I am not weak.
It had been a long time. A very long time. Too long, really, since Alastor's last broadcast. It was easy to let oneself get wrapped up in things. Tiny, menial things that took up one's time and distracted from the more... important business. Like how running a hotel and growing chummy with the princess of Hell could distract one from their quest for power. Like how making friends and playing nice distracted one from the knowledge that they need to grow stronger. Work harder. Never give anyone an inch. The idea that they could walk all over him.
It was long overdue.
I am not weak.
When he had first arrived in Hell was not the first time he had displayed his power. The show of force that had made his name known didn't come until later, when reality sank in that he was different. The visage of a skittish prey animal had poisoned any sort of initial reputation he could build. It was a sign of weakness. Demons who thought they could laugh at him, use him, or abuse him quickly got what was coming to them, but no matter how hard he tried, he never seemed to make the message clear enough. They still came for him. They still attacked him. They were still dispatched. It worked to quell the rage he felt somewhat, but it also served to intensify it. How dare they think they could simply treat him like a victim? Like they could do what they wished?
He would have to make them see on a grander scale. Make them understand.
And that was when he remembered the gifts he had stolen. The power he had claimed for himself. The friend he had made.
I am not weak.
It had been quite a display. Apparently, Hell hadn't seen bloodshed the likes of his in lifetimes. No one had been safe. Claws ripped and teeth tore and magic crushed lesser demons like skittering insects. He banished creatures into shadowy dimensions and left others in unidentifiable meaty messes on pavements of ghost towns. He walked through the streets of the inferno covered in blood and a wicked smile and felt his body hum with joy. And by the time he had made it to the Pentagram, his name had become known.
I am not weak.
The name "Alastor" had shocked them. Understandably enough; he had done enough research on religion to know the weight of that name. Had experienced enough to know who he was. Who he had been, rather. It had served to solidify his place in demonic society - if one could call it that. A name to be feared. A power to be respected. A beast to be avoided. It had been perfect. And for the first time in his life, living or dead, he felt powerful.
I am not weak.
He wasn't quite sure when his confidence in his new position began to waver. When everything started falling apart. When it started feeling wrong. He couldn't say he entirely attributed it to working at the hotel, but he supposed something there had helped spur it on. Made him look more at the world around him. Realize, maybe, that he was still so small. Yes, there was fear, but there was also bravery in the wake of his reign. And then the meeting. The dipping in his security. His newfound inability to have trust in even his own strength. He felt terrible. Like that weak, helpless boy he had once been under his father's fist. In the jaws of those dogs. Under the boots of those wicked men.
I am not weak!
It was sickening. Too many people already knew of his developing shortcomings, and even if that was just one other demon, it was far too many. He would not let himself be seen like that. He was not some tool for another, and he was not some whimpering coward. He was the Radio Demon. He was Alastor. He was not weak! And he was more than ready to let them know. The poor fools hadn't seen what was coming. A territory just outside of the Pentagram run by lowly demons. No real ties to anyone. No purpose but to take up space. Perfect for a display. And the Radio Demon enjoyed ripping them apart one by one. He feasted on organs and ripped off limbs and crushed bones and proved a point that few thought he actually had to prove. And it felt good. So fucking good.
And for the first time in a very long time , he felt like himself again, seated weary and comfortable on a pile of mangled bodies amidst a river of blood.
"I am not weak."
