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The clouds split above them in a perfect circle.
The sky was filled with black, white and gold, and Alastor had the perfect view of the entertainment. It had been a year since the last exorcism, to the date. This time, they were ready for whatever heaven had to offer. The ragtag army from before had grown substantially, with new weapons, training, and motivation on all ends.
The year had really weighed on them all.
“I can’t see you go through that again.”
Alastor was stationed in his radio tower, the perfect view to protect the hotel. The perfect view of everything. As the first exorcist flew through the portal, the Radio Demon came to life. His anticipatory grin turned to a smirk as he flicked the last switch. The “On Air” Sign flickered on, and the broadcast began.
“Good afternoon sinners and saints alike! It’s a pleasure to be broadcasting to you live from Extermination Day!”
Alastor chuckled darkly as he began to see his powers in action. The hotel was blanketed in a shadowy shield covered in green symbols. It was a familiar sight, matching his original shield almost perfectly, though the symbols shifted slightly throughout the cover, and it took up a smaller space. It covered only the hotel grounds, protecting those within. Those too weak or scared to participate in the fight. It was an emergency shelter, of sorts. And Alastor was in charge of protecting it with everything he had. Of course, the demon argued that perhaps his powers would be better suited elsewhere in the fight, such as on the battlefield, but a well timed glance from Lucifer shut down his complaints.
“I can’t risk it being worse this time.”
There was no judgment to those who chose to stay inside the hotel during the fight, Charlie proudly proclaimed on one of Alastor’s broadcasts a few days before the battle. They would be safe, she promised.
Alastor’s main focus was to be on the hotel, fending off the angels that got too close to the building. He thought he had plenty more to focus on, but Lucifer insisted that he worry about the hotel solely, therefore Alastor took it to heart.
“To those of you safe at home,” he continued, “The first exorcist has come through the portal. But not to fear, sinners, our brave army is more than ready to take on some petty angels.”
His eyes traced the battlefield in front of him, taking inventory. Vaggie was closest to him, flying above the shield with her weapon drawn and a scowl on her face. She had begun sparring sessions with Lucifer and Carmilla, separately, a few months after the first battle, creating quite a lethal weapon of herself. She was to push away the angels that got too close to the shield before going into the fight. Her job was to defend Alastor’s defense. The demon couldn’t help but tighten his smile at the shot to his pride and abilities when the plan was initially made; soon after, Charlie’s concerned voice got under his skin, where he quickly and logically filed the insult away. He could handle being their primary defense, he decided, even if there was assistance provided. Through gritted teeth, he agreed to her plan.
Charlie was positioned on the ground, to the west of the hotel, several feet out. The doors to the hotel were out of her eyesight or range, which Alastor took as a silent nod to his abilities. At least she trusted him to protect it enough to not have her hovering in front of the building incase he failed.
Flanking her were Angel Dust and Cherri Bomb, armed to the teeth and practically vibrating with excitement. They had been doing weapons practice with Vaggie on most days, accompanied by some of Carmilla’s more important souls. The Radio Demon had to admit, they had become quite talented in their own ways, seeming deadlier than before.
Husk was surrounded by several cannibals and some of Carmilla’s star students opposite of Charlie, nearer to the entrance of the garden. Alastor had to crane his neck to get a view of them all under his tower. It was an impressive group of sinners. There were more cannibals and weapons geniuses scattered further out in front of the hotel, all absolutely salivating as the exorcists came flooding in.
Finally, his eyes zeroed in on his primary focus. Six white and golden wings, flying but a hundred feet away from the open portal. Lucifer, much to Alastor’s dismay, was their first level of defense. Logically, he knew that as the King of Hell, he was their strongest soldier and their best asset. But that didn’t stop the twisting feeling in his stomach as the first exorcist flew towards him, weapon pointed towards his heart.
“I can’t lose you.”
The broadcast continued with Alastor casually narrating events from around the fight. Occasionally, he would move his cane up from its position in front of him, flicking out a black, inky tentacle from the shield, fending off a stray angel. His voice never faltered. The sound never wavered. He was as professional as ever, his smile evident through the airwaves.
-
Alastor sunk into the shadows, leaving a little puddle of ink behind him. This was the fifth night in a row the Radio Demon had dismissed himself before dinner, all under different claims. Tonight he was ‘Too fatigued for a family dinner, dear.’ Though he promised to attend the next one no matter what. He hadn’t vanished soon enough to miss Charlie’s deeply concerned look towards him. She didn’t miss the way his smile faltered as he disappeared into the abyss.
He barely made it to his private room, not having the strength or energy to make it all the way to the tower. The candles were lit from earlier in the day. Their flames cast extra shadows upon the walls, giving Alastor the darkness he craved as he slouched into his desk chair. He couldn’t handle the bright overhead light anymore. Even an oil lamp was too bright.
The blood on his stomach was sticky, plastering his shirt against his flesh. He hissed as he pulled his jacket off, slinging it over the back of his chair. His red shirt was cursed a deep maroon from his stomach to his chest, causing him to shake his head. The wound must have split open again, spilling through the layers of bandages hidden under his garments. His eyes tracked over to the pile of identical shirts in the corner, all with similar patterns of maroon on them. Something wasn’t right. He was doing everything he had to heal his mortal body. Pressure, bandages, regular cleanings, heavens, he had even tried stitching the wound back together. And yet, every night he ended in the same situation, peeling off his shirt, adding it to the pile, cleaning and dressing his wound, heading to bed to toss and turn in pain.
Tonight seemed no different.
Lucifer caught the concerned look on his daughter's face and felt a sense of dread fall over himself. He knew where this was going. He knew this responsibility would fall upon himself. God, chasing down irritable, emotional Overlords was not in the job description of King of Hell. It was, he realized as Charlie turned her gaze to her father, in the job description of being her dad. And he would do anything in his power to fulfill every request of that profession.
The king nodded subtly, silently walking away from the group, all others of which were completely distracted. No one but Charlie noticed either of them leaving.
The king ended up begrudgingly in front of Alastor’s door a few minutes later. He had trouble figuring out which one was his, after realizing he wasn’t in his tower. For the drama queen, the door was quite unremarkable.
Knock knock
“Open up!” he hollered in his kindest voice, trying to sound inconspicuous.
Alastor hears the king at the door and sighs. He can’t fend him off right now, he’s too weak. Hells, he doesn’t even want to get up from his chair tonight. The demon waves his hand, trying to summon his shadows to open the door for him, but the shadows hardly move; the nob barely jiggles.
Shit. This is starting to get worse than he realized.
Lucifer glanced down at the doorknob as it started to move, about to let himself in, but watched the shadows retreat before the door could open. He heard shuffling from within and waited a moment.
“How can I assist you, your majesty?”
Alastor looks worse for wear, hair messy, voice crackling. He was gripping his cane like a lifeline,which Lucifer suspected it might be.
“You’re bleeding.”
“I don’t bleed.”
Lucifer huffs, putting a hand on his hip in annoyance. “I can literally see it seeping into your jacket.”
“I see no such thing!” Alastor’s forced smile says everything Lucifer needs to hear.
“You’re fucking blind, let me in.”
Alastor is stumbling backwards before he realized what happened. He’s glaring daggers at the tiny king as he forces himself into Alastor’s disaster of a room. Either Lucifer has more strength in him than Alastor realized, or he’s really getting bad.
The Radio Demon stood tall, watching the fallen angel take in the disaster of a room. Unmade bed, candle wax hardened over any flat surface, bedsheets and laundry piling up in the corner; his mother would be so disappointed. Was that sympathy that flashed across Lucifer’s face?
Lucifer turned back to Alastor, trying to mask the many feelings going through his head. Of all things, the king noticed Alastor’s posture falter.
“Will you please sit down? I’m not gonna attack you, Bambi. I actually just need to heal you so that you can get back to being your usual, freaky self.”
Alastor’s glare sharpens, smile widening as he leans further onto his cane.
“I think you should leave!”
“I most definitely will not, I, as the King of Hell, have the right to be wherever I please,” He shot back, sounding alarmingly like his daughter.
“There is no reason for you to be here-”
“You’re keeling over like a wounded animal. You’re not gonna heal on your own, you freak. That’s a high angelic wound. Those don’t naturally heal in demon’s bodies. You’re not the only one that’s noticed it’s gotten worse this week.”
Alastor snarled, both at his own apparent weakness and the king's observations on him.
“I’m fine! I’ve got everything under control!”
“You really think that?”
Silence fell into the tense air, only cut by the sound of Alastor’s labored breathing.
“You sound like you just got fucked and you look like you died and came back to life a second time. Just let me heal you, it’s the least I can do, as the king.”
“I refuse to owe the king of hell any debt, especially for his angelic healing!”
Lucifer stood for a second, eyes wide at Alastor’s growling statement. Okay, he put his hands up in defense, he had struck a nerve. He watched the demon limp over to his desk chair and heave down, clutching his own chest. His coat was soggy with blood now, painting his black glove a gnarly maroon color.
“Alastor, I’m not going to hold anything against you for this-”
“I can’t run that risk. Not with this damned chain already around my neck.”
“The angels sent their best fighters, insisting upon a complete wipeout of hell; a complete restart! What high hopes after last year. Unfortunately for them, we sent our best and brightest to the front lines, and it is showing! Goodness, sinners, can you see all that gold on the ground? A beautiful sight in this hellscape- oh! And Vaggie gets another!”
He watched the angel’s head fall to the ground, separate from the body. He laughs as the head bounces, splattering blood in the surrounding area.
The exorcists knew who their targets were now, and it wasn’t Alastor, that was for sure. There was another hit to his pride, especially with how he had been improving his magic over the last year, and how it was seemingly growing without his permission. But right now, he had something more important to focus on.
“Our King takes another swing, taking down three angels at once. Impressive. If anyones noticed, the Vee’s are still safe from the fight, up in their tower. I’m sure they’re having a phenomenal time watching the show. Everyone, give a little wave!” He teased, smirking into his microphone.
The army was bigger, stronger, and winning more than ever with Lucifer leading the way.
-
Alastor’s breathing, once again, was all that could be heard in the silent room. Lucifer took a step back, nodding as he processed everything. No wonder he was so powerful when he got down here.
“Then tell me I can’t. I’ll do it anyway, then I’m, I don’t know, forcing it upon you, or whatever. Then it’s not you allowing it, and you’ll owe me nothing. It’ll be all but an act of evil.”
A bargain. Lucifer really wants to do this for him. Was he really being so obvious? Or was he just more observant than he realized?
Alastor sits with the thoughts for a minute.
Two.
Two and a half.
He looks up at Lucifer with glowing eyes and shakes his head.
“Don’t you dare touch me,” He hissed.
Lucifer nods, understanding the unsaid request. He stands and slowly walks towards Alastor, hands out as though, well, handling a wounded animal.
Alastor slumps backwards, never breaking eye contact with Lucifer but allowing him to come closer, closer, until they were practically nose to nose. Lucifer could feel his ragged breathing on his forehead as he leaned down, moving his blonde hair gently.
The air in the room tightened as gold began to glow around his small hands. He carefully places them on both sides of the wound, avoiding the open flesh. He looks up into Alastors eyes, asking for permission in their weird, sadistic way.
Alastor shakes his head side to side again, his smile a grimace simply from the light pressure of his hands. This was going to be worse for Alastor than he’d originally anticipated. But with his permission, the gold surged from his hands, surrounding Alastor’s body.
-
Alastor heard it before he saw it.
His ears swiveled behind him, his body immediately following. He could hear the fleshy slice as though it was his own body.
The broadcast ended abruptly, static buzzing through the entirety of hell. All other broadcasts were completely wiped out, any technology was practically fried. It was like the good old days, screams and static heard throughout the entire pentagram.
This time they were Alastor’s screams.
The angel’s flinched at the sudden noise, not sure where it was coming from. It surrounded them, too loud for their heavenly ears. They couldn’t have prepared for it, how could they have.
These sounds hadn’t been heard in hell for over 83 years. They paused their fighting, glancing at one another, giving the hellions an advantage.
Those six wings were no longer in the air.
Alastor found him before anyone else seemed to notice what was going on. Everyone was too confused by what appeared to just be Alastor pitching a fit before going back to fighting. Disrespectful, Alastor cursed. Your King just fell to the ground and you assume I’m pitching a fit about not being in the center of attention.
He sank into the shadows, his own staying in the tower, harnessing his powers. To keep the shield up and fight against the stray angels.
The inky black he appeared from was mingling with gold as he rose in front of a crumpled white figure.
Alastor rushes forward, but his ears alert him again, falling flat against his head. They’re in danger. They’re surrounded. They’re going to die.
There is no one in the universe he would rather die next to, he realizes.
-
Static filled the air, making it hard to breathe. Green symbols bounced around the shadows, almost seemingly out of Alastor's control as a shrill shriek came from clenched teeth. The pain of the healing was almost worse than the original infliction of the wound. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t see straight, he was practically numb everywhere but his chest. Maybe he shouldn’t have agreed to this. Maybe karma was finally coming around for him. This was it, Lucifer was here to torture him for everything he’d done, on Earth and in Hell. He was positive Lucifer would broadcast his own screams for all of hell to hear, just as he had done to so many before. He hoped the king find some mercy deep down in that once angelic heart to let his torture not last long, though, deep down, he knew he deserved it to last centuries.
As suddenly as the deep, heavenly pain started, he could feel a different form of pain replace it. His head ached deeply in a much more comfortable, familiar pain. It wasn’t until he opened his eyes again that he saw his shadow had antlers sprouting out the top of its head. He realized that his own head was tilting to the side with an additional weight. The shadows, though, were darker, stronger, more menacing. The green symbols were brighter, more meaningful. He felt like himself again. After examining his surroundings, only then did he realize that the labored breathing was not from his own chest, as he had become accustomed to, but from the small white figure on its knees in front of him.
Alastor retracts his suddenly returned powers, his mouth twisting into a worried grin.
Shit, now he really does owe the king something, even if it’s just kindness.
-
There is an audible “click” that breaks through the static, screaming, and heavy breath that is broadcasting through the pentagram.
Alastor feels a weight fall from his shoulders.
Something changed.
He is free.
Alastor looks to Lucifer, who looks more terrified than he’s ever seen him, even when Charlie was in danger.
And he smiles. And smiles. Wider than he’s smiled before.
Alastor hears Lucifer call his name as he turns around, but the shadows are there. Darkness overtakes hell. Red eyes are peaking through, smiling at the angels. They’re confused. Everyone is.
Alastor rises up, held by nothing but the air beneath him. An angel falls from the sky, grasped by a dark tentacle with a green outline. She is thrown to the ground mercilessly, the shattering of her bones a crack in the air. The attention has changed. The tactic too. Suddenly, Alastor is surrounded.
And he smiles.
There are murmurs surrounding the angels. This man should have been dead. Didn’t Adam beat him? He cowered out of the fight.
Alastor could hear each of their words, only causing him to smile wider. His face was nearly split in half as his jaw unhinged, antlers grew. He continued upward, both hands raised by his sides. He wasn’t in his full demonic form, and yet, surrounding him, angels fell like comets. His shadows seemingly working for him. His eyes were completely black as he stared down the several angels seemingly looking past him to the fallen angel behind him.
He would be damned if they got to him. And right now, the demon was a saint.
Every angel would fall for the mistake they made. They cast Lucifer aside once, for the second time, they would pay.
The lesser angels were expected to fend off the ragtag army, preventing them from finding Lucifer, gold surrounding him, seeping through his usually pristine suit.
His wings, Alastor noticed, were gray. There were too many rotten feathers.
He had just preened him. Not even three days ago.
Rage overtook the Radio demon. He let the true power of hell unleash upon the angels. Finally, what they deserved.
‘After telling Charlie no, time and time again. All but crushing her dreams, literally and figuratively.
After refusing to see Angel’s changes of heart.
After wounding Alastor irreversibly.
After casting Lucifer to fall again.
A blast comes from his cane. Green symbols attach themselves to angel’s wings, forcing them to fall traumatically to the awaiting army who takes no time to dig in. Gold is covering the ground below him, but Alastor can’t see straight.
Think, he reminds himself. You can’t let this get out of your control. Focus.
The demon focuses himself. The angels are falling. There are bigger things to put his attention to, such as the three supreme exorcists in front of him.
His smile grows as he rises above them.
The angels follow him, finally seeing him for the threat he is.
“I don’t think we’ve met,” he says in his most charming announcer voice. “I am the Radio Demon. I think it’s time you get a proper introduction to hell.”
A shadow creeps behind the angels, who are quickly getting bored of his theatrics.
“I run a radio station, you see? Quite popular through the pentagram. There’s a particular segment I think you’d be interested in.”
More shadows surround the exorcists, blending into the darkness which already blankets them. The only light being that which reflects off of the angelic weapon held by Alastor’s own personal shadow, held in the same way his cane is.
“Why, it’s called,”
The angels draw their weapons, start gaining on Alastor during his silence. This was going on for far too long, they decided.
“The show.”
The shadow strikes, one swift draw through the three angels. Gold flies through the air, splattering satisfying against Alastor’s jacket. They aren’t killed, and before they get the chance to fall to their death below, Alastor flies towards them, cackling. He reached out his cane and in a flash of green light, the three angels are gone.
It’s subtle at first. Noises of fear, confusion replacing the buzzing static that has been broadcasting through hell. The screams begin. Tortured, filled with fear and pain. Alastor cackled.
A noise from below him drew him from his sadistic thoughts of torture. A groan that sliced through the screams to his sensitive ears.
Alastor practically falls himself, realizing his first job has been finished, and he now has an arguably more important one awaiting him.
Lucifer is curled in a ball, his hand pressing against his stomach as gold pools around him.
Alastor lands a few feet away from the king, who looks smaller than ever, and sprints. Sure, it may have been easier, faster to simply sink into the shadows and appear next to him, but the demon wasn’t thinking.
He sinks to his knees in a bruising drop, shoving Lucifer to his side, exposing the wound.
“Ouch…”
“That's- that's what hurts?” He cried. Literally cries, he can feel tears falling down his cheeks as a terrified smile on his face.
“Well, I can’t feel much.”
Alastor is already scanning over the wound. He knew more about this than a good many of hell’s residents. It was easy to get familiar with a human-like body and how they work when you spent the last half of your own human life taking them apart.
“Tell me- talk to me about something. Keep talking, Lucifer!” he cries out, taking the coattails of his own jacket into his hands. He rips violently, now completely back into his traditional form. He carefully takes the king’s wounds in, figuring out what needs to be patched up first, what needs pressure, how he can help.
Heavens, he doesn’t even know if Lucifer’s body will even react the same way a human body does. He can’t stop crying. His breathing is getting ragged, his hands are trembling.
“I liked the green,” Lucifer says with cloudy eyes.
“Yes, yes. It’s a trick I picked up along the way. It was all over the back streets of New Orleans,” Alastor said, his voice cracking with fear.
Alastor eased the fabric of his coat over the wound, eerily similar to the one inflicted upon himself. Deeper, he noticed. Glowing. This was done by something more powerful than Adam.
That terrified, twisting feeling in his stomach only grew. He felt like he was going to be sick.
Lucifer groans, eyes squeezing shut.
“Stop it! Keep talking to me!” he shouts, trying to figure out all of the angles. He eventually gives up, hastily pulling Lucifer into his lap. He is able to slide the king’s coat off, exposing how far across his body the cut goes.
Okay, Alastor can work with this.
“It made your antlers glow. I liked that,” Lucifer says, a soft, bloody smile on his lips.
Alastor paused, lips trembling. For a moment, he closed his eyes. And he prayed.
He prayed to his mother. Prayed she give him the wisdom and strength to get through this moment.
“I think I’m going to hate gold after this,” Alastor responds, opening his eyes and noticing his red fabric is practically glowing with the amount of angelic blood. He rips another piece, trying his hardest not to disturb the figure atop him. A longer piece, he’s able to wrap it completely around Lucifer’s quivering body. A second piece is ripped, completing a second round around his body. It’s not enough.
Alastor cries out, clutching onto Lucifer’s shoulder.
“Hey- it’s okay.”
Nothing about this situation is okay. Alastor leans down, biting down on the shoulder of his jacket and whipping his head to the side, successfully tearing the seams. He uses his other hand to rip the sleeve clean off, before tearing it down the middle seam. It’s about all he has left to offer other than protection and comfort, two things he hadn’t become familiar with until this past year.
Alastor wraps the makeshift bandage a third time around Lucifer’s body and thanks his mother that the blood is finally starting to subside, or at least soak into the fabric. The pressure would be enough for a normal human to be able to survive until proper help arrived. But what was proper help when an angel was struck by one of his own?
-
“Thank you…”
Lucifer sits back on his heels, looking up to Alastor as he puts a hand over his own heaving chest.
“That was worse than I thought it was.”
Alastor just nods, not quite sure what to do. He didn’t know how to show appreciation to people. He didn’t know what to do.
Well, he knew what his saint of a mother would do.
“Do you eat meat?” he asks dumbly.
“Uh… what?”
“I was… going to whip up some Jambalaya! Do you eat meat?”
“I, uh… yeah!”
Alastor goes into the little kitchenette and pulls out a large pot. The ingredients were already in his kitchen, making the endeavor easier. It had been a long time since he had the opportunity to cook for someone. Onions, bell peppers, oil and salt were added to the pot, before chicken, shrimp and oregano. A delicious aroma filled the room as he continued to cook, humming a soft jazz piece as he swayed with his stirring. He could hear Lucifer recover himself and shuffle to the small kitchen table; he didn’t acknowledge him.
They eat in almost silence, other than the occasional praise from Lucifer.
“Where in hell did you get this recipe?”
“Heaven!”
Alastor has a new appreciation for the king.
-
Lucifer looks up at Alastor with glossy eyes, that stupid smile stuck on his face.
Tears continue to fall onto his dirtied suit. Alastor, even in death, has never felt so afraid.