a stunning, corrupted angel. Androgynous, short, blonde, with locks and pure white clothes clinging to his skin, stained by the now-dried blood. The iron scent penetrated the Sinner's mind. This was the Devil. Alastor had imagined him like this before he descended into hell. But if Lucifer was in this state, it was largely due to him, to their relationship, which had brought him to a point of no return.

"Where are we?" Lucifer mumbled, his voice thick as he rubbed his face with his dark claws.

"In our room, in Purgatory," Alastor replied, widening his smile and returning to his theatricality to contain the instinct. "In the Hazbin Hotel. Lilith is dead, Roo has returned to the Abyss he came from, and Charlie is doing well. Once she recovers, you'll need to talk to her."

That list, delivered with such coldness, froze Lucifer in place. He widened his golden eyes and gripped the doorframe with his claws.

"Yes, it all happened, really. And after this last effort, you can rest, forever." The Radio Demon added, bursting from his shoulders in a flurry of tentacles. The dark tendrils reached for the door, immediately wrapping around Lucifer's hips and thighs, grasping one of his wrists to begin pulling him toward the tub.

The angel panicked, starting to resist.

"What does this mean? Hey, wait!" he exclaimed, stumbling on his hooves across the floor. He clung to the viscous tentacles, trying to free himself, but they continued to pull.

"I'm not good at emotional support, you know. So you'll have to settle for my methods, Lucifer," Alastor replied, straightening his shoulders before suddenly yanking him off the ground.

With a gasp, the angel found himself kneeling on the floor, his abdomen pressed against the edge of the tub, his head submerged in water. In an instant, the roar of flowing water echoed in his mind as he realized the force that had pulled him there. Too strong. Too fast. Digging his claws into the ceramic rim, he tensed every muscle to pull his face free, his eyes bloodshot and his fiery horns emerged. With his face dripping with water and melted blood, he gasped for air while the Sinner gripped his jaw, dragging him into anything but a sweet kiss.

He had no time to comprehend anything; Alastor's voracious tongue was already thrusting into his mouth. The tentacles continued to seize him, coiling around his body like dark vines, tightening around his torso, legs, and hands. One gripped his neck, pulling him forward as the Half-Deer kissed him greedily.

He felt panic expand in his chest, along with the frustration and confusion of the moment. He felt suffocated, yet at the same time, a distorted excitement ignited within him: he had missed this. Before him stood Alastor, finally healthy, free from hypnosis, showing him how much he too had longed for him. The fire of feeling flared, burning, mixing with the terrible fear that made him tremble. But he couldn't succumb to panic; he wouldn't allow a crisis to destroy this moment. He had to find the strength to hold up his emotions, his traumas, all this chaos that the other wouldn't let him process without overwhelming him with further stimuli.

Flicking his slender tail in the air, Lucifer steeled himself, letting out a breath into the Sinner's mouth and trying to respond to his kiss. He pushed his serpentine tongue to intertwine with Alastor's wider one, disregarding the sharp teeth that bit into his lips. He anchored his knees on the damp floor and, gripping the edge of the tub with his hands, pushed himself closer to Alastor. His cheeks began to flush with warmth, burning in his chest, his arousal pressing against the white, blood-stained fabric of his pants.

It was a long kiss—a very long one. A painful kiss, where Alastor squeezed his cheeks, pressing flesh against bone, and where his claws scratched the skin of Lucifer's neck as they slid down his body. The Sinner's hands joined the constricting grip of the tentacles, slipping into the collar of Lucifer's shirt, yanking it until some buttons flew off, tearing it open. Meanwhile, the vines traversed the skin beneath his clothes, unfastening the button of his pants and making them slip away. They marked his skin, grinding against the mystical scars that ran along the taut muscles of his back, where his six wings were born.

Then Alastor pulled back from the kiss, allowing him to breathe. The Sinner fixed an inscrutable gaze on the languid, panting angel.

Without releasing his face, the Half-Deer broke into a mischievous grin, sliding his wet tongue from his mouth down Lucifer's chin and cheeks, cleaning the blood and saliva that dripped profusely.

"Charlie will become the Queen of Hell in your place, and you... will be able to rest," he said, his voice musical and mellifluous, eagerly licking up the blood of Lilith still smeared on his face.

"But... how is that possible?" Lucifer asked. But at that moment, he realized he was completely naked.

He felt the cool air of the room slap against his skin and shivered as he was gently pulled back into the tub.

Alastor positioned him on his knees at the bottom, with his body draped over Alastor's torso, face to face. The murky water, thick with blood and grime, enveloped Lucifer up to his chest while the tentacles continued to traverse his skin. Their movements grew slower and softer, still caressing his back and pressing the tips against his hardened nipples, now erect with excitement.

The angel arched his back with a gasp, feeling Alastor's erection rub against him beneath the still-warm water. He clung to the tentacles, trembling and instinctively responding to their increasingly pleasurable touches.

The Half-Deer had the same flush that ignited his face, and his eyes were glued to Lucifer, who gasped with pleasure. Every detail of his trembling body was wonderful: hair plastered to skin, mouth slightly open in search of breath, blood mingling with water, turning rosy as the tentacles rubbed against his flesh. Alastor studied him, captivated by every tremor, every heartbeat that seemed to pulse even beneath his shadows.

"Let's see..." the Sinner gurgled, licking his lips, trying in vain to compose himself. He owed Lucifer an explanation if he wanted to calm him. Alastor sighed, accompanied by the usual vibrant radio effect < –.~ > while loosening the grip of the tentacles to give the angel a moment of respite.

Lucifer clung to Alastor's shoulders for support, his face tilted forward. He gasped, attempting to regain a steady rhythm as their foreheads leaned together.

Alastor held his gaze for what felt like an eternity. Then he spoke, his voice sweet as poison. "Charlie has begun the work of redemption. Kalfu, my shadow, will see it through. He is the Key; the Hazbin Hotel is Purgatory... the Crossroads between Two Worlds." Alastor's smile widened. "This is what you desired, isn't it? To bear no more burdens, no duties. Now you can fulfill this wish."

Lucifer's eyes widened. His body still trembled with excitement, but his mind was sharpening: Alastor's words struck him deeply, like a buried truth finally surfacing. So this was God's design. The lack of creation of Purgatory had not been a choice, but merely a delay, a waiting for the right moment. And Charlie, his beloved daughter, was the sign that that moment had finally come. Finally, he could rest. Switch off his mind. Let go.

"So... you want me to stay here with you?" the angel asked, his voice uncertain, as if he still didn't dare believe the words he was speaking.

Alastor merely smiled, baring his sharp teeth. His eyes narrowed, a mischievous spark crossing his face as he tilted his head sideways, making his animal ears, soaked in water, perk up.

"You're not yet worthy of Paradise, my dear Lucifer," Alastor's voice crackled, laced with an unsettling sweetness. "So, you still bear a responsibility."

Lucifer froze, staring at him with wide eyes. "What responsibility..?"

Alastor's smile grew more feral, almost carnal, as he whispered, caressing Lucifer's face with a cruel tenderness.

"The responsibility of having taught me how to love."