#unles...?

Fingers trailed over the spines of historical books and biographies, pursing your lips as you searched the overwhelming amount of titles at your disposal. As rundown as this library was, you would guess it had the inventory of hundreds of ordinary libraries you’d typically find while alive. It didn’t help that you really didn’t have a starting point—you had no clue if you’d even find anything written on Alastor. You only had a vague idea that he was a murderer in Louisiana.

By tedious preservation you eventually managed to find a biography very succinctly titled “Alastor - New Orleans Terror.” You clasped your hands together and raised it to the sky in relief before grabbing the dusty cover and bringing it to the front of the library. After a brief conversation and being asked to sign up for a library card—although more often than not books were never returned—you were on your way back to the hotel.

Charlie had provided you with a little office to do your work in, a small gesture as thanks for your dedication to her idea. You locked your office door and sat down at your desk, pulling a packet of sticky notes and a few pens closer before opening the biography on the resident Radio Demon.

A few hours later, around midnight, you decided to call it for the day with a hefty slam to the book cover. You pushed your chair away from the desk and stretched your arms above your head, bending your back over the head of the chair until a satisfying series of cracks went up your spine. You slumped back down and began to tidy up your area.

The book had a littering of tabs sticking out of the pages, numbered to follow the bullet pointed notes you wrote down on a few sheets of paper. You were pleasantly surprised with what you found out about Alastor, although now you weren’t sure how it would help Charlie’s case in proving all souls can be redeemed. Murder is bad, yes, undoubtedly, but a strong case could be made for Alastor regarding who and why he killed. His reasonings were rather… kind? Somehow? As kind as murder can be.

You tucked the loose pages into the back of the book, holding it firmly to keep all your notes contained. You clicked off your lamp, stood up, pushed your chair back under the desk, and left your office.

Investigators at the scenes of his murders always drew to a similar conclusion—his victims were often rapists, abusers, and two were even politicians with links to trafficking operations. Murder… could be forgiven in this case, right? Of course, Alastor is in Hell for a reason, he’s actually insane and extremely manipulative, but his reasonings for the actual crimes he committed were—

Your thoughts were cut off as you rounded the corner and full body slammed into the man of the hour himself. Shit, how did you not sense his presence? Or, better, how did he not sense yours?

The book in your hand flew almost comically a few paces away, pages scattering out and landing in a messy halo around the book. You took a few stumbling steps backwards, hand pressed against your nose, aching from the impact. Your eyes were blurred with pained tears as you lifted your gaze to Alastor’s smiling expression.

“Hey, shit, I’m sorry,” You said quickly, blinking the haze out of your eyes as you dropped your hand from your face. You began walking towards the book. “I should’ve been paying more attention.”

Alastor was faster, beating you to the mess with his much larger stride. “No worries at all, my dear!” He said all too cheerfully for it being the middle of the night. “Awareness goes both ways after all!”

He hummed as he bent over, swooping up the biography with his name plastered grandly on the front. His shit eating grin somehow doubled as he looked back at you, his long index finger tapping on the cover. 

“A fan?”

“Hardly,” You rolled your eyes, playing a bit coy to counter his confidence. “Just picked it up at the library. Since I work for Charlie I figured I could learn a bit about our more famous residents.” 

Your act didn’t seem to put a damper on his cheer as he briefly thumbed through the biography, but it didn’t take long for him to notice the numbered sticky notes. His red eyes casted towards you before looking down at the similarly numbered sheets of paper by his feet. You sucked in a breath before gritting your teeth. You could probably explain yourself through this if you thought fast enough. 

He knelt and gathered the pages, placing the book down so he could use both hands to shuffle through the papers. You waited, tense, as his eyes scanned your notes. As painfully quiet moments passed, you saw his brows furrow and grin grow tighter.

When he looked back at you, his expression remained calm, but you could tell by the harsher prickling of static on your skin that he was frustrated. 

“While I’m quite pleased to see someone so interested in my living affairs,” He said rather forcefully as he stood, papers still gripped tightly in one hand. “This extensive meddling is rather annoying. What was it they said about… that one curious cat?”

The air grew a bit dangerous with his words as his voice dripped with venomous radio static. You were frozen in place, thoughts flying in every possible direction for words to calm the Overlord.

“H-hey, I’m just working for Charlie, you know, like I said earlier,” Your explanation came in an embarrassing stutter. You figured you may as well just tell the truth, although leaving out the part that you chose to research him. Of course, maybe it would butter him up enough to let you go if you told him how interesting you found him and his previous life; you chose to keep your dignity for now.

“Well, I ask you to leave me out of it,” He responded quickly, and you knew he wasn’t really asking. You nodded feverishly, promising to obey and reaching for the papers in his hand. He tutted before moving his hand away.

“I assume you’ve dedicated quite some time to this research, no?” He mused, waving the stack of pages tantalizingly just out of your reach. You sighed in defeat, hand falling to your side. 

“Yeah, a bit,” You admitted, folding your arms. He laughed for a moment and then you saw a green aura emanate from his palm before a burst of flame consumed the papers. Your mouth twisted into a frown as you watched green-tipped embers of your hard work sizzle into nothing on the red carpet below.

“Well! Then that’s far too much sensitive information on my history, so better it to be gone,” He explained, patting his hands together to rid them of any remaining debris. His eyes then turned to the book, swiftly picking it back up.

“Such a fine piece of literature, really,” He sighed dreamily, theatrically tracing a finger over his own name. It almost made you sneer—what a self-absorbed prick. Then, that same green aura lit in his hand. “Shame it has to go.”

“Wait, wait, wait, that’s not mine, I need to give it back to—” A whoosh of bright flame cut off your pleas, and you groaned in aggravation as shards of the book crumpled by his feet. You watched in helpless defeat as Alastor burned any remaining bridges to his living history. Perhaps that book managed to slip under his nose all these years as he built up his title as an Overlord. Now you had the awkward chore of trying to explain to the librarian why you can’t return her book.

“So…” Shit, that ominous tone in his voice was back as he met your gaze. You couldn’t handle the eye contact, so you swiftly looked to the side, down the hall, in meager hopes that anybody could interrupt this scene and save your sorry ass.

“All that remains, my dear, is you,” He stepped closer, and you similarly stepped backwards. The air in the room suddenly felt too heavy, the lighting too dark. Were you crazy, or were the shadows in the corners stretching towards you?

“I can’t have you running around Hell, whispering my secrets into the ears of the unworthy majority, right? No… that wouldn’t do at all,” Another step forward from him, another back for you. This continued for a few steps before your back hit a wall, sending a freezing chill down your spine. You knew running would only enhance his drive to strike you down, so you remained stuck in place. 

The antlers on his head seemed to expand and grow sharper as he reached a hand towards you. You squeezed your eyes shut and grit your teeth. If anything, you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of hearing your screams. 

The burn of flames never touched your skin, nor did the sting of tearing flesh. You cracked open your eyes, and saw that his arm hovered only a foot away from you, palm turned upwards. His piercing red eyes bore into your own, never leaving even when you struggled to meet his gaze.

“Unfortunately for me, maybe fortunately for you, Charlie is very fond of you,” He sighed dramatically. “But, still, I can’t have you walking freely around knowing what you know. You are now the last source of my history. So…”

His hand nudged, regaining your attention. You swallowed a lump in your throat, adrenaline still pumping through your entire body and creating an uncomfortable pounding in your head.

“My soul..?” 

Alastor’s eyes rolled before his grin curled maliciously. “Well, obviously, how else will I keep you from opening that mouth of yours?”

Your fingers instinctively reached towards your chest, toying with the fabric of your shirt. Was it really worth it?

“I don’t know how much of an incentive you need here, my dear,” He laughed, although his tone gave away his slight impatience. “You give me your soul and your silence, and I give you… your pitiful life. Hm. Sounds fair to me!” 

You chewed on your cheek. Man, fuck it, you didn’t really want to risk finding out if Charlie’s friendship was truly enough to keep Alastor from killing you. Your hand shot forward before you could give yourself any more time to ponder—or, any more time for Alastor to lose his patience and change his mind. 

As soon as your hand folded around his, a near blinding flash of green light forced your eyes shut as you turned your head away, a squealing and staticy noise filling your ears as you felt a heavy pressure on your neck and a lightness in your chest. In a brief moment, the room fell silent again and Alastor yanked his hand from yours.

You slowly opened your eyes again, timidly looking towards him. You didn’t really have any words at this point, only a sense of loss you couldn’t quite put a finger on.

“There, all settled,” He spoke cheerfully, a complete contradiction of his actions just seconds prior. “Have a goodnight.”

Without another glance, he turned heel and walked away, a light hum playing from his lips. You stood there, staring aimlessly down the hallway and then down at the carpet where blackened ashes of his history stood.