Chapter Text
The heat of Hell hung heavy as Alastor stood alone in Rosie's newly expanded emporium. The last echoes of laughter and clinking glasses had long since faded, leaving only an oppressive silence broken by the ever-present crackle of radio static that followed him everywhere.
Alastor's hooves clicked ominously on the polished floor as he prowled through the dimly lit rooms. The emptiness no longer bothered him; solitude was preferable to the company of lesser beings. The power he'd gained, the fear he inspired - these were the only things that mattered now.
Or so he told himself.
As he passed a large, ornate mirror, Alastor paused, studying his reflection with cold satisfaction. The demon that stared back at him was a far cry from the man he had once been. Gone was the weakness, the fear, the foolish human sentimentality. In its place stood a being of pure power and malevolence, an Overlord of Hell.
His eyes roamed over his demonic form, taking in the ashen skin, the sharp yellowed teeth, the glowing red eyes. It was horrid, he thought, deeply unpleasant to look at. The antlers that sprouted from his head, the hooves that replaced his feet, the tail that swished behind him - all of it a grotesque mockery of his human form.
But it was good, he mused. It worked for who he had become. This monstrous visage was a reflection of the darkness within him, the cruelty and chaos he had embraced. It was a form that inspired fear, that commanded respect. It was, in its own twisted way, perfect.
Alastor's permanent grin widened, sharp teeth glinting in the dim light. Yes, he thought, this was who he was now. The Radio Demon, feared throughout Hell. And if his appearance was repulsive, well, that was just another weapon in his arsenal.
But as he gazed into the mirror, something shifted violently. His demonic face shimmered and faded, revealing a face he had not seen a decade. Warm brown eyes stared back at him, free from the eerie glow of hellfire. His skin, no longer ashen and fur-covered, was the rich brown he'd inherited from his mother.
"No," Alastor snarled, his voice crackling with static and panic. "This isn't real.”
He clawed at his face, expecting to feel fur and sharp teeth, but finding only smooth skin. The room spun around him, reality blurring at the edges. His breath came in short, sharp gasps, each inhale a struggle against the vice grip of panic squeezing his chest.
"Why is this happening now?" he snarled at his reflection, his voice distorting with radio interference. "I'm the Radio Demon! I have power! I'm not some pathetic human anymore!"
Memories assaulted him, a barrage of images and sensations he'd fought so hard to suppress. His mother's warm smile, the thrill of his first broadcast, the sneers of those who looked down on him - each recollection a dagger twisting in his gut.
And then... Lucifer.
The devil's face appeared in the mirror, those piercing red eyes seeming to mock him. Alastor felt a surge of rage so intense it made the very air crackle with energy.
"Fuck you." he snarled, smashing his fist into the mirror. The glass shattered, each shard reflecting a different facet of his fractured psyche.
Blood dripped from his knuckles, the pain a welcome distraction from the emotional torment. He laughed bitterly, the sound distorted and terrifying.
"I gave you everything," he hissed, his voice dripping with venom. "My heart, my soul, my sanity!"
The shadows around him writhed violently, responding to his fury, as static echos through the room.
As the echoes faded, Alastor stood amidst the destruction, his chest heaving with unnecessary breaths. Blood dripped from his knuckles, the pain a welcome distraction from the turmoil in his mind.
"Well," came Rosie's voice from behind him, "I see the party's still going strong."
Alastor whirled around, his eyes wild. For a moment, he'd forgotten where he was, lost in the maze of his own memories and regrets. Rosie stood in the doorway, her black eyes taking in the scene with a mixture of concern and curiosity.
"My dear Rosie," Alastor said, forcing his voice into its usual cheery tone. "I do apologise for the mess. I seemed to have overindulged in the festivities. I'll be happy to replace the mirror, of course."
But even as he spoke, Alastor knew his mask had slipped. Rosie had seen him in a moment of weakness, something he'd sworn would never happen again. The thought filled him with a cold dread.
Rosie stepped closer, her eyes never leaving his face. "Alastor," she said softly, "what's going on? And don't give me that showman's smile. I've known you too long for that to work."
Alastor's grin widened, sharp and dangerous. "My dear, I assure you, everything is perfectly fine. Just a moment of... nostalgia, shall we say? Nothing to concern yourself with."
Rosie raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Nostalgia? That's what you're calling this destruction?"
"Why, of course!" Alastor laughed, the sound tinged with static. "What better way to reminisce about one's past than by destroying its reflection? It's quite therapeutic, I assure you."
But Rosie wasn't deterred. She took another step closer, her voice gentle but firm. "Alastor, you don't have to pretend with me. I've seen you at your lowest, remember? I was there when you first arrived in Hell, when you were still struggling to come to terms with what you'd become."
Alastor's grin faltered for a moment, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his face before he could mask it. "That was a long time ago, my dear. I've changed since then. Evolved, you might say."
"Have you?" Rosie challenged. "Or have you just buried that part of yourself so deep that you've forgotten it exists?"
Alastor's eyes flashed dangerously, the static around him intensifying. "Careful, Rosie. Even our friendship has its limits."
But Rosie stood her ground, unfazed by his display of power. "You can threaten me all you like, Alastor, but we both know you won't follow through. Not with me. Not after everything we've been through together."
For a long moment, they stood in silence, the air crackling with tension. Then, slowly, Alastor's shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of him. "What do you want from me, Rosie?" he asked, his voice uncharacteristically tired.
"I want you to be honest," Rosie replied. "With me, and with yourself. What did you see in that mirror, Alastor? What shook you so badly that you felt the need to destroy it?"
Alastor turned away, unable to meet her gaze. "I saw... myself. As I was before. Human. Weak. Vulnerable."
"And that frightened you?"
"No!" Alastor snapped, whirling back to face her. "It disgusted me. That pathetic creature, so full of hope and dreams and... sentiment. How could I have ever been so foolish?"
Rosie's expression softened. "Oh, Alastor. Is that really how you see your past self? As foolish?"
"What else would you call it?" Alastor laughed bitterly. "I gave everything to that life. My hopes, my dreams, my very being. And for what? To end up here, in Hell?"
"And that's why you've pushed away every part of your humanity," Rosie said, understanding dawning in her eyes. "You think it makes you weak."
"It does make me weak!" Alastor snarled, his form shifting, growing more monstrous as his emotions surged. "Love, compassion, hope - they're all weaknesses to be exploited. I learned that lesson the hard way, my dear. I won't make the same mistake twice."
Rosie took a step forward, unafraid of Alastor's demonic display. "And yet, it's those very human qualities that make you so formidable, Alastor. Your charm, your wit, your understanding of human nature - they're all rooted in your humanity."
Alastor paused, his form slowly returning to normal as he considered her words. "Perhaps," he conceded reluctantly. "But that doesn't change the fact that they're dangerous. Liabilities."
"Only if you let them be," Rosie countered. "Your humanity, your past - they're tools, Alastor. Weapons to be wielded, not weaknesses to be ashamed of."
Alastor was silent for a long moment, his mind whirling with conflicting thoughts and emotions. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and uncertain. "And what if I can't control them? What if they control me?"
Rosie smiled, a hint of her usual mischief returning to her eyes. "My dear Alastor, when have you ever let anything control you? You're the Radio Demon, for Hell's
sake. If anyone can master their own emotions, it's you."
Despite himself, Alastor felt a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You always did know how to stroke my ego, my dear."
"Someone has to," Rosie teased. "Now, what do you say we clean up this mess and have a drink? I believe we both could use one after all this emotional turmoil."
Alastor nodded, feeling some of the tension drain from his shoulders. "That sounds delightful, my dear. Though I must warn you, I'm in no mood for further heart-to-heart conversations. One moment of vulnerability is quite enough for the evening, I think."
Rosie laughed, the sound warm and comforting in the aftermath of their intense discussion. "Wouldn't dream of it, darling. Now, shall we see what vintage pairs best with existential crises and shattered mirrors?"
As they walked back into the main room, Alastor found his thoughts drifting back to the reflection he'd glimpsed. The human Alastor, with those warm eyes and that insipid smile, was still lurking somewhere beneath the layers of demonic power and carefully cultivated cruelty. But perhaps, he mused, that wasn't entirely to his detriment.
After all, it was that foolish human who had first dreamed of greatness, who had clawed his way out of the muck of poverty and prejudice to become a star. It was that weak human who had somehow survived the fall, who had dragged himself up from the depths of Hell to become one of its most feared denizens.
Alastor shook his head, dismissing the sentimental notions. What use were such musings now? He was the Radio Demon, feared throughout Hell. The past was gone, buried beneath decades of blood and chaos.
"Rosie, my dear," he said, his voice crackling with static, "I do believe we've spent quite enough time reminiscing. Shall we discuss more pressing matters? I have some delightfully wicked ideas for our next venture."
As Rosie's eyes lit up with interest, Alastor pushed thoughts of his human self firmly aside. The future beckoned, full of chaos and opportunity. Hell wouldn't know what hit it.