♱ ◟ ❤️🔥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝙙𝙚𝙫𝘪𝘭 𝖎𝖓 𝖙𝖍ℯ 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐢𝙧𝙞𝙚 𝟐 ﾟ† ֵ ིܳ ๋
𝐅andom: Hazbin Hotel
𝐏airing: Alastor x Varang ! Reader
𝐖arnings: Mentions of cannibalism, violence, blood, substance use, misogyny, profanity, sexual innuendo, delicate times for the Catholic Church, indigenous rituals.
𝐒ynopsis: With the threat of the Exorcist Angels drawing ever closer, Rosie suggests something unexpected: seeking help outside Pentagram City, in the isolated plains of Hell, where an old friend lives alongside a people as ancient as they are distrustful. Reluctantly, Charlie accepts the idea, taking Alastor with him without imagining what he will find beyond the city limits. Unlike the violent and chaotic demons he knows, these people maintain traditions, spirits, and scars that not even Hell could erase. While Charlie tries to win the tribe's trust, Alastor finds himself intrigued by the mysterious blue-skinned, golden-eyed woman who leads the place, someone who carries the cold of death in her body, hates the city, and seems to see through the Radio Demon's smile.
Just a reminder that English is not my first language, so please forgive any mistakes!
The infernal road seemed endless. The further they got from the borders of Pentagram City, the more reality itself dissolved around them. The decaying buildings and flashing neon signs were left behind, swallowed by a dense fog, giving way to vast plains of reddish, barren earth, formations of black, pointed rocks, and dry trees whose twisted branches looked like claws charred from the root.
The sky remained blood-red, but there… Hell seemed too silent. An oppressive emptiness. Inside the car, however, silence was a mathematical impossibility. Vaggie gripped the steering wheel so tightly that her knuckles were white, almost sinking into the synthetic leather as she tried to avoid the potholes in the dusty road. Beside her, Charlie was practically with his nose pressed against the window, his eyes gleaming. "This is so exciting!" she commented, flashing a wide smile and gesturing towards the vastness outside. "We're literally exploring a completely unknown part of Hell."
"In my land, 'unknown' usually means 'we're going to die a horrible death,'" Vaggie replied dryly, without taking her eyes off the road and pressing the accelerator. In the back seat, the space was a joke. Angel Dust was practically sprawled out, using two of his hands to hold onto the roof and the other two to lean against the right window, huffing a breath that smelled like tutti-frutti. "Honestly?" "If I really die after spending HOURS crushed in this quail egg on wheels, my ghost will come back to haunt the designer who designed this bench."
"You're already dead and in Hell, idiot," Husk grumbled from the other side, squeezed against the opposite door. He kept his arms crossed over his hairy chest and an expression of pure misery, holding a bottle of cheap liquor between his thighs. He was clearly regretting every choice that had led him there.
Between the two, almost disappearing into the upholstery because of his tiny height, Niffty hopped around, banging his little hands on the glass. "What if they have giant insects? Or mutant parasites?" "Or worms that eat human flesh from the inside out?!" she squealed, her single eye wide with pure ecstasy. Angel Dust looked down, making a face of disgust. "Why the hell does that excite you, you psycho doll?!"
"Because I want to stab them all!" She laughed, pulling a huge needle from somewhere in the frills of her dress. Husk let out a sigh so heavy that his bat wings twitched behind his back. "I deeply hate you all."
Outside the vehicle, the situation was even more bizarre. In the open, makeshift trunk of the car, holding on with one hand to the roof and the other firmly planted with his cane, Alastor fought a losing battle against physics. The infernal wind lashed his face, messing up his meticulously cut hair and throwing dust onto his red coat. The Radio Demon was clearly reconsidering his life.
"Ah, magnificent!" His voice echoed, coming directly from the radio. The car's dashboard creaked and blinked in sync with his mood. "Decades of absolute terror, historical massacres, and psychological domination over the urban population… only to end up traveling in the back of the car like an old suitcase forgotten in the rain!"
Vaggie leaned slightly toward the dashboard, shouting into the microphone: "You're the one who said you'd rather be thrown into the acid pit than share a cramped seat with us, you prim and proper!"
"And I'm still absolutely right!" the radio crackled with a shrill interference. "The physical proximity to the smell of wet fur and cheap perfume would stink up my jacket!"
Angel Dust let out a mocking laugh, sticking his head between the front seats and looking in the rearview mirror. "Relax, long legs. At least the wind in your face is making your hair sexy. Messy, you know? It's tempting.
"Angel…" Husk warned, nudging the spider in the ribs with his elbow. "What? I'm trying to improve the mood in this sardine can! What if he decides to reward me later with those monster claws—"
"Shut up, please," Vaggie growled, massaging her temples. "You never let me dream, you alcoholic cat," Angel muttered, crossing her arms dramatically. Charlie tried to ignore the conversation. She really tried, keeping a smile plastered on her face as she turned to the radio. "So… Alastor! Does Rosie really know this Y/N girl for that long?"
The static voice returned, cutting through the ghostly music playing in the background. "According to dear Rosie's gossip, decades~! Which, honestly, only serves to pique my curiosity."
"Curious about her or about the chance to get a lucrative deal at Charlie's expense?" Vaggie asked, narrowing her eyes in the mirror. "Yes!" Alastor replied promptly, the sound of a 1930s-style horn echoing through the loudspeaker. "That's not an answer!" Vaggie grumbled.
"Exactly!" Vaggie clenched her teeth so hard that a crackling sound echoed through the car. Which made Alastor laugh even louder.
The road remained unchanged. A few more minutes dragged on with stupid arguments, Angel Dust spouting obscene innuendos that Charlie tried to ignore by humming hotel hymns, and Husk threatening to smash the bottle over someone's head if the car didn't stop. Until, finally, Vaggie's patience evaporated.
"Alastor," she called, her voice dangerously soft. "Are we close or are we lost in this desert of blood?" The radio static increased, turning into a high-pitched hiss of pure interference before his cheerful, rhythmic voice replied: "Everything is going perfectly according to Rosie's coordinates! Now, please shut up and keep driving, my dear driver~!"
Vaggie's eye twitched. "I'm going to kill him. I'm going to get out of this car and chop him into little pieces." "We can't kill our most powerful ally before we even start the mission, Vaggie!" Charlie intervened quickly, grabbing his girlfriend's arm. "Can I leave him seriously injured?"
"That seems like a fair compromise," Husk pointed out, downing the rest of the liquid from the bottle. Before Charlie could protest, Vaggie slammed on the brakes. The car skidded on the red sand, kicking up a cloud of dust. Everyone was thrown forward by the impact. "Okay. That's it. Technical stop," Vaggie declared, turning off the engine. "We need to stretch our legs before I throw this car off a cliff." Angel Dust practically tripped out of the car the second the door unlocked, landing on all fours on the road. "Finally! My wonderful butt was starting to get flat and square in that cheap upholstery!"
Niffty shot out through the door like a projectile, running in circles around the car, her legs blurring, laughing to herself. Husk got out right behind, taking slow, heavy steps, flapping her wings to shake off the dust and already searching for another bottle in her clothes. Alastor climbed down from the trunk. He leaped with surprising dignity for someone who had crossed the desert in an open trunk. He landed softly on the sand, used his cane for support, and began patting his coat sleeves, adjusting his bow tie with quick, irritated gestures, though his smile remained intact. "An absolutely abominable experience," he commented, his voice returning to its normal acoustic tone, though still slightly metallic. "I will never again allow—"
"You literally don't breathe, Alastor," Vaggie retorted, slamming the driver's side door shut. "And yet, my dear, I managed to suffer psychologically with every jolt of this decrepit vehicle!" Charlie ignored the usual exchange of barbs and took a few steps away from the car, shielding his eyes from the haze to observe the horizon. The plains were colossal. The hot, dry wind blew, raising swirls of dark sand around his boots. In the distance, among the rock formations, high-pitched, mournful sounds of unknown creatures echoed, dying into the void. This definitely didn't look like Pentagram City. It was a primitive Hell. Savage.
"So… what's the initial plan when we find the Y/N people?" Charlie asked, turning to the group. "The plan is to try not to insult or threaten to eat the locals," Vaggie replied, casting a half-closed glance directly at Alastor. The Radio Demon tilted his head, his eyes gleaming with scorn. "Ah, but what would be the fun in that? You take all the fun out of social interactions, really."
Husk wiped his mouth with the back of his furry hand and looked around, his ears lowered. "I still think this is going to be a monumental mess…" Husk's warning came a second too late. Something hit Angel Dust. A brutal impact. A swift, dark silhouette emerged from nowhere, coming from atop one of the rocks, and hurled him against the dusty ground before anyone there could process the movement.
"WHAT THE HELL IS THIS—?!" Angel screamed, his body sprawled on the ground. His eyes widened as he felt the sharp cold of a curved, serrated blade pressed against the skin of his neck. "Angel!" Charlie yelled. Vaggie reacted purely on instinct, her eyes blazing with fury as her angelic steel spear materialized in her hand with a snap of sacred energy. But before she could take a step, shadows began to sprout from the cracks in the black rocks. One. Two. Five. Ten. In seconds, a perfect circle of demons surrounded the vehicle and the group.
They looked nothing like the sinners of the city. They wore rustic attire made of heavy leather, carved bones, and tattered dark fabrics. Their gray and red skin was marked with white war paint, made of ashes. Some wielded long spears with chipped stone tips; Others held stiff, solid wooden bows, arrows pointed straight at the group's heads.
Right behind the warriors, the mounts appeared. Creatures resembling horses, but too tall and pale, with fur that looked like raw flesh in places. Most disturbing were their elongated heads: four yellow, vertical eyes gleamed on each side of the skull, puffing hot, black smoke from their torn nostrils. The animals pounded their heavy hooves on the ground, anxious.
Alastor observed the scene without moving a muscle, his cane resting in front of him. "Ah," he commented, his tone calm, almost bored, contrasting with the radio buzzing that rose in pitch. "Looks like we've found the locals. And they have lovely manners."
"ALASTOR, THIS IS NO TIME TO USE YOUR SARCASTIC TONE!" Charlie yelled, her eyes blinking in her demonic form from stress. Before a strategy could be devised, Niffty let out a high-pitched, hysterical screech of pure joy.
"VIOLENCE!"
She darted like a blur toward the nearest warrior. With frightening agility, she climbed the demon's leg and buried her giant sewing needle in his thigh. The warrior roared in pain, but another hunter reacted quickly, grabbing Niffty by the collar of her dress mid-air. The demon growled, displaying rows of needle-sharp teeth, while Niffty merely swung her legs and laughed uncontrollably, trying to poke his eyes.
Husk rushed forward to help, spreading his wings for momentum and delivering a powerful kick to the chest of one of the archers, throwing him against the side of the car. However, before he could... As soon as he could celebrate, two long spears crossed against his stomach, pushing him back forcefully. He recoiled, letting out a heavy curse as he raised his clawed hands in a defensive stance.
Vaggie immediately positioned herself in front of Charlie, the tip of her spear gleaming intensely sky-blue, spinning the weapon with military precision. "Everyone back up and stay together!" Back to back! The native warriors began to close the circle in a coordinated fashion. They didn't shout, they didn't speak. Their silence was the most terrifying thing; only the guttural growl of the four-eyed mounts and the sound of spear tips dragging in the sand broke the desert's stillness.
Alastor remained motionless in the center of the chaos. His red eyes began to mutate, his pupils spun like old radio dials, and his teeth seemed to grow, gleaming with a predatory, yellowish hue. Black, liquid shadows began to bubble beneath his boots, stretching across the land like tentacles ready to tear open the chests of each of those savage demons. The static around him rose to a deafening level, making the hunters' bows vibrate.
He could obliterate them. Easily. Reduce them to ashes and feast on their souls right there for daring to ambush him. His fingers tightened on the microphone. From the cane. The adrenaline of the impending massacre surged... And then, abruptly, the pointers in his eyes stopped. His smile changed from sadistic to purely calculating. Y/N. If that band belonged to her, fighting would cause an unnecessary war prematurely. But being captured… Ah, being captured was a direct invitation to the heart of enemy territory. A free pass to their Queen.
The shadows beneath her feet instantly receded, vanishing into the earth. The radio static subsided into a soft jazz melody in the background. "Ahhh… let's keep our composure and cooperate a little with our new friends, shall we?" Alastor announced, raising both gloved hands theatrically, surrendering with the widest smile possible.
"ARE YOU COMPLETELY MAD?!" Vaggie shouted, glancing at him without lowering her guard. But the surrender signal was the trigger. Three more warriors advanced like shadows, disarming Vaggie by striking her spears simultaneously with three spears, forcing the weapon's tip against the ground. In seconds, the group was completely overwhelmed, with blades and bone points aimed at their necks, chests, and backs. Angel Dust, still with the blade at his neck, began to thrash about with all four arms raised.
"I KNEW IT! I told you! I warned you we were going to be kidnapped and eaten alive by cannibalistic hillbillies from the woods! My flesh is full of toxins, you pigs, you're going to have terrible heartburn!"
"Shut up, Angel!" Husk growled, his teeth clenched as he was unceremoniously shoved into the ribs by the tip of a spear. "This is all your fault!" Vaggie roared, glaring murderously at Alastor as one of the warriors bound his wrists with thick fiber ropes.
Alastor simply walked calmly ahead, escorted as if leading a gala parade. "Well, let's be fair, technically the idea of coming here was entirely our dear Rosie's~" he hummed, his voice coming out with an amusing echo effect.
"I'LL STRANGLE YOU IF WE SURVIVE!" Vaggie yelled. Charlie desperately tried to gesture and speak to the captors, her voice rising in tone with nervousness as she was led: "Hello! We're from the city! We want to speak with Y/N! We come in peace! Peace! Does anyone understand what I'm saying?!"
None of the warriors answered. They simply continued pushing the group with firm steps across the vastness of the reddish plain. Around them, the four-eyed horses marched in sync, their bright eyes fixed on the prisoners. Above them all, the dense red sky of Hell seemed to weigh even more heavily, suffocating any trace of hope beneath the desert dust.
The trek across the arid badlands seemed endless. Hell’s scarlet sun beat down on the horizon as the Mangkwan warriors continued to herd the Hazbin Hotel group forward with ruthless, military precision. The polished bone and metal tips of their long spears hovered dangerously close to the group’s bodies, ready to punish any false move. None of the captors uttered a single word. And honestly… that deathly silence made the atmosphere a thousand times worse. The only constant, unsettling sound was the howling of the hot, sulfurous wind through the crevices of dark rock formations, mingled with the heavy, rhythmic thud of the four-eyed beasts' paws. Those massive, muscular hell-beasts paced around the group like gigantic guard dogs, baring rows of razor-sharp teeth with every low growl.
Angel Dust, his four arms pulled tight against his chest, darted his wide eyes in every direction, gripped by sheer panic. “Look, I hate this… I hate this so much—like, really hate it! The whole vibe here is screaming ‘mass ritual sacrifice.’ Someone please tell me they aren't gonna rip my heart out.” “Shut your mouth, Angel, before they understand you and decide to speed up the process!” Vaggie hissed through gritted teeth, her eyes fixed on the warrior ahead and her hand itching to draw her exorcist spear. “Oh, sure! Because staying quiet and smiling always worked wonders for people in the ghetto, right, sweetheart?!” …the spider-demon retorted hysterically.
A little further back, Husk was still being shoved along or rather, the warriors were trying to keep him in line. In a moment of impatience with the feline’s slow pace, one of the Mangkwan reached out with an open palm and gripped the back of Husk’s neck with surgical precision, squeezing the loose skin at the base of the cat-demon’s neck. The effect was instantaneous and hilarious. The former Overlord simply froze. His limbs went completely rigid, arms pinned to his sides and his card-wings paralyzed in a half-open state. His eyes bulged, pupils shrinking to two black slits, and his feline ears flattened humiliatingly against his skull. He looked just like a kitten being carried by its mother. Charlie stopped walking, looking back with an expression of pure confusion. "…Husk? Are you okay?" The feline remained motionless, moving only his lips with great difficulty. “What’s gotten into this flea-bag now?” Angel said, poking Husk’s wing with a finger.
“Well, isn't that fascinating!” Alastor commented, his voice distorted by the static of the radio as he walked elegantly beside them, leaning on his microphone as if strolling in a park. “It seems our hosts have discovered the biological pressure point of domestic cats. A perfect submission mechanism!”
“THERE’S NOTHING FASCINATING HERE! OH, YOU FUCKING COURT DESIGNER!” Husk yelled back, his voice screeching as he tried to free himself from the magnetic tug on his neck. “I HATE THIS PLACE! I HATE THE OUTBACK OF HELL!” Meanwhile, Niffty ran in circles around the warriors’ legs, her eyes gleaming with almost insane excitement. “Oh, they’re so clean and tidy! Look at the symmetry of those spears!” she squealed, pulling a huge needle from her robes. “I really want to stab them all… but in an extremely respectful and polite way.”
Charlie ignored Niffty’s outburst, or at least tried to focus her attention on something that didn’t involve manslaughter. As the group moved across the depressions of the plain, the topography began to change drastically. Massive gray stone monoliths rose from the barren ground like natural pillars warped by the heat of the Underworld.
Some of those ancient rocks bore mysterious cave paintings traced in thick white and red pigments depicting protective symbols and tales of colonial hunts that had taken place on Earth centuries before. Then… the party finally reached the crest of a rise, revealing their ultimate destination. A vast natural clearing opened up between the towering rock faces. And in the center of that hollow lay an entire, perfectly organized community. Numerous colossal dwellings resembling huts and tents of immense scale were arranged in concentric circles across the plain. They were constructed from the dark hides and leathers of hellish beasts, supported by the gigantic ribs and skulls of prehistoric creatures, and lashed together with beams of charred black wood. Large bonfires, burning with blue and orange flames, blazed constantly at strategic points, radiating a comforting warmth. Demons of all ages populated the space.
As the band of misfits from the Hazbin Hotel was led into the center of the settlement, the community's chatter fell completely silent. Everyone stopped what they were doing. Women braiding plant fibers, children playing with polished bones, and warriors sharpening their weapons all fixed their gazes on the newcomers. These demons shared similar physical traits small horns, prominent teeth, tails, and eyes that gleamed in the dark. Yet, there was something fundamentally different about them compared to the decadent, chaotic fauna of Pentagram City. They did not appear corrupted by vice or sinful modernity. They seemed ancient.
Connected to the earth by an invisible, sacred bond. More dignified. More alive. Charlie watched it all with eyes shining in sheer fascination, marveling at the rustic beauty of that society, momentarily forgetting that she was in the crosshairs of dozens of weapons. “Wow… this is just… incredible…”
“Oh, great. Wonderful,” Angel Dust muttered, irony dripping from his words as he tried to hide behind Vaggie. “They’ve organized themselves into a functional village. Darlings, this is terrible. Demons with a sense of community don’t take bribes of drugs or sex—they only accept blood. I’m done for.”
The warriors finally came to a halt in the heart of the village, forming a cordon around the prisoners. A wave of hurried whispers—in an unfamiliar dialect of the ancient, preserved Na’vi tongue—rippled through the natives as they eyed the group with suspicion. Their gazes focused particularly on Alastor.
The Radio Demon’s aura steeped in the scent of tormented souls, electromagnetic static, and the decay of early 20th-century New Orleans seemed to immediately unsettle and offend the locals, like a pollutant in a sanctuary. Alastor, however, maintained his wide, fixed grin, eyes narrowed and deer-like ears slightly raised; he exuded aristocratic politeness while inwardly calculating thirty different ways to tear apart every soul in the vicinity should the situation spiral out of control. That was when the warrior leading the patrol stepped forward, puffed out his chest, and called out in a voice that reverberated off the rocks: “Tsahik!”
Silence fell over the village of Mangkwan like a heavy blade. Even the four-eyed dogs lay flat on the ground, submissive. Charlie blinked, confused by the term. Vaggie stepped forward, shielding the princess and gripping her spear even tighter. Even Alastor raised his eyebrows slightly, his smile narrowing into genuine curiosity.
The leather flap of the village's largest tent adorned with the teeth of hell-dragons was slowly pushed aside from within. And from there emerged the village’s sovereign figure: a tall, slender woman with an impeccably upright posture. Her skin bore a striking, cold blue hue almost deathly that contrasted magnificently with the environment's scorching heat and crimson sky. Ancient, silvery scars marred the visible parts of her body an eternal legacy of the stones and branches from her final escape on Earth standing out most prominently above her left eyebrow and trailing down beneath her dark, tribal-cut garments accented with bone. Her thick black hair fell in partial braids over her shoulders, adorned with small volcanic rock beads. The pointed feline ears atop her head twitched subtly, catching the air's vibrations as she surveyed the party. And her eyes… large, feline, and a luminous, intense yellow. Eyes that had witnessed the worst of the human world and now radiated a wary, razor-sharp wisdom. Y/N.
The Tsahik stood motionless atop the raised platform of the longhouse, arms crossed, glaring at that utterly bizarre and dysfunctional band of sinful demons who had dared to trespass on her sacred lands. Charlie ventured a small, trembling, and desperate diplomatic smile. Angel Dust looked on the verge of fainting from anxiety, using Husk as a human shield. Husk, for his part, remained partially paralyzed by the grip on the back of his neck, snorting in humiliation. And Niffty kept cheerfully waving at the warrior who had nearly beheaded her just minutes before. And Alastor… The Radio Demon tilted his head slightly to the side. The smile on his face previously a mask of pure defensiveness widened into a genuine, intrigued expression, his eyes fixed on the woman’s blue markings. The static crackling around him emitted a soft note of recognition. Ah. So that was the famous Y/N. Rosie’s legendary old friend.
Y/N remained atop the rise for a few seconds that seemed to stretch on for hours. Her yellow, feline gaze swept over the group like that of a predator assessing the arrival of an exotic, invasive species in its territory. The silence that settled over the clearing was absolute; even the crackling of the campfires seemed to dim as the Mangkwan clan awaited the slightest reaction from their Tsahik.
Then, she began to descend. Her gait was calm and commanding, possessing a dangerous, feline grace. Her waist, adorned with dark leather belts, swayed gently in rhythm with the movement of her long, bluish tail. With every step, the small pieces of polished bone and beast teeth sewn into her tribal attire produced a low, rhythmic tinkling—an audible warning that death was approaching unhurriedly. She stopped a short distance from the group.
Her glowing eyes meticulously analyzed every detail: the stitching, the postures, the weaknesses. Charlie swallowed hard, feeling cold sweat trickle down the back of her neck. Angel Dust hunched his shoulders, genuinely intimidated. Only Alastor held her gaze, maintaining his fixed smile and eyes narrowed in pure amusement.
“Who are you?” Y/N’s voice cut through the air. It was steady, spoken in a low tone, yet it carried that wild, rasping cadence of someone who had spent centuries speaking only to the forest and to blood. Charlie, driven by her chronic diplomatic optimism, forced a nervous smile and took a formal step forward, extending her hands.
“My name is Charlie Morningstar! I am Lucifer’s daughter and the Princess Regent of Hell.” One of Y/N’s dark eyebrows slowly arched. A look of cold, genuine confusion crossed her feline features. “…Who?” Charlie blinked, mouth agape, completely disarmed by this theological void. Seeing the princess’s hesitation, Angel Dust decided to step in on his own terms. “The fallen angel, you know? The big boss in the white suit from the City? The god down here or whatever you cutie-pie call the guy who runs the joint.”
Alastor rolled his eyes theatrically, letting out a scoffing sigh over the radio. Y/N slowly turned to face Angel. She subjected him to a silent, devastating appraisal, sizing him up from head to toe taking in the garish suit, the excess arms, the makeup, and the vulgar posture.
Under that icy scrutiny, the spider-demon’s bravado visibly withered until he tucked away his extra arms. “There are no gods here,” Y/N replied dryly, almost indifferently. Her voice remained calm, yet it resonated with the weight of an absolute truth. “This land belongs to the forgotten.” Silence fell once more, heavy as lead.
Even Vaggie recoiled slightly. Y/N’s response echoed her past life: to one destroyed in the name of a Crown and a Church, royal titles and deities were nothing but empty words. Then… Y/N’s blue lips curled into a lopsided smile. Slowly. Revealing rows of razor-sharp teeth and prominent fangs. “Though… you all look like an excellent appetizer for the coming night.” Mocking, guttural laughter immediately erupted from the surrounding Mangkwan warriors, who began banging the shafts of their spears against the stone floor.
Angel Dust’s glittery eyes went wide as he jumped back. “Oh, no! NO! Don’t even think about it! I’m nothing but bone and silicone, sweetie! I’m too skinny to be digested!”
“Not to mention I taste exactly like cheap vodka and stale cigars,” Husk grumbled, finally rubbing his neck after the warrior loosened his grip. “And probably some hellish STD that’ll rot your stomachs out!” Angel added desperately. “ANGEL!” Charlie screamed in horror, covering her face with her hands.
Husk struggled to his feet, brushing the dust off his card-patterned wings. “Look, if dinner is inevitable, start with the talking deer over there. I guarantee game meat is cleaner.” Alastor let out a short, dry, and utterly humorless laugh, his eyes glowing with a dangerous, radio-static hue.
Vaggie, realizing the line between diplomacy and a massacre of biblical proportions was about to snap, planted herself firmly in front of Charlie. She raised her open hands, showing she wasn't wielding her spear. “Listen. We didn’t cross the plains to wage war against your clan.” Y/N fixed his yellow eyes on the former exorcist. “Then why did you desecrate our soil?”
Charlie swallowed hard before stepping forward, nearly stumbling over her words in her anxiety. Her fingers interlaced nervously in front of her, and her red-rimmed eyes shone with a mix of sheer desperation and hope. “Because… because we need help. We need your help… please.” Her voice wavered for a moment, but she took a deep breath, trying to hold herself together despite the fear clearly etched on her face.
“There’s a war coming. Those… those flying girls you must see, the angels who come down here every year to slaughter us, they’re coming after me and my friends now. And it’s only a matter of time before they come after you, too. Your people. Everyone down here.” She hesitated for a brief second before continuing, her voice lower and more earnest. “Rosie… your friend… said that maybe you could help us. And I know asking this is a lot- I really d- but… I don’t want anyone else to die. I just… I just want to save the people I love.”
Y/N’s expression didn’t shift a single millimeter. “Help?” she repeated the word, savoring the syllables as if they belonged to some absurd, forgotten language. “Your kind never extended a hand to us. You never helped when the ice burned. So why would my people lift a finger for you?”
A hot wind swept through the clearing, fluttering the tent ribbons as she continued, her tone hardening subtly with every word: “You cross the desert to ask us to fight a war that isn’t ours. A war against the Sky People.”
The mention of the "Sky People" made the Mangkwan warriors’ muscles instantly tense. The growls of the four-eyed beasts grew sharper. Y/N glanced away for a split second, staring into the blue flames of the central bonfire. In that fleeting moment, shadows of ancient memories—the crack of a colonial carbine, the glint of dark uniforms, and Säleya’s blood on the snow—seemed to flash across her immortal mind.
“The skies shattered our minds and stole our voices long ago. Rosie isn’t my friend; there are no friends here! She was only fooling herself if she thought I’d help her,” she murmured, almost to herself.
Charlie sensed the ancestral pain in that sentence—the deep trauma of a colonization that had spanned centuries. But before the princess could frame a humanitarian plea, Y/N turned her back and barked a harsh order in the Mangkwan dialect to the nearest warriors: “Ke zene nga tsun tìran. Ayoe slä ke lu frato.” “No need to worry about a fight. They’ll be devoured before that happens.” A wave of cruel laughter rippled through the natives. Angel Dust began to hyperventilate.
“OKAY! THAT DEFINITELY WASN’T A DIPLOMATIC METAPHOR!” That was when a perfectly modulated, vibrant voice—carrying the classic static crackle of a 1930s broadcast—cut through the general mockery. “My, my, that was incredibly rude, my dear.” Alastor’s voice made Y/N freeze in her tracks.
She slowly turned her head, her feline ears pricking up. And for the first time since leaving the hut, she truly looked at him. Her yellow eyes narrowed into slits. There was something fundamentally wrong with that particular demon. The aura radiating from his red attire, the unchanging smile that seemed stitched onto his face, and the outrageous ease with which he remained relaxed while surrounded by a ring of spears, none of that belonged to an ordinary sinner. He showed none of the dread the others did. He looked like an alpha predator surveying the territory of a weak rival.
“What is your name, creature?” Y/N asked, turning her entire body toward him. Alastor leaned his torso slightly forward, tipping an imaginary hat with exaggerated, theatrical elegance. “Alastor! Also known as the Radio Demon. An absolutely delightful pleasure to meet you, my lady!~”
Y/N began to walk toward him with slow steps, pulling her long, dark braid over her chest with an absentminded movement of her claws. She closed the distance between them until she stopped—far too close. Close enough that the heat radiating from her bluish skin encroached upon the Overlord’s personal space.
Her right hand rose slowly toward Alastor’s face. She didn’t touch him; she merely moved her sharp-clawed fingers in a circular arc near his cheeks, as if testing the air’s resistance or tracing the heat of his flesh. Alastor’s smile remained fixed, but his pupils instantly shifted into the tuning dials of an antique radio. His eyes darkened, taking on a deep crimson hue.
He took a single firm step back, maintaining his distance. “Oh, my dear… don’t you dare lay a finger on me.” His voice dropped an octave, accompanied by a loud hum of destructive static that made the surrounding stones vibrate. “Or I shall be forced to reap your life before the next beat.” A few nearby Mangkwan women stifled giggles at the stranger’s audacity. Y/N joined in the laughter—a low, rough, and genuinely amused sound.
“You don’t make the rules here, shadow-weaver. You don’t kill anyone in my territory.” The taunt was the perfect trigger. Alastor’s smile stretched to the very edges of his face, revealing pointed green teeth. His eyes gleamed with pure sadism. With a casual, almost bored movement, he simply pointed his left index finger at the Mangkwan warrior holding a spear closest to his chest. The ground beneath the warrior’s feet cracked open. A pillar of emerald-green fire and dark runes erupted violently from the bowels of the rock. The Mangkwan demon didn’t even have time to scream or raise his weapon; the combustion was instantaneous, absolute, and surgical.
In less than a second, the warrior was completely disintegrated, reduced to a cloud of gray ash that the hot wind scattered across the courtyard. The silence that followed was deathly. Several tribesmen immediately stepped back, gripping their weapons with renewed urgency. The four-eyed beasts growled loudly, the fur along their spines bristling. Startled, the guard holding Husk abruptly let go, causing the cat to land hard on his backside on the stone floor. “Son of a bitch…” Husk cursed under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck and staring at the pile of ash. “He always has to resort to a pyrotechnic display.”
Y/N remained motionless in the same spot. Her feline ears drooped slightly, her eyes fixed on the spot where her warrior had stood just seconds before. She processed the display of destructive power without showing fear, only a purely tactical assessment. Then… her lips curved upward again. A slow, wide, and strangely satisfied smile.
“Nice trick…” her yellow eyes rose, meeting his with a new intensity. “Radio Demon.” Alastor let out an elegant laugh, the static crackle subsiding. With a sharp snap of his fingers, a large, metal-reinforced leather case appeared out of thin air, materializing on the ground between them. Niffty jumped, her wide eyes locking onto the object. “OOOOH! A GIFT?! IS IT A COMPLIMENTARY GIFT?!” Angel and Husk craned their necks, curious. Charlie, on the other hand, took a step back, immediately recognizing the shape of the chest. At a nod from Y/N, two warriors cautiously approached, undid the case’s buckles, and lifted the heavy lid. Instantly, both natives froze, their breath catching in their throats.
The interior of the chest gleamed with the pale, lethal luster of purified metal. Angelic weaponry. Split-tipped spears, throwing daggers forged from celestial steel, and rifles modified to fire ammunition bathed in divine purity. Though these were technological weapons, distinct from the rustic artifacts the clan typically employed, the Mangkwan possessed the hunter’s instinct; they knew full well what that metal could do to any creature of Hell. Including the exorcists who threatened them.
Y/N stepped forward, leaning slightly over the case. Her pupils dilated with genuine, almost childlike curiosity, mingled with a dark fascination. She extended a claw, lightly touching the edge of one of the celestial blades. Alastor rested both hands on the knob of his microphone, leaning forward with the triumphant grin of a successful soul-dealer. "As many as your clan desires, my esteemed Tsahik."
The air around them seemed to crackle with electricity. The scent of sulfur mingled with the metallic tang of the divine weapons. Y/N straightened up and walked back toward Alastor. This time, there was no hesitation, no power games, no testing of boundaries. She recognized in him what Rosie Cooper had promised in her letters: a monster, dangerous, yet useful. Her blue-hued hand rose once more toward the Overlord’s face, repeating the earlier gesture; she traced the air near his cheek with her claws as if sealing a silent pact, gauging the heat of his presence. She offered a half-smile, her ears swiveling toward the vast hollow.
“Come.” Y/N turned on her heel with regal composure, letting her long feline tail set the rhythm of her departure. She walked toward the entrance of the great bone tent. Upon reaching the heavy leather curtains, she pulled the fabric aside with a claw, holding the way open for him to enter first, a gesture of respect reserved for apex predators.
Alastor eyed the opening for a brief moment, the signature gleam returning to his eyes. He adjusted his red coat, settled the microphone under his arm, and crossed the threshold, vanishing into the dim interior of the leader’s dwelling. The leather curtain fell shut behind him, sealing the two of them off from the outside world. Outside, in the center of the courtyard, Vaggie let out a long, sharp exhale, her posture slumping slightly. “I think we’re completely screwed.”
Charlie took a deep breath, clasping her hands before her chest in a desperate attempt to maintain her optimism. “No… no, hang on, Vaggie! That was… a negotiation! Progress! We can make this work, I’m sure of it!”
Around the rest of the group, however, the Mangkwan warriors didn't seem to share the princess's faith. They kept their spears raised and their eyes fixed on every breath Charlie, Angel, and Husk took, watching them like wary wolves guarding the mouth of their den. Angel Dust, feeling the weight of those dozens of yellow gazes, slowly raised his four arms in a gesture of peaceful surrender and risked a sheepish grin at the nearest warrior. "Soooo… forest folks… does anyone here enjoy a recreational substance, some angel dust, or maybe some high-class adult entertainment, to pass the time while the bosses chat?"
"Angel," Husk interrupted, his voice the weary drawl of someone who could already see the disaster coming. "Shut the fuck up."
"I'm just trying to socialize, okay?! I've already got the 'no'—now I'm just chasing the humiliation."
Taglist: @jaymiwrld
It was quite difficult to write this chapter and the next one. I really wasn't sure whether to split the flashbacks into parts or present everything at once, even before Y/N appears. Either way, here it is. I admit it was actually quite fun writing the other characters' dialogue, and, honestly, I’m still thinking about how to better develop Y/N, what her ambitions are, what truly drives her. Even so, I tried my best to show just how fascinated she was by Alastor's green fire. An important detail is that the Mangkwan tribes do possess powers, but they are linked to the earth, not fire. That said, they have recently started worshipping fire, so there is a whole symbolic connection involved there. Also, Rosie mentioned angelic weapons because she knows about Y/N's interest and is well aware of how much she would love to test one out on an angel. I hope you enjoyed it! It might be a while before another little piece of this story shows up here.
