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If there was one thing Alastor prided himself on, it was the fact he always had a plan. What lesser minds would mistake for errors were merely scenic detours. Nothing quite like adding decorative flourishes to an already exquisite design.
Yes, sometimes, things didn't go quite as he envisioned — Adam snapping his staff still irked him — but what was a plan without a little chaos? Particularly when it was adorned with another’s suffering?
Scheming had to have its perks, after all.
Really, that was just the man Alastor was: regardless of how he obtained his prizes, he always secured the results he desired. No matter how long it took, once he set his sights on something — or someone — the conclusion was inevitable.
Which is precisely what brought him to his current seating arrangement.
It had been almost shockingly simple how easily Alastor had disrupted a “harmonious” trio. His mere presence had been enough to make Vox pathetically preen and glitch at the seams in an attempt to assert his alpha status — or whatever flimsy posturing he thought counted as dominance these days. That was why Alastor was brought here, so that Vox could further his delusions of adequacy by gloating about his glorified angelic battery. From there, all Alastor needed was to casually remark to the other two Vees how little credit they received from their purported leader, and then—
Oh, the fireworks.
Velvette shrieking about stolen credit for the broadcast. Valentino screaming that he’d tied the knots in the angelic rope and thus deserved acknowledgement. Vox panicking as both his “partners” threatened to renegotiate their contracts right there on the spot—
Thus, the three Vees stormed off in a profanity-laden cyclone, leaving Alastor alone. Just as intended.
Alone, that was, with Vox’s other prisoner.
“Ohohoho, now what do we have here?” Alastor mused, head tilting as he took in the utterly pathetic display before him. “I’ve heard of a canary in a coal mine, but a fallen angel in fetters is almost as clever!”
Lucifer Morningstar — tacky circus clown, sentimental trainwreck of a father, and the single most counterproductive creature the universe had ever coughed up — looked a mess. His once-ethereal glow had dimmed into a sickly, flickering haze. His normally pearlescent skin was stretched thin and colorless. His shoulders trembled with the effort of merely holding up his head.
Whatever elegance Heaven had sculpted and whatever menace Hell had forged had all been siphoned away. In their place was a hollow, drained silhouette that God had abandoned at the forge of Creation.
From what Alastor understood, the Vees had used Lucifer to power a Heaven-destroying weapon, siphoning pure angelic power to level armageddon at the golden gates above. Which meant Charlie and the others were outside now — holding out, hopefully, until Alastor handled the most important part of his plan.
He scanned Lucifer once more. The Vees had discovered that the Supreme Ruler of Hell was just as vulnerable as the rest of them to angelic rope; it was knotted tightly around his torso and ankles in an intricate pattern Valentino had proudly claimed to “use on little twinks like him all the time.” This left Lucifer trapped. His shapeshifting was cancelled out entirely as well — the cherry atop the humiliation sundae.
Lucifer blinked slowly, recognition pooling into his exhausted eyes.
“Oh. Great. It’s you.”
The voice that spoke them was hollow. Despite his clearly ruined state, fire still burned in those golden depths — fire that, from what Alastor had overheard, only burned when the Radio Demon was around.
Good.
“Shouldn’t you be decorating that TV guy’s dick or something?”
“Ugh, please.” Alastor’s ears pinning back. “The only decor that pathetic picture box’s gonads need is a baseball bat. Preferably one with spikes.”
Lucifer snorted, though he quickly deflated.
“Well, have at it, then,” he muttered. “Not like this day can get any worse.”
Normally, Alastor would have savored this. It was a lovely sight to see the radiant Morning Star reduced to a self-pitying paperweight. The sort of indignity that begged to be savored, catalogued, and replayed endlessly with a bowl of fresh tendons and glass of Sezerac.
“Oh, Sire,” Alastor crooned, “I wouldn’t ever dream of poking fun at your current situation. After all, I can certainly empathize with being… hmm, what were your words again? ‘Mr. Useless’?”
Lucifer scoffed weakly. “Oh, ha-ha-ha. Empathize. That’s rich, coming from you.” Then, his gaze sank towards the ground. A dark shadow passed over his face.
“Look… I get it. This is all my fault. I messed up. Big time. I shouldn’t have gotten involved, even if she was my little girl. I got in the way of her plans and now… now everyone’s paying for it. Charlie’s going to get hurt or worse, and—” His voice cracked. “And… I won’t be able to… save her…”
Alastor stared at him for several seconds -– long enough to where he half-wondered if the Vees had finally stopped bickering and stormed Heaven. But then, his grin sharpened.
“My. I never expected to see you this pathetic. They say one can always soar to new heights, but in your case, it’d be falling to new lows. HA!”
Lucifer shot him a look that, were his powers intact and heavenly punishment undone, would’ve incinerated Alastor on the spot.
“Watch it, asshole! I might be in here, but you’re just as stuck as I am!”
Alastor only smiled wider.
“Au contraire, my king.”
He wheeled forward until their knees nearly brushed. Every inch of the fallen angel’s body tightened — too weakened to hide the instinct, yet too proud to admit it. King of Pride, through and through.
“As much as I despise that sniveling box-headed attention whore, he is right about one thing…”
Crimson eyes raked over the trembling tension in Lucifer’s jaw and the subtle twitch of his throat muscles as he swallowed.
“A sinner’s chains are nothing like yours. And, assuming you’re capable of listening to your subjects, I do believe we can use that to our advantage.”
Lucifer blinked slowly. Left eye first. Then the right.
“Uh… come again?”
“You are unable to smite us — but we sinners can certainly smite each other.”
His static erupted around him. It, too, craved the taste of Vox’s circuitry crackling between his teeth.
“I am more than willing to teach Vox a lesson in knowing his place. All I’ll need is a little… divine intervention.”
He leaned in until their faces were nearly touching. Lucifer’s normally molten pupils were blown wide. The reflection of Alastor’s turning dials spun slowly in his gaze, transforming those once-resplendent eyes into fogged amber glass.
Such a shame; eyes like those were made for fire. But that fire was diminished now — and Alastor had every intention of stoking it once more.
“So, what do you say? Shall we make a deal?”
Silence.
Then—
A response that was not dignified in the least.
Lucifer burst out laughing. It was wild, obnoxious, and completely unhinged. He threw his head back, kicked his legs, eyes splitting in two different directions.
Alastor watched, smile faltering. Despite this, he waited patiently until Lucifer’s weakened lungs gave way, the laughter splitting into several hacking coughs.
“Wait… wait, you’re serious?” Lucifer asked in between coughs. “Me? Make a deal with you? I just—wow, okay. You’re serious. You actually think I’m just gonna give you my soul—“
“Not for your soul,” Alastor said playfully. “Just a smidge of your power! I’ve gotten myself into a bit of a pickle. These deals of mine are holding my fun back far more than is convenient.” He hummed. “So, in exchange for releasing you and delivering proper punishment to these wretched souls… I’d like you to break my deals. Both of them. Surely you’re capable of doing that.”
Confusion, it turned out, was a rather nice look on Lucifer’s face. The fallen angel’s brows knitted together, thin lips pursing into an even thinner line. Alastor could practically hear the gears in his head grinding.
“…What’s in this for you?”
Now it was Alastor’s turn to blink. “Come again?”
“Why would you offer this in the first place?” Lucifer asked, voice strained. “You’re a sinner, too, aren’t you? This is your shot to finally get back at Heaven for all the genocide. So why aren’t you siding with those guys?”
There it was. That arrogance. The painfully naive assumption that all sinners shared the same hunger for vengeance. That power was the only language spoken in Hell. That Alastor wanted to destroy what Lucifer had already nearly damaged beyond repair.
Oh, if only Alastor could savor this fragile, pathetic, deliciously raw version of the Morning Star just a little bit longer.
But, as always, business first.
“As I keep telling everyone…” Alastor’s voice dipped low, static lacing each word as the whine of a searching frequency shrilled through the air. “I do this for the entertainment.”
In the neon blue beams of light cast by the machinery around them, Alastor caught the silhouette of his own antlers expanding. The tines twisted and warped, splitting into spindled prongs that reached for Lucifer’s shadow.
It was always so delightful when his body reflected his mood so honestly: bloodlust wrapped in amusement, hunger threaded with a manic sort of anticipation.
“And as of now,” he continued, “my deals are holding me back to the point where this isn’t very fun anymore. There’s nothing more maddening than a dull existence.”
His grin stretched even more, a grotesque crescent reflected in Lucifer’s eyes. It seemed to swallow his pupils whole. Alastor rose from his chair, the cables he’d slipped days ago snapping as he planted both long, skeletal hands on either side of Lucifer’s chair, boxing the fallen angel in.
“Particularly for a soul like mine.”
For several long moments, they held each other’s gaze — Alastor’s dangerous and monstrous, Lucifer’s fragile and radiant. The sight of the king’s small, shrunken form sent disgust twisting low in Alastor’s stomach. No king, no matter how battered, should ever look so diminished.
“So… what do you say, Sire?”
A breath. A hard swallow. A flicker deep in golden eyes.
There.
Fire.
Lucifer’s fire.
“…Alright. It’s a deal, then.”
That was all it took. Alastor’s monstrous form snapped back to its usual silhouette, static stuttering violently around him. His radio dial eyes ticked and spun wildly. Verdant sigils bloomed around them as a burst of bright green magic crackled beneath Alastor’s feet. Stitches burst to life across his mouth as he extended his hand, and—
Met Lucifer’s unimpressed look.
The King of Hell raised a brow. Then, he slid his gaze down…
…to where his hands were still tied behind his back.
Ah.
“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” Alastor said breezily. “I was merely trying to set the mood.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Oversights do happen. I’m sure you’re aware of that.”
“Yup.”
“In fact, they say there’s nothing like good improv to—”
“Will you just untie me already?”
The ropes broke easily under the sharpness of Alastor’s claws. Now freed, Lucifer stood on thin, shaky legs. One hand gripped the chair for support while the other reached for his hat.
“Alright then…” Lucifer breathed, the words seemingly dragged from his lungs. “Let’s make a deal.”
“Splendid!” Alastor trilled. He extended his hand, threads of his green power dancing around his fingertips. “Right to it, then. Just one handshake, and—”
“I don’t do handshakes, Bambi,” Lucifer snapped. He had removed the apple from his hat and was fussing with it now. “It’s unsanitary. Don’t know where anyone’s hands have been.” His brow furrowed as he inspected the fruit. “My deals — the important ones anyway — take a lot more than that.”
A vein of golden power crept up the apple’s center, splitting it in half. A cloying, sickening sweet scent filled the air. Alastor’s tongue darted between his lips before his mind could catch up, tracing a slow, torturous path while red eyes locked on the sacrificial fruit.
Lucifer offered him half of the apple. A golden flame curled lazily around it — almost too gentle for the power Alastor could almost taste.
“Alastor. Radio Demon. Host of the Hotel,” Lucifer said. His six wings stretched out behind him as crimson slowly bled into his gaze. “I, Lucifer, Star of the Morning, will make a deal with you.”
The gaudy neon blue flickered dangerously, casting sharp shadows across their faces. It hollowed out Lucifer’s already worn features until he looked carved from porcelain rather than flesh. His pupils narrowed into serpentine slits. His horns extended. His tail lashed sharply against the floor. Every inch of him was ancient, beautiful, violent, magnificent.
It left Alastor breathless.
This was no angel standing before him, but the Devil. The Serpent of Eden. First Temptation himself.
The shadows around them warped and twisted, silently screaming as they bowed before the King of Hell. They slithered across the ground and curled around their boots, silently begging for a taste of a divinity they could never possess. Strange, otherworldly symbols danced around both men — verdant, gold, red. They painted the world in the language of vows older than Hell itself.
“In exchange for me freeing your soul, you will punish any sinner that stands in the way of Charlie’s dream,” Lucifer said. His voice was polyphonic now, multiple versions of himself layered together, fraying at the edges. “And you will protect Charlie and all her friends in my stead.” He raised the apple half. “So? Do we have a deal?”
“Yes.”
He lifted the half-apple to his lips, feeling its forbidden warmth bleed into his palm. Green sigils hissed along his arm, greedily snapping at the magic saturating the fruit. For a moment, he allowed himself to marvel at it — this relic of Eden’s greatest heresy, this authority to break the chains he’d worn for decades.
Finally.
A taste of freedom.
The first bite was a revelation, a dark promise sealed in golden juices. They dribbled down Alastor’s chin and spread teasingly across his tongue. The second and third were bitter and sharp — the clang of newly forged steel and the final, brittle shattering of a chain. Power spilled down his throat like molten honey, burning a path straight to the core of his soul.
Across from him, Lucifer mirrored him — biting into his own half with a trembling jaw. The fire above him sputtered, then roared in one last brilliant swell. His wings arched high, innumerable eyes opened up across his form, glowing brightly enough to blot out all of Hell. For a moment, he was the Morning Star once more.
Their gazes locked.
The lights flickered.
A thunderous thrum rattled the beams overhead — a deal being forged into the very foundations of Hell itself.
Alastor felt the contract snap into place.
And smiled.
When the glow faded, Lucifer was himself once more. The fallen angel exhaled a final, ragged breath before his flame flickered out. The glow behind his eyes dimmed, his knees buckled, and the King of Hell pitched forward.
Alastor caught him and stood him upright before he hit the ground.
“Now is not the time for a nap, Sire.”
A smarmy grin tugged at Lucifer’s mouth. “Trust me, I’d stay awake if I could. But, uh…” He gestured weakly to himself. “This… took the last of my power. I’ll be comatose for a while.”
…What…?
Fury flared in Alastor’s chest. Fury, irritation, and—
—sorrow?
“You—”
Lucifer blinked, confused. “Me…?”
Alastor’s antlers expanded violently. The lights around them dimmed under the pressure of his wrath. His smile vanished.
“You did not say that this deal would drain you entirely.”
“I mean… I assumed that part was obvious—”
“Obvious!?” Alastor’s voice ruptured into a howl of white noise before reassembling itself into words. “You suicidal idiot! Do you have any idea what you’ve done!? You cannot simply flicker out like this! Not—Not for—”
His voice broke. He grabbed Lucifer by the collar and lifted him despite the king’s feeble resistance. Their faces were mere inches apart. Lucifer’s breath ghosted unsteadily against Alastor’s cheek.
“You are the King of Hell,” Alastor snarled, unable to stop his voice from trembling. “You don’t get to simply collapse and—” His throat bobbed. “—leave her.”
Lucifer smirked. “Heh… so you do care.”
Alastor’s static flared. “I care about my investment, you decorative feather duster!”
But that wasn’t the truth — even he knew that.
Lucifer’s head lolled to the side. Panic rose hot in Alastor’s chest.
“Lucifer—no. No, no, no—rewrite the terms,” he demanded. “Change the deal. Pull power from somewhere else. From me, damn you—”
“I can’t,” Lucifer slurred. His pupils were shrinking. “It’s binding. It’s all up to you now.” He let out a weak chuckle. “Don’t worry so much… I’ll wake up again… soon…”
“It is not binding. You can unbind anything,” Alastor hissed. “You invented dealmaking, you arrogant, duck-obsessed—just amend the—”
But he stopped.
Because Lucifer’s eyes rolled back.
Because Lucifer’s body went slack.
Because Lucifer Morningstar — the most radiant, infuriating, impossible being Alastor had ever laid eyes on — collapsed fully into his arms. His head fell against Alastor’s shoulder with a soft thump.
No.
Alastor’s breath came in sharp, broken bursts. His claws dug into Lucifer’s coat with enough force to puncture the fabric. His static went silent before returning in a low, murderous hum.
“No,” Alastor whispered again. It sounded like a prayer. Or a curse. Perhaps both.
“No—wake up. Wake up, you starlit buffoon. I did not agree to this. This wasn’t part of my—”
Footsteps. Accompanied by—
Velvette’s syrupy coo.
Valentino’s delighted sing-song.
And—
Vox’s grating chuckle.
Alastor’s head whipped towards the sound. His body curled protectively around Lucifer. Shadows gathered at his feet. The Vees’ voices grew louder.
They were out of time.
Alastor grit his teeth. He lay Lucifer down on the floor, then turned, drawing himself up to his full height. His static surged around him. All fury, all irritation, all sorrow narrowed to a dangerous, bloodthirsty point.
It was time to get to work.