“Not so hot now, are ya you punk.” A heavy studded leather boot kicked the shorter man, causing him to stumble and splay onto a dropped pallet. “Think you were hot shit cuz you got away all those times? Well news flash you clown-faced freak, you can’t do anything without those losers to help ya.” The Dragon landed another heavy blow onto Lucifer’s face.
“What did you say? Oh right. You’re in my house now, bitch!”
From companion fic: In the Ashes of the Garden
Posting this as part of Hooked on Hazbin 2024 Masterlist
Please check out these lovely creators for their post on this blessed Hallow's Day.
Hi guys!! Happy Halloween to you all!! I am so excited to have been a part of this event! I have literally had a blast writing for this and getting to make friends with everyone involved. Just to hold witness to their skill, drive and dedication to their chosen craft is breathtaking and I count myself honored to know such moving, beautiful people.
I am thankful, from the bottom of my heart, for you all and I can't wait to binge read every single one of your fics and feast upon every art piece made!
I dedicate this first chapter to the lovely @dewdropdinosaur, the amazing @xalygatorx, and the magnificent @chefskjssart. I also want to mention all of the lovely people I have met due to this event and everyone from the Helluva Watchparty server! Thank you so very much @fraugwinska and @macabr3-barbi3 for coming up with and hosting this event!!
Also a HUGE shout out to @fraugwinska for creating my banner for my story and for creating the gorgeous poster for the event!!! You are amazing~!
With that being said, I do hope you all enjoy the story! You're in for a ride for a couple of chapters haha. Have fun and stay tuned~!
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Your at Chapter 1: Team Player: WC: 4,077
Chapter 2: Left Hanging
Chapter 3: Burning Alive
Summery: Two strangers, good with their hands, one with machines and the other with knives, are desperate to escape the Entity's grasp.
You need Alastor more than he thinks he needs you.
When you propose a deal, however, it is an opportunity the radio host can't seem to pass up. Maybe with a promising partnership, the two of you might just make it out of the trial alive.
Only time will tell if teaming up will have been a useful endeavor...
Or not at all...
"Partners...?" Human Alastor x reader
Warnings & Tags: Reader is a survivor, no use of Y/N, Reader has a nickname, Alastor is a little shit, Asexual Alastor, Violence, Blood and Violence, Injury. minor character death.
Improvisation was a necessary skill and was considered, by the general public, a practiced talent that so few possessed; let alone could master. For a radio host, it was a skill that was often expected and anticipated. Having the ability to breeze through topics of discussion and flight of the audience’s fancy with simplicity and ease was envied.
To be expected, it was an ability that Alastor was exceedingly proficient in. However, he was never one to appreciate improvising with the absence of his favorite tinkering tools…
With great irritation and a brief, sharp snap of bone, Alastor’s second target that evening had become his most recent victim; the body lifeless within seconds of his bold hands clutching around the poor brute’s throat. As dust returns to dust, so too did the corpse of his target fall limp; greeting the mud below with a dense, subdued thud.
Never before had he been so disappointed in acquiring a kill in all of his existence.
It was honestly such a bore, and terribly anticlimactic in nature, that it had the demon yawning. Barely any exertion was needed on his part as he dropped down on one knee and pilfered around the belongings of the newly deceased. With a sigh he noted the absence of blood his kill had presented him with an ample amount of dismay. The pitiful fight his victim had given him was easily comparable to the emptiness of the broken vessel’s pockets: sad, sparse and leaving much to be desired. Such a waste.
What a forgettable experience…
Finding no object of his desires within the austere expanse of the other male’s personal inventory; Alastor resumed his previous posture and continued his merry way through the muck dredging up underneath his hunter’s boots.
At least this strange place, the darkest marsh he had ever had the privilege to traverse, had allowed him the luxury of supplying him with comfortable, familiar footwear. The kind Alastor wore in life, that is. The custom red and black oxfords he usually sported would do him no good in these wet conditions.
Interested in procuring a blade for himself, Alastor carried on with his measly hunt. His cream colored shirt sleeves were rolled up pristinely to his elbows to fight the humidity in the air. His tan skin was the only part of his body covered in nakedness.
The radio host proudly, but cautiously stalked amongst the cat tails, fluff from the plants clinging to his jeans. Complaints and curses alike were softly hissed beneath the confines of his practiced grin as he wiped sweat from his brow. He peeled the plant based affections from his clothing; tremendously irritated that his search so far had not been fruitful.
As Alastor sauntered forward, the occasional chirping of crickets and birdsong died away; producing an extreme sense of urgency into his bloodstream. The feeling clawed its way up his spine, delicate shivers dancing on his dark skin; but for the life of him he could not understand why.
However, he received his answer for the foreign feeling upon hearing a chorus of feminine terror. The continued abrasive treatment of his low vocal range and vocabulary immediately ceased at the sound. The echoes on the wind brought the sweet melody to him; music that was slowly drowned out by curses and shouts of the resistant sort.
Making his way towards the source of the cadence he enjoyed, Alastor was met with quite the sight. A cloaked fellow with a peculiar mask had a scrawny looking female hung from his shoulder; fighting every second she was in the other individual's grasp.
The voice belonging to you, a captive little lady, bloomed into yet another tantalizing scream as you were lifted up and placed onto a hook like contraption. Metal violently tore into flesh, ripping sinews and muscles apart to conform to the shape of your body as you were left to dangle helplessly. Crimson torrentially dripped from your fresh wound amidst panicked cries.
The fresh blood produced by your harrowing experience awoke the tell-tale signs of Alastor’s hunger, his growling stomach sharpening his senses to the utmost degree.
Of course, now was not the time to be thinking of breakfast. Curse his human guise and its continuous need for sustenance…
Alas, although very much entertaining, the show given to him was not what had insnared his focus. Surprisingly, the reflection of the blade held within Alastor’s target’s grasp had him pleasantly distracted. His mind ran in circles, plotting to procure the tool the other was using for himself.
Noticing your screams had silenced themselves to nothing but faded, pained whimpers; you had finally managed to acknowledge his presence amongst the cattails and behind miscellaneous boxes and crates.
He put a finger to his upturned lips in silence as his eyes bore holes into your skull with just his stare alone; willing you to cease your current noisiness. He was pleased when you returned his gesture with a subtle, inconspicuous nod and looked down, feigning defeat. Good. You and your sweet, but damnable, chirping would not spoil his fun. With certainty, he would not allow his hunt to be ruined.
With meticulous effort, Alastor’s stealth was successful as his hands made purchase around his victim’s throat once his prize was within reach. In a graceful, dramatic flourish to show off for his lovely audience, the individual’s neck was snapped in twain before much of a fight could be had. The fool was ignorant of his demise as the cloaked, masked killer slumped to the earth, lifeless and growing cold. The poor bastard didn’t know what hit him.
After his show was finished and a third kill was acquired that evening, Alastor kneeled down to inspect the object of his covetous obsession.
The blade he had desired ever since waking up on that deserted, modern steamboat was finally within his careful grasp; dripping fresh scarlet into his palm as he inspected it closer. No doubt the liquid belonged to you, the lovely lady of the hour he ignored, who still dangled precariously from the iron hook above his head.
Alastor continued his efforts in silence, standing to his usual impeccable posture as he cleaned the pilfered knife on his jeans. He brushed the blade against his trousers until it gleamed brightly under the nearest lanterns hanging from the power lines overhead. It was still terribly dark to be considered mid-morning; but at least the faint mist from the swamp gathering around his ankles was able to provide ample cover.
Seeking to return to the shadows, Alastor secured the blade in its sheath along his belt before taking a few steps away. His attempts were met with quite a bit of resistance. An incredulous sigh left you only to be followed by grumbles of frustration.
“Um…Hello? Still very, very stuck here…I, um…I could use a little help…”
Right. You were still present.
Alastor paused to turn his head and peer at you over his shoulder. Despite his permanent grin, the look he granted you was one of absolute disinterest. He calmly observed you, making no attempt to retrieve you from your painful perch.
The two of you continued your tacit stare down until you shook your head and looked away. With an irritated huff, you spoke through gritted teeth as you immediately rescinded your request for assistance
“You know what? Fuck you…I’ll just do it myself…”
Alastor turns to face you fully as he folded his arms, intrigued by the colorful vernacular you decided to spat his way. Rude as you were, it was rather interesting to watch you fumble around on that hook. It was very much akin to a caught fish longing for the relief the river could provide.
A surplus of other vibrant curses and varied complaints tumbled from your lips as you reached up to grasp the hook. You paused to catch your breath; your teeth gritted in preparation for the agony to follow.
With zero amount of finesse and a great deal of clamor in your voice, you proceeded with your attempts in dislodging the hook from your shoulder.
However interesting and delicious the bloody spectacle was, it was painful to watch. It was terribly irritating to see how many times you struggled. Several minutes passed by before you managed to successfully set yourself free with a deafening yelp and an unharmonious fumble. Blood painted the wet earth deep maroon in your burdensome descent.
“So… Do you actually ever…Y’know… Help anybody? Or do you just…’Tend to ignore everyone who addresses you?”
Breathless and struggling to take in air, you were hunched over on your knees. You hadn’t moved from where you had fallen as you looked up at him with exhaustion and a furrow of your brow. Your free hand clutched to the gaping, bleeding wound in your shoulder.
What a sight. Still, your defiant tone was something he didn’t appreciate.
The radio host adjusted his red suspenders that had fallen from his shoulders as he looked over to you. His grin was a sneer as his subtle dark curls obscured one of his amber eyes. Would he even attempt to humor you with a response or rebuttal?
…Perhaps this once.
“…Only if it’s worth my time.”
Alastor watched as you instantly became mute, obviously processing the offense his words supplied you. Your nose scrunched up in frustration as you chewed the inside of your cheek. You reached for your forgotten, dingy baseball cap on the ground and donned it with a huff. There was a pause before any more words greeted him.
“Well, my life, as well as what I have to say, is certainly worth more than a few measly minutes of your time… I have a plan that you might be the type to appreciate. That is if you can manage to pull your head out of your ass long enough to actually listen…! ”
Alastor’s eye twitched. Who did you think you were to address him with such hostility? Where did you get the audacity? Hadn’t he saved you enough from nearly being killed regardless? The thought only made Alastor’s blood boil. He gripped the blade in his grasp tighter. Such an ungrateful little soul…
“…I think I shall be the judge of that.”
The magnitude of his sneer was heightened as the radio host regarded you. An incredulous chuckle escaped the confines of his strained smile.
“Besides, why would I ever wish to associate with a rude little hussy such as yourself, hm? You’ve already proved to be quite the nuisance, especially with your failed attempts at escaping harm's way. Anything you are willing to offer me I might as well do myself. At least then I’ll be guaranteed a sufficient chance of succeeding… ”
Surprisingly, his statement was met with a defeated sigh, your head hanging to the side in an attempt at composure. With your spiteful countenance before, he didn’t think you would give in so easily. Perhaps your words were a means of deception, proving yourself braver than you truly were. What remained in front of him was the lingering, fighting spirit of a terrified, broken girl.
Interesting.
“Shit…look. I’m not…I’m not good with apologies…and I’m sorry I cursed at you…So I guess… un-fuck you or whatever…? Also, I guess you do have a right to be an asshole…You don’t know me or owe me nothin’…”
When he didn’t give you the satisfaction of seeing his expression change, you sighed yet again.
“…And I realize that a lot of tha time my mouth moves before my brain... But I promise…You're gonna want to hear my offer…”
With desperation drenching your features, you tilted your head in a last attempt to get into Alastor’s good graces as you gestured towards his knife.
“...Just with seein’ ya hold that blade, I assume y’know your way around a weapon like that…And ya look like you're good with your hands. Well, I’m pretty good with mine too, so… We can, y’know… Work together to make it outta here..? Maybe…?”
So far, your attempts at persuasion were failing epically, but he would continue to listen to whatever useless drivel that fell from your maw. He always did love a good show, and the expression you were making both intrigued him and bettered his mood.
“...That is, uh…That is what ya want, right? To go home?”
A quick, dry laugh escaped Alastor’s strained smile as he admired the way your face fell at the sound.
The only home he ever truly desired would be in the arms of a soul far out of his reach. His mother would not be found anywhere near his usual place of inhabitance. It was a moot point to ponder. There was no undoing what had been done…What he wanted he would not be able to obtain, nor was it something you could provide.
Alastor was right to ignore you before. Your words were meaningless and a waste of his time.
With no other response from him, an exasperated sigh left you.
“Look, I’m gonna level with you…The only other way outta here is by takin’ a permanent dirt nap and I, well.. I don’t plan on dyin’ today and I assume you feel the same…Sooo teamwork’s our best bet…”
Alastor tilted his head in curiosity. However trifling you were, he thought it perdinant to at least hear you out. He was being overly gracious, and if yet another phrase that displeased him came from your mouth you were as good as dead. Despite his smile’s presentation of interest, there was a deadly edge at the end of his next utterance.
“…What do you propose?”
“Well…I’m good with wires. My old man was a mechanic, so I got a lotta practice growin’ up…I digress, but it’s kinda hard to fix generators if I keep gettin’ attacked or hooked…”
Grunting, you willed yourself to a standing position, dusting off excess dirt from your mud soaked jeans.
“...So what I’d need from you is the assurance you’ll keep everyone away from me so I can fix at least five of those gen’s. We ain’t gettin’ nowhere without them workin’ properly…”
Once again clutching your injured shoulder, you winced as you made your way over to where the demon stood. Your anguish was audible, enough to make Alastor’s mouth water despite his current dissatisfaction with your presence. He took a step back from you. You had gotten too close for his liking.
“I think we could be useful to one another..And after tonight you can rest assured you won’t have to deal with me no more…But until then, if you can just, y’know…Do what you did before with Ghostface and pick off the others, then we may actually have a shot at makin’ it outta this shit hole alive…”
You hold out your hand; a brighter, hopeful expression present under the blood and grime attuned to your visage.
“So? We got a deal, or whatever? Scratch my back and I scratch yours?”
Your gesture was met with amber eyes being narrowed as Alastor looked down at your bloody offered hand. He was quite within his rights to deny your request and be on his merry way. If he was of a better mind, Alastor might have already left you in the dust.
Still, he pondered more on your words as thoughts of freedom flooded his mind’s eye. You stated the impossibility of liberty without fixing five of the machines that were no doubt spread across the premises, so repairs were necessary. He was used to such when it came to his line of work, making his radios function like new or maintaining the upkeep of his other preferred equipment.
Still, by the appearance of your denim jacket and ripped jeans, he surmised he had found himself in the middle of the modern era; which could only insinuate that modern technology had a hand in creating the essential items of escape. Alastor stifled a growl. Of course machinations resemblant of his arch nemesis would have a play in his supposed capture. The thought was infuriating and made his skin crawl with hatred and disgust.
Alastor had absolutely no interest in operating or learning to associate with such devices. Loathe as he was to say it, he would have to permit your continued presence. At least until freedom was achieved.
Vexing as you were, perhaps you would prove yourself useful as the night went on. Perhaps your assistance would prove an ample enough apology for the offense your prior verbiage caused.
“Usually, I’m not one to appreciate company in my efforts. I prefer working solo, but…”
The radio host’s eyes narrowed as he bit his tongue. The shameful lowering of his pride to admit you were needed sent an unpleasant taste to the back of his pallet. The feeling made him immediately want to throw up.
“...You do have a point. Fine…I shall aid you if only for the sake of escape…”
The moments between his words and your own fueled more interesting unspoken prospects. Though sensical and practical, it was rather curious that you requested him to kill the others. It was a task he had no qualms with, but having another acknowledge his prowess with his chosen craft elevated his ego. Begrudgingly enough, your plan was brilliant and would surely succeed if he was the one behind the task.
He hoped his little slaughter spree, now that his weapon of choice was acquired, would go smoothly and supply an efficient means of entertainment that evening…
“So… Whatdya say? Ya wanna make this official, then?...Partners?”
You gesticulated your offered hand in earnest, eager to ascertain some sort of plan for escape. Alastor quirked a brow. You must be desperate for protection if you felt the need to acquire an agreement of such without asking for the name of the fellow you were doing business with. Perhaps you just weren’t the type for much small talk, however necessary the information. Still, it was a hilarious oversight on your part. He would fix it. Promptly.
“My, you certainly are an eager beaver…But you aren’t going to ask for the name of the gentleman you are conducting negotiations with? Quite the questionable set of business practices you have there, doll…”
You rolled your eyes as you struggled to bring your other hand to prop up the elbow of the arm remaining outstretched, your shoulder exhibiting its horrendously mangled and deformed shape in your efforts. It was as if you had been to the nearest butcher and had requested to be placed on the chopping block.
“What's your name, then?”
“Why, I’m so glad you asked! The name’s Alastor. It is a real pleasure to be meeting you.”
“Yeah. Nice to meet you too, I guess…Now can we shake on it? My arm’s gettin’ tired.”
Alastor chuckled. You were certainly such a feisty little lady. Quite the character, indeed.
At least you weren’t boring.
“I suppose you have a deal then. Partner’s it is…I can’t wait to become a team player, my dear…”
Leaning down to meet your short stature, Alastor kept his impeccable posture as he bent at the waist. Lifting his hand, he teasingly flicked your baseball cap down over your eyes with a chuckle before offering you a dark gloved hand.
You moved your hand up to lift your cap, revealing the grumpy furrow of your brows as you accepted the other’s extended palm. He could hear the audible annoyance in your voice, the sound reverting to a low grumble. It was very much resemblant of the incessantly adorable noises alleycats would make. While alive, his mother insisted on feeding the disgruntled beasts, assuring more of their presence outside of their townhouse.
The two of you participated in a single, firm shake before wordlessly parting. When you glanced down to search for something within the confines of your pocket, he takes the chance to wipe whatever remained of your blood off of his glove and onto his button up, painting the cream fabric a bright crimson.
“I suppose, however, if we plan to continue with business, might I also have the pleasure of your name? It would be beneficial to know who I am referring to should you feel the need to scream that you require further assistance…”
Unfolding a piece of rolled up parchment, you spared him but a glance as your hands made light work of their task. In your hands rested a ripped, dusty map. It looked as if it had weathered far worse conditions, but had somehow still remained intact.
“…Scout. It’s not my name, but it's what my folks call me the majority of the time. Feel free to call me that too, I guess…”
Alastor made a mental note of the interesting nickname and pondered how it was acquired while he watched you peer back down at the damaged paper in your hands. Your bloody index finger pointed at a location.
“It says here that we’re in “Blackwater Swamp”. Huh…The name’s just as bleak as the location…figures. Anyways, uhh… There's supposed to be a big boat, The Pale Rose…? Down that way…? That's where I, and most likely you, woke up…”
Glancing back up at your partner, you pointed in the opposite direction from where the two of you were facing as you jostled the map in your hands to smooth out the curling parchment. The sound your actions caused had you glancing up and over your shoulder in apprehension.
Silly thing. There was no need for you to worry for your protection as long as he was in your vicinity. You had made a bargain, after all, and Alastor always completed his end of a deal one way or another. You were safe.
For now.
Finally feeling more relieved there was no active threat nearby, you glanced back down at the map.
“And, if I'm readin’ this right, this map also shows where all the generators are and also the exit…Yeah, right here. Have a look.”
Pointing at the intended spot, you double tapped the page before looking up at your colleague in crime and turning the map around so that he could have a gander.
“Interesting. Who knew you had such a useful commodity in your possession. Where did you find such a thing?”
“It was just in a random box I opened when I woke up. There’s tons of that kinda shit around here. Just gotta look…”
Turning the page back to face you, you observed the guide in your hands more intently than before; speaking with assurance of the plan forming in your mind.
“Once we’re both done with our respective jobs, we’ll meet back up at the exit and get the hell outta here. Sound good?”
The demon stood back up to his usual height as he gifted you a genuinely amused expression. With the promise of his assistance, you were certainly set in your ideals that you would make it through the night.
Alastor’s wicked grin grew in delicious splendor. How unfortunate it would be if that wasn’t the case…
“It seems we have a plan in place…”
“Yeah. Looks like it.”
Wrapping up the map and shoving it into your back pants pocket, you looked over your non injuried shoulder to address him with an urgentness in your tone, the sound intreating him to listen intently.
“Well, we best get started. Stay safe out there…Don’t do anything stupid and try not to die…Alright?”
A chuckle rumbled in the radio host’s throat at the concern igniting your expression. You were worried? For him? How absurd and endearing a spectacle.
So the radio host was right. Your crude and classless persona was indeed the facade of a frightened girl. You should’ve been more concerned with yourself considering your current situation. Already you were sufficiently injured and still profusely bleeding beautiful shades of scarlet.
Alastor was certain you wouldn’t last the night. Not without his assistance.
“Oh, I can assure you that won’t be a problem; but you do the same…”
Pleased with his reply, you silently nodded as you did your best to cautiously duck and hobble behind the surplus of plywood from the deserted paddle steamer nearby. Your free hand graced the splintery surface of a broken pallet for support as you stepped over a plethora of weeds.
Just the pitiful sight of you retreating had the curvature of Alastor’s lips upturned. Things had indeed proved to be rather intriguing…
We'll have a masterlist for everyone soon but AHHH I'm so excited! I'm so proud of everyone and so glad to have some new people join us in the server, everyone has done such a fantastic job and it was so cool to see everyone work through their ideas 💗
A huge thank you to my beloved @fraugwinska for planning and organizing this event with me and making us so many amazing graphics, and encouraging me when I hit a wall. And thank you to everyone who participated and has posted or will be posting soon! I love all of you 🩷 @redvexillum @ritualofcirice @chefskjssart @dewdropdinosaur @lumikello24 @xalygatorx @melodyonthewireless @kewpikayo @jurijyuu ❤️
For the fic that started the brainworms squirming, come check out Hex: Smile Like You Mean It!
Summary: Someone has noticed you noticing them.
Tags: video-game typical violence, exhibitionism, mutual masturbation, off-screen character deaths
He was watching you. Always watching you.
Well- to be fair, he was always watching everyone. You knew when he was the trial's designated killer because you would catch the glint of a red light in the trees, a glare off the lens of a camera that watched you from the corner as you tried to work on a generator as stealthily as possible. Before you even had a chance to wipe the grease of the gears off your fingers he would be on you with a spark of electricity, razor sharp claws raking down your back or arm as you tried to get away with his distinct laugh ringing in your ears.
The other killers could be mindless- chasing you around the same rock or set of trees for minutes at a time while the others popped off generators left and right, absent obsession fueling their pursuit of you like they didn’t realize you were merely buying time for your friends.
Vox was just as ruthless, but worse- he was smart. Cunning. Somehow he always knew which corner you were going to turn, which windows you were going to try and vault through, and despite your best efforts you could never get him close enough to a pallet to slam it on his head and bust that screen of his wide open. You had managed it one time, relishing in the satisfying crunch of shattered glass as he swore and you darted away.
Only for him to find you while you healed yourself and drop you onto a hook anyway, his smirk taunting and cruel before chasing your teammates away when they tried to rescue you.
And despite it all, you felt drawn to him. Not drawn enough to actively seek him out in a trial, but sometimes you would watch from the sidelines as he chased the others, follow his meandering path around the lodge at Mount Ormond from the balcony on the second floor. At first it was a macabre fascination- where had he come from? What had brought him here? How much of him was really a machine? Your curiosity regarding his body warped over time to a keen interest, and before you knew it the purpose of your eyes on him had changed- no longer just watching him to see where he carried your teammates off to but appreciating the way his muscles flexed and moved beneath his clothing, admiring the delicate lines of his claw tipped fingers when he grabbed the edges of a window to chase after someone.
This was why you felt you were different from his surveillance of everyone else- you knew he could see you when you did this, watching him the same way he watched you through the cameras, and he never altered his course when you engaged in this behavior. It was only when you were working on generators, healing your friends, doing the things that needed to be done in order to survive, that he would spring forth from the cameras and start slashing and taunting.
The first time you had felt that flash of heat through your core watching him lick a stray drop of your blood from his claws after he threw you on a hook, you had been so ashamed you didn’t even bother trying to keep the Entity’s claws from coming down for you, your teammates too far away to help anyway. It got easier to live with though, something new and dangerously exciting when you looked at him and imagined the way his body looked under his clothes, wondered how calloused his fingertips were and how they would feel dragging across your skin with the intention of pleasure rather than pain.
Almost like a punishment for daring to feel something other than fear and despair when you looked at him, the Entity wasn’t kind enough to give you chances to observe Vox all that often; time didn’t really exist in this realm, but it felt like you had been in back to back to back matches for days, only at the campfire long enough for your wounds from Pyramid Head in the Swamp to be reset before you were being whisked away to be locked into a head cage by the Pig at the meat plant. It was never ending, constant torture that had you exhausted, moving slowly and always fumbling on the generators; which in turn had your teammates upset with you, and they would leave you to bleed out on the ground or struggle on the hooks while the rest of them worked away at the generators all the way across the map.
This time, when you landed in Haddonfield and everyone took off without you, you opted to just stay out of sight- you would hide in lockers, maybe hole up in a car and just rest until the others had finished the generators or gotten themselves killed, depending on who the killer was. Then you could make your way to a gate or try to find the hatch as long as they didn’t find you first.
You hear Yun-Jin start a generator near you and sneak off in the other direction; a smart choice, since your heartbeat picks up not even a full fifteen seconds later, Yun-Jin’s scream echoing with the sound of Vox’s laughter as he tosses her onto the hook.
You peek over the rock that you hide behind as he turns, brushing dirt off his suit and straightening his bowtie- when he looks up he locks eyes with you across the field, flashing you a wide, sharp-toothed smile before he zaps into the nearby camera and is gone, another scream from David sounding off shortly after.
Your heart is still, so you take the risk and head towards Yun-Jin crouched low to the ground, just in case he’s watching. Your arms shake as you help her down, and she doesn’t say anything before she’s rushing off, leaving a trail of blood in her wake. You sigh and kick at a rock on the ground, debating if you should follow her and offer assistance.
“Damn, not even a thank you? And you all think I’m brutal.”
You stumble to the ground in your haste to turn around, but he doesn’t rush at you- just watches, like he watches through the cameras, like he watches you watch him. “Don’t be so dramatic,” he scoffs. “I’m not here for you, doll- not yet.” He drops to a crouch in front of you, his screen so close you can feel the static on the screen making your hair raise; he brings his fingers up from the ground, wet and red with Yun-Jin’s blood. His face changes, pulling up a surveillance feed; you can see Yun-Jin in one little square, desperately trying to heal herself without assistance; David and Ace work on a generator in the basement of one of the buildings, not even glancing at the cameras that hold them in their glass stare. You’re half expecting him to spring suddenly, luring you into a false sense of safety, but it doesn’t come- a little cursor comes across the screen and clicks on the staticky image of the men and he’s gone.
You’re not going to assume he would let you escape twice, so you creep into one of the houses and find a locker in a room that didn’t appear to have any cameras. You should feel bad, you think, about simply hiding while the others tried to do what needed to be done to escape; but Yun-Jin hadn’t even said ‘thanks’ for risking your ass to pull her off the hook, and most of the other survivors never bothered to help you either since your exhaustion had started to get the best of your normally nimble fingers. A couple were reliable- Adam, Jane, and Claudette could usually be counted on to help get you out of a sticky situation- but these three in particular that you were facing Vox with? They could help themselves.
The others are too far away to hear them scream, but the two booms that ripple across the map when two of your teammates are sacrificed to the Entity can be heard from anywhere. There’s a scuffle outside the house and David stumbles in, bleeding from a deep gash in his back- a crackle of electricity and Vox is right after him, another swipe of those sharp claws dropping him to the floor. Vox peers at the locker in front of him- like he can see you through the slats, he winks before he picks David up and leaves the room to find a hook.
You should run. Flee the locker before he came back, your heart kicking into overdrive as the final sound rings out that tells you David is gone.
You don’t get a chance. The door to the locker is yanked open, and there stands Vox, his arms resting on the top of the opening and leaning in so that he’s all you can see, so you can’t escape. “Looks like you’re our lucky winner!” He says cheerfully, sounds like an old-timey game show sounding off from his screen, and he reaches into the locker to grab your arm. “How handy- I’ve been meaning to have a chat with you, my dear. Let’s go somewhere more comfortable, shall we?”
Connected as you are, when he flashes into the camera you’re pulled with him- left with a feeling not unlike laughing gas at the dentist when you’re deposited into the living room of one of the houses. “Have a seat,” he offers, gesturing to the couch before you as you wobble on your feet. When you turn jerkily, only half a thought in your head saying to run, his grip on your arm tightens; he turns you to face him, other hand coming up to tilt your face up to meet his eyes. “Sit down.” He says firmly this time, and the red of his eye is swirling with black lines that seem to say trust me trust me trust me.
You sit, and Vox looks surprised. “Fuck, I didn’t think that would work,” he laughs. “That’s good to know.” He looks thoughtful for a moment before he drags the nearby armchair to sit in front of you, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees while you watch one another. “Something to try in a trial sometime, maybe-”
“Are you going to kill me?” You ask, and he laughs loud and fake in the overwhelming silence of the room.
“I’m just trying to have a conversation! I gotta tell ya, I was having a lot of fun chasing you and your friends around but it was starting to get a little stale- and then there you are!” He gives you a wide smile, the sharpness of his teeth glinting in the low light of the house. “Always looking at me from behind trees and shit while I hunt down your teammates, watching me from the balconies and through windows- I know all about surveillance but it’s enough to make a man blush, sweetheart.”
His words make you blush- you had figured that he knew about you watching him, but not that he had picked up on your… interest. You try to stammer out a rebuttal and he laughs, waving you down with a mischievous look in his eyes. “None of that denial,” he chides. “I’m not here to judge; I’m quite flattered.” He winks at you again, the swirl of his eye lazy but not compelling you in any way, merely holding you in its gaze. “And that brings me here with a proposition! Mutually beneficial to the both of us, I can assure you.”
“What… do you want?” You ask cautiously, and his smile turns wicked, red drool dripping from the corners of his mouth.
He shocks you by stripping off the vest he wears over his white shirt, tossing it over his shoulder. “I’m a performer at heart, doll- the nature of a man in news means I love an audience, and an audience of one can be exciting in the right context.” He leans back into the armchair and pops a few buttons on his shirt, running his hands down his chest to the belt buckle that rests at the center of his waistband. “I want you to do what you’ve been doing so well lately- watch me.”
His belt clinks as he undoes the buckle, and your mouth runs dry. He teases electric blue claws against the zipper, a growing bulge under the seam that’s obvious to your eyes in the dim light of his screen. “What’s. What’s the mutually beneficial part here?” You ask, only stammering a little, and he chuckles low and dark.
“Depends,” he murmurs, “do you think the ‘show’ is your good part or mine?” He brushes his fingers against the outline of his cock, having hardened further under your watchful gaze, and a groan crackles out of his throat, staticky and harsh.
“It could be both,” you say absently, watching him finally draw the zipper down- the glowing that comes from his lap should be off-putting, but it’s not. You clench your thighs together, resisting the urge to rub them for some attempt at friction when his hand dips inside of his slacks and pulls his length out; hard, leaking from the tip until he swipes a dark blue thumb over it which a moan, a soft neon glow that seems to come from somewhere inside.
“It’s actually meant to be yours,” he says, “which means you’re kinda leaving me hanging here, sugar.” He stretches a leg across the expanse between your chair, knocking his foot against your feet to move them to the sides, the sweatpants you wear stretching tight across your lap as he essentially kicks your legs apart. “We should both be getting something out of this.”
You catch his meaning, only hesitating for a moment before shifting enough on the couch that you can start shimmying your pants down past your knees.
“Gimme a real show, doll,” he whispers roughly, dragging his fist up and down his cock slowly. “Let me see you.” His other hand finishes unbuttoning his shirt, the skin that he exposes a deep navy, littered with scars that only serve to draw your attention more fully to him. His claws tease over a glowing nipple- was that a USB port? - and the action causes sparks that rain down his abdomen.
You keep your gaze on him as you brush lightly against your clit through your panties, the shock of pleasure making your hips jerk. You apply more pressure, a swift circling around the sensitive nerves, and a moan breaks free of the barrier of your lips. Vox meets it with one of his own, the fist around his cock stroking earnestly, the fingers of his free hand trailing up and down his body, coming down to cup and squeeze his balls while he watches you.
“Fuck me, that’s fucking sexy,” he growls, his voice like gravel- his eyes are narrowed in between your legs like a man possessed, the intensity of his gaze like fire, like lightning. Your entire body is flushed, dripping with sweat when you copy him and let your free hand cup your breasts, tease the nipples through your thin shirt. “You like having eyes on you, sweetheart? Pull those little panties aside, show me what you like.”
You do as he asks, pulling the gusset of your soaked blue panties to the side and trailing a finger through the slickness of your folds. Your breath leaves you in shaky gasps as you press a digit inside, the angle not quite right for hitting that sweet spot that made you see stars. It had been so long since you had indulged in a little self pleasure, certainly at least before you had been swept up in the fog and taken to the entity’s realm; even with the thoughts you had had about this man you had never gone so far as actually touching yourself with the lack of privacy around the campfire and in the trials. The touch alone was good, but to have Vox watching you so closely, the wet sounds of him stroking his cock mingling in the air with those that came from your fingers pressing desperately into your cunt, a second joining the first too soon, was burning bliss that raced through your veins.
His tongue hangs from his mouth, drool dangling obscenely from the end of it; he leans forward enough that it drips over his prick, the added wetness making everything so much louder as his rhythm sped up. “Come on, sweetness, fuck that pretty pussy for me,” he pants, his eyes glued to where your fingers begin thrusting into yourself, the drip of your arousal leaking from your stretched entrance. “Nice and loud so the camera picks it up.”
Your eyes dart to the surveillance camera in the corner of the room that the two of you had come jolting out of, the lens wide and glaring and pointed right at you. “You’re recording?” You ask breathlessly, hot desire flashing through you at the idea of him coming back to this moment between trials, looking at a playback of you fucking yourself on your fingers like a whore just because he told you, because he wanted to watch you do it.
“She won’t let us stay here forever,” he says, a harsh grunt tearing free of his throat as his strokes pick up speed, slick, rhythmic sounds that echo in your ear and make your head slow and fuzzy. As he says it, the whole realm seems to creak and groan and shift, like reaffirming that the Entity was displeased with how you were using her little world of chaos. “Just getting a little something to tide me over til next time.”
Next time. A moan slips from between your lips, letting yourself lean back further against the cushions so you can angle your fingers correctly to brush against the textured spot of sensitive tissue inside. “What’s the plan for next time?” You inquire, watching his fingers glide effortlessly over the illuminated flesh of his cock- he seems to harden further at your words, leaking from the tip in a way that makes your mouth water. With any luck, your next encounter would involve actually getting to touch him; to feel all that hard flesh under your hands, raking divots into his skin, tasting the salty musk of his precum on your tongue before sinking into his lap. Your cunt flutters uselessly around your fingers, pleasurable but not enough when you think about being stuffed full with the promising erection that Vox held in his fist.
“Once I get rid of your little friends,” he says in a stage whisper, “I’m going to d̸̡̩͍̔ͥ͜ę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊s̩͙͖̋͛͟t̴͕͖͓̀r̶̷̲͍̭͐̾̀͟ȍ̸̢̢̮͚̐̚y̯̤͑́́̓́ y̯̤͑́́̓́ȍ̸̢̢̮͚̐̚û̶͙̽̿͆̈.” His hand flies in slick strokes over his cock as he races towards completion, the pixels of his eyes not even blinking as he watches you desperately try to shove your fingers further, reach as deep as you knew he would. The corruption of his voice, like his internal system was at its very limits, makes you clench hard around your fingers, arousal burning in every bit of skin that was under his gaze. “Bend you over the closest surface and fuck you stupid- make sure every time you catch a glimpse of my cameras you remember being stretched around my prick and b͔͔̳͈̊̆ͥ͂͜͝ḛ̡̰̳͓̥ͬ͋ͪͧg̬̬̱ͩ͋͟͟g̬̬̱ͩ͋͟͟i̧̻̻͉̜͑ͪ̾͟n̫̫̘̗͕̲̲̎ͥg̬̬̱ͩ͋͟͟ m̰̰̹͚̙̂ͦ͗͠ḛ̡̰̳͓̥ͬ͋ͪͧ to cum.”
Your legs tremble, muscles tensing as your orgasm barrels closer. “Oh God,” you moan, so close that every part of you aches with the need for release- your head thrashes against the cushions of the couch, nerves overstimulated and raw and eyes locked on where his thumb brushed against his head, the entire length twitching in his grip as he watches you in turn.
“Or maybe I’ll let them live and fill up that sweet mouth first,” he grunts, “see if your muscle memory is good enough to do a generator while I fuck your face- better not fuck it up unless you want your teammates to see you g̴̶̛̮̣͙͠ă̶̸̝ͦ͊̿͋͞g̴̶̛̮̣͙͠g̴̶̛̮̣͙͠i̵͓͙̱͚̎͟n̷̶̯͉̊̽̐ͦ͘g̴̶̛̮̣͙͠ for a killer’s cock-” Static flashes across his screen, a sudden snowstorm that glitches his face out before he lurches forward, his free hand gouging deep gashes into the arm of the couch you lay across. “F̵̦̺͕́̐͟û̶͙̽̿͆̈c̷̹͖͋́̃k̶̸͙̭̹͆͟, g̴̶̛̮̣͙͠ȍ̸̢̢̮͚̐̚n̷̶̯͉̊̽̐ͦ͘n̷̶̯͉̊̽̐ͦ͘ă̶̸̝ͦ͊̿͋͞ c̷̹͖͋́̃û̶͙̽̿͆̈m̶̷͔ͪ̽͡--”
The camera in the corner goes dark as he spills over his fingers, the glow lightly flashing up the length of his shaft with every pulse into his hand- his release splashes across your bared skin, hot and thick, a deep, dark flash of arousal through your core at the sensation. You’re a hair trigger away from your own orgasm when he pulls his claws from the couch arm and stills your hands. The burning pleasure cools, frustration taking its place at his interruption until you see his face has come back, his eyes dark and drool dripping from the edges of his razor sharp teeth.
“Open those lips for me, sugar,” he says softly, and you do so with no hesitation; his claws slip between your lips and over your tongue, the salty, musky taste of his cum overwhelming your senses. You try in vain to get your fingers moving again, Vox’s hand squeezing lightly to deter the attempted movements. “Suck,” he says darkly, his left eye glowing red and swirling, but you’d have done it even without the compulsion that weaved through your mind, so desperate for whatever pleasure he could give you that you’d do whatever he asked.
You apply the suction he’s requested, hollowing your cheeks and sliding your tongue between his fingers, licking every drop of his release that you can find. He keeps those fingers in your mouth and uses his other hand to knock yours away from your pussy, careful with his claws as he tears your soaked panties from your body and swipes his fingers through the slick of your arousal. You moan around his fingers when he slides a digit into you, long and strong and immediately putting pressure right where you need it, where you couldn’t properly reach before. “That’s fucking right,” he growls, and the gravel in his voice has your cunt clamping down on him when he pushes another finger in, thrusting fast and hard- the coil in your abdomen tenses, drool and humiliating noises escaping through your parted lips as he drags you to the edge. “Go on, baby, fucking s̩͙͖̋͛͟c̷̹͖͋́̃r̶̷̲͍̭͐̾̀͟ę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ă̶̸̝ͦ͊̿͋͞m̶̷͔ͪ̽͡ f̷̵̫̞̉͢ȍ̸̢̢̮͚̐̚r̶̷̲͍̭͐̾̀͟ m̶̷͔ͪ̽͡ę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊…”
Your orgasm rips through you like a hook to the shoulder, every muscle clenching hard, your soft inner walls fluttering as Vox’s hand is drenched. Your veins are alight with electric pleasure that’s prolonged with every additional push of his fingers fucking in and out of you, his thumb coming up to brush insistently at your clit. The added sensation toes the line of too much, the pleasure almost painful as he works you straight through one orgasm to another, his eyes- and the camera- never leaving your body as it seizes up again, Vox’s presence finally leaving your mouth so you can whimper and cry his name loud enough to echo in the empty house.
When he finally withdraws from the clutch of your pussy, his fingers are soaked and dripping with your release- he brings them to his mouth, long tongue darting out to lick you from his skin. He slides a hand under your head and tilts your face to the corner of the room. “Smile pretty for the camera,” he says, letting his tongue trail around the shell of your ear, and you feel a fucked out grin steal across your features before he lets you collapse into the cushions again.
Everything is pleasant and fuzzy- your body still tingles from the aftershocks of two vigorous orgasms, and Vox’s arms are strong and muscular under your back as he lifts you. “Easy, sweetheart,” he murmurs, and he’s repositioning you to rest against his shoulder, standing and lifting you from the couch with ease. “Fuck, I knew you’d be good for me. Stay just like that, yeah?” He makes his way through the house, and as you walk you can hear the hum of the hatch- it seemed like now that you had both finished, he was going to let you escape…
But your eyes open when the hum of the hatch fades, Vox’s grip still strong on your waist as he also bypasses the exit gate. “Um- Vox?” You crane your neck to see him striding purposefully towards the hook in the middle of the road, the Entity’s claws already poised and ready above it.
Panic overrides the soft pliancy that had taken over your body, immediately struggling against the firm hold that he had on you- but you’d never managed to successfully wiggle free of him in any trial. “Don’t be like that,” he chides you, your movement at least pulling him a little off course. “It’s nothing personal, doll- we had a good time together but at the end of the day, business is business! Gotta answer to the lady upstairs- don’t hold it against me next time.” He passes by a pallet, and in a surge of desperation you reach for it- your fingers just manage to catch it, pulling hard so it slams into his body, a solid sound that echoes in the empty realm.
It’s enough- just barely, but it’s enough. His grip loosens and you drop from his shoulder, and you take the brief moment of his confusion to slam his head down hard into the wood. It breaks under the force of him, the sound of shattering glass and cursing filling your ears before you dart away on shaky legs, not waiting to see the aftermath.
The hatch isn’t far away, and you see him stand from where you had slammed him down- cobweb fractures span across his face, and his eyes are fractured and angry in every piece of broken glass visible. “It’s nothing personal,” you call to him, and you can see the pieces of his expression glitch out- whether it’s shock, anger, admiration, you can’t tell, but you aren’t going to take the time to figure it out. “Don’t hold it against me next time!” You drop into the darkness of the hatch, his frustrated scream echoing in your head as he fades from view.
Read the wonderful works from the Event that made Hazbin Hotel meet Dead By Daylight - now live and in color!
@melodyonthewireless - Memento Mori (Alastor x Sable Ward)
@redvexillum - TBA (Alastor x Reader)
@ritualofcirice - Save All Your Tears fo Me (Valentino x Reader)
@chefskjssart - TBA (Valentino)
@dewdropdinosaur - Sweet Suffering (Zestial x Reader)
@lumikello24 - (Alastor x Reader)
@macabr3-barbi3 - Surveillance (Vox x Reader)
@xalygatorx - Le Petit Mori (Zestial x Reader)
@kewpikayo - Partners...? (Alastor x Reader)
@jurijyuu - In the Ashes of the Garden (GuitarApple) - Companion Art
@fraugwinska - Final Girl (Angel x Ghostface)
Click the poster at the top to be taken to the master list, the collection of all these amazing works. Some TBC.
Click the above image for a direct link to the master list and the banner below for my piece, Memento Mori (Alastor x Sable)
For this All Hallows' Eve 2024, the 'Wheel of Misfortune' has chosen and ten wonderful, talented artists and myself to take on the world of the multiplayer game DEAD BY DAYLIGHT and put the characters of HAZBIN HOTEL in it!
This is my humble contribution and the summary is as follows....
Alastor finds himself in The Entity's realm and bound by new chains of servitude that he is as unwilling, as ever, to accept. With no idea how he got there, he grapples with his fate, testing the entity and incurring violent physical and mental tortures as it works to bend him to its will, as so many have been before, clinging desperately to his plan for escape as he teeters on the edge of madness.
In Hell he had a choice, he could only ever blame himself for the deal that landed the fist pair of manacles around his wrists. After all, the system of dealing in souls had benefited him far greater than it had worked to his detriment, he could respect it, even. But The Entity is not a force driven by deals, nor does it give, but only take. Beyond the fog there are no other distributions of power, only The Entity... and it hungers!
Thank you so much to the amazingly talented writer, equally talented banner maker and equally amazing friend for inviting me to be a part of this and of course the banner... the wonderful, one and only, @fraugwinska <3
I dedicate this third and final instalment to the astounding @jurijyuu, the extraordinary @redvexillum and the spectacular @melodyonthewireless. Thank you all so much!!!!
Warnings & tags: Violence, bloodshed, environmental destruction, Survivor's guilt, Minor character death(s). Alastor is still a little shit.
Chapter 1: Team Player
Chapter 2: Left Hanging
You are at Chapter 3: Burning Alive
Inhaling deeply, your senses awoke to the sharpness that often comes with smoke, your lungs burning with the ache of a thousand suns. Your skin felt hot underneath your jean jacket, singed and crisp as the denim clung to you. You felt as if you were being cooked. Everything ached and burned…
…Everything was burning…
…Everything was on fire.
Your eyes flash open, surveying your limited horizontal surroundings to finally come to the conclusion your nose had already gained the answers to. Your cheek was clinging to the damp earth, your hair no doubt doused in its essence as you attempted to move the hand seated next to your face.
Why was everything burning? Why were you lying down? When did you pass out? You didn’t remember falling asleep.
As the fogginess in your brain subsided, it leaked through your ears and into the air around you. Smoke mixed with your tangible thoughts until it produced an heir of smog floating just barely over the nearby cattails. The mist was faint as your form clung low to the ground where oxygen was ample. You were safe from the promised flame.
For now…
Ignoring the terrible ache that afflicted the inside of your lungs and nearly everywhere else on your person, you urged yourself to your knees. You offered yourself copious pauses until the majority of your weight rested upon your shins, sinking you deeper into the sticky mud as you tried to ascertain what happened.
As if an immediate clue to what had transpired, your eyes caressed the blurry horizon amidst the crackle of far off flame. The landscape offered nothing but freedom and an over abundance of naked trees amidst the dank marsh. The rare form of sunlight licked through the spaces in between their branches as smog continued to offer you shelter.
You had…Escaped?
Relief flooded into your system as an audible laugh of disbelief smuggled its way out of your mouth, rapidly turning into a strangled scream that lodged itself in your throat as your face turned to the side to observe your silent audience.
Fingertips clawed at the tender skin of your cheeks, the feel of gravel and muck abrasive on your flesh and underneath your touch as your voice fought in your mouth. Your brain was unsure of whether to release the tension in your voicebox or swallow the urge completely. Your eyes bore into the ones belonging to a deceased compatriot. It was the most macabre staring contest you had ever held witness to or participated in to date.
Unfamiliar spheres devoid of life bore into your soul as your irises timidly traced along the outline of the corpse of another survivor, ending their travels at the male's neck. A thin, clean cut awaited your sights; continuously oozing the deepest burgundy into an ocean beneath him. The kill was fresh.
What happened? Usually the Entity retrieved what souls she captured from the hooks, collecting the entirety of her victim’s essance and leaving nothing behind. Surely it wasn't her doing.
With a deathly chill creeping up your spine, your mind ascertained that only one other individual could’ve caused what afflicted your eyes.
As if an immediate confirmation to your discoveries, the subtleness of serrated laughter cut through the air. The clipped sound came from a familiar voice, cold but pleased in its utterance.
It was getting closer.
You didn’t want to turn around.
The hands still drawn to your cheeks curled over your flesh, dirty nails digging into delicate skin as your breath ceased in shock. You closed your eyes tightly. Memories from what happened only hours prior flooded into your mind’s eye in brief flashes. They were gruesome details you would’ve happily lived without.
The generator’s were finished, the exit gates opened. Another survivor made an appearance only to be brought to his knees by your partner; hamstrings slashed to oblivion by the knife Alastor harbored.
A bloody race to the death was requested of you to satiate the obvious boredom drenching into your partner’s visage. It was a race you had won, and you had to look away as the other life fighting against fate’s clock was forfeit. The blade in Alastor’s hands brought about a swift end. You hoped it had been painless; but by the sounds and gurgles the victim made you sincerely doubted it.
Then flame. Nothing but flame dousing every inch of the land in its torrential wake. It continued in its encroachment in the weeds and over the boglike water; smoke pairing with its vicious heat to the point it made the sweat on your brow more prominent. Your vision grew even more blurry. The smell was putrid, and severely unharmonious to your senses.
Finished with the visuals your mind relentlessly supplied, you opened your eyes. Finally turning your head to greet the crunch of grass under boots and the laughter that had all but gotten louder, your body froze once again. Horror gripped you at the grotesque sight.
Human flesh burned away, allowing Dark curls to transform into only the brightest of reds as animalistic ears sprouted from his crown, the edges of which tinted the deepest shade of old blood. The man’s eyes were lidded, beholding you calmly with all the boldness in the world. Your partner’s smile was sharp, golden and grand across the expanse of his face. As he continued to grow near, he grinned at you with an uncanniness that made your blood run cold.
Alastor's newly acquired overcoat was ripped as it flapped in the wind, dancing with the soot and debris the warm wind carried overhead. A few ashes fell upon his shoulders, but with effortless poise the demon wiped his clothing to perfection; continuing to stalk over to you, his footwork calculated and quiet. The only sound escaping him was the slight buzz of static.
You couldn’t stop staring.
“Well, I suppose that’s a bargain completed and a job well done. Wouldn’t you agree, doll?”
Your partner was…A red devil? Your thoughts buffered as Alastor clapped dust from his palms and continued drawing close as he knelt down to collect his blade from the ground. He certainly wasn’t human, that was for sure. Somehow he had even gotten taller, his plush ears reaching heaven as antlers akin to the sharpest thistles and thorns crowned his head.
Wiping his blade clean on his trousers, the knife glinted in the light of dawn as he looked from his task to you to regard you calmly.
He. Wasn’t. Human.
It all made sense now. His prowess and knack for killing without attaining injury, even his speed. He was seemingly unmatched. It was all coming full circle.
With the last remnants of humanity that still clung to Alastor being licked away by flame, the blood rushed in your ears as you tried to teach your lungs to breathe again. To no avail. You were petrified. The only reality available to you was the visage of a red devil with a golden grin and a compelling, bloody stare.
Your dry tongue could only produce audio for one feeble thought.
“...Why…?”
Alastor didn’t seem bothered by your pondering as he made quick work of placing his knife back into its sheath. He didn’t answer you.
“...Why did you feel the need to kill them…? Fuck…Why did you…Why did you kill the other survivors…?!”
Another pause followed your words as Alastor tilted his head, his bob tickling his cheeks as the wind tousled it gently. The words that exited his lips were accompanied by an odd frequency, filtered and distorted until his voice was as grotesque and bizarre as his transformation.
“...What an odd question from the one requesting their blood be shed in the first place; but I suppose I’m inclined to give an answer…”
A few steps forward brought him in front of you, kneeling to accommodate your weakened state.
“Doll…Have you ever heard of the phrase, ‘The devil’s in the details…?’”
The silence following your partner’s words seeped into your subconscious as he continued to fuel your ears with your own words.
“You were the one requesting I ‘“pick off the others”’… I dare say you even made mention for me to, ‘“Stab people”’…? Why are you confused dear…? I only did as requested.”
The horror in your heart as you realized your audible mistake was immense. You hadn’t specified who Alastor killed, just that he did so.
You were just as guilty in everyone’s demise as your partner was…
Alastor regarded you with a curious grin, regret blooming onto your features as if your skin was a beautifully curated garden, lush with melancholy and woe.
The sight was delicious. Your despair was a feast.
As precious moments passed by and the elusive sun reflected in the metal buttons, trinkets and pins on your denim jacket; the same type of question graced your lips a second time.
“...But….Why did you kill all of them….I-I didn’t ask you to….You knew I meant the….The bad ones…”
“Oh? Did I?”
You glanced up at him in wary confusion.
“ How are you so sure? After all, verbiage is very important when it comes to contractual agreements.”
A chuckle left him, sharp and eloquent.
“Since there were no such specifications, I just took the liberty to execute my end of our bargain with only the utmost dedication…You're most welcome, by the way.”
Straightening his monocle with his free hand; Alastor made a minor adjustment to insure its continued attunement to his face. Words flowed from his practiced lips like silk.
“The others served me no purpose, and I dare say it’s a bit unfair to have a young lady do all the work herself. They would have benefited from all of your hard work and you would’ve received no compensation for it. We couldn’t have that…”
“But…They were just trying to survive, like I was…Like w-we both were…”
Your voice grew with the added weight that your heavily clouded thoughts no doubt provided.
“Why…Why didn’t you kill me…?”
It was a rhetorical question, uttered to yourself in the faintest, most poignant of whispers; a doubt so profound it sent your callous voice retreating into the back of your throat. How pathetically adorable.
However pleasant and enjoyable the sight your mental turmoil produced; your persistent scowl accompanied such an ugly little frown on your delicate, bloodstained features. He would fix that. Promptly.
“My dear, we are partners, are we not? You said so yourself…So why in Heaven’s name would I end someone who has proved beneficial to me? It’s a bad business practice. Surely you can understand something so simple…”
“I…I get that, but…Why even go through all the trouble to leave a witness in the first place…? You killed everyone else, so why not take my life too? Sounds half assed if you ask me…If you’re gonna commit to a killin’ spree, then you better damn well finish what you started…”
The timorous eyes that hid from him boldly gave themselves as a gift, dauntless in presentation as you gazed at him. The sunlight and the flames surrounding you supplied the additional amount of charm reflected in your eyes. It was an inner strength Alastor was marveled by.
Defiant little thing. He laughed, appreciating the challenge your venomous gaze wordlessly taunted him with. What fun you were.
Unfortunately for you, he would be the one calling the shots.
“You’re right. I love an audience, but usually my “hobbies” were never public knowledge in life. Ha! I do suppose you are right, though. How “half assed” of me indeed…However, it is not an issue I intend to amend…”
Alastor brought his hand to your chin, the pad of his thumb tactfully floating over your bottom lip. You flinched at his touch but didn’t back away.
“Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t allow the chance for any witnesses; but you have dutifully performed your purpose and have kept your side of our shared bargain. A reward for your services is owed to you, yes?”
Crisp, unwavering irises bore into bloody ones as the demon’s smile upped in charm.
“Besides, I…”
Propping his forearm on his knee; his free hand shuffled amongst the contents of his coat pocket in search of something to occupy the emptiness of his claws. His finger tips ached for something of old habit.
“...I suppose you could say that I’ve taken a shine to you…You have moxie. A will, a determination, to survive. I’ve witnessed you dauntlessly stare death in the face thrice this evening, plus or minus a few tears and a bit of bloodshed, of course…”
The tips of his claws found purchase on the carton of his favorite brand of cigarettes that made a nest in his breast pocket. They had remained from the last time they were ever used, some fifty odd years ago.
He placed the fragile, open pack of cigarettes on the wet earth, reaching for one to light. He took note of how your eyes flitted to his hands; a curiosity, a distrust of him, taking root in their depths. Good. He had always liked keeping his audience on their toes, guessing what his next move would be.
“You could say that you have a light in your eyes that the others failed to possess…”
Finally procuring a smoke from his old carton of Lucky Strikes, Alastor made haste in lighting one between his red fingertips. Now in his usual form, his power was restored to him.
“You intrigue me; and it would be a disservice to you to allow that spirit of yours to dwindle if I have means to curate it and offer it another opportunity to thrive.”
Lifting the chosen cigarette to his lips, he took in a long drawl before blowing smoke out of the side of his smile. He stifled a cough, not used to the all too familiar burn after years out of practice. The taste, though old, was just as he remembered. Terrible; but the rush he desired was still the same.
“Sometimes you must let game go so they may give you a greater thrill in the future…Any good hunter worth his salt knows this…”
Another drawl of the nicotine in his fingers had him blowing the smoke over his shoulder. The smell was just as foul as the smog wafting over the stagnant water of the bayou.
“Killing you, my dear, would have certainly been a treat; but knowing I am the sole reason for your escape is the greater thrill this morning. Perhaps, one of these days, you will find yourself in front of my blade rather than behind it…Only time will tell…”
The thumb floating over your bottom lip finally pressed into your skin, ghosting over your frown until it reached its corner. His palm cupped your face as he pinched the excess skin in between his fingers.
Alastor was silent a moment, captivated by the scowl and that disgruntled stare you presented him.
“Hmm…I suppose that beneath all the muck, grime and that vexing frown of yours…”
His grip tightened on your cheek as he pulled at your face teasingly, moving his cigarette away from his lips.
“... There is a sweetness to your features…A softness I quite like…”
His claw pushed further into your cheek, blood gently oozing out of your flesh as he carefully went in an upward line; tracing a lopsided smile into your dimple.
If you wouldn’t willingly give him a smile, then he would make one.
You flinched at the pain the demon inflicted, but dared not move away. He admired your wisdom and your willingness to acknowledge that you were bested. You were out classed, and he could do to you what he wished. You were his captive audience and he had you tuned into every single word he deemed fit to express. It was such a delicious experience.
Perhaps he should’ve at least asked for a grin before he departed. His mannerisms just ensured he would see one from you that morning, but perhaps you would be generous after he was so kind as to spare you? A smile was the only thing he requested in thanks for his generosity. Supplying one shouldn’t be that hard for you.
“...Of course, you would look one hundred times better with a nice little grin. Surely you’ll grant me the pleasure of seeing it…?”
Alastor tilted his head as he regarded you, adding a teasing lilt to his calculated crooning.
“You would do anything for your partner, yes…? Such a loyal, dutiful little soul you are…”
The audible, mocking purr forming in the depths of his throat faded as his own smile grew in devilish charm. What a sight you were. An obstinate statue of dismal decorum. One he could, he would, will to submission.
Just as he silently willed it did it come forth, tentative and delicate. Obviously laced with fear and disdain. The curvature of your lips was not quite genuine, defiant as you begrudgingly gifted a grin to him. Still, it was a gift he accepted all the same; regardless of how stubborn and unwillful the presentation.
What a treat, to come across such an adorably, obstinate soul. Your company certainly proved to be enjoyable, strangely enough. Alastor was thankful he didn’t kill you when he had the chance. A world of entertainment would’ve been lost without your company.
His eyes clung to the reticent smile embroidered into your features as your brow furrowed; painting a peculiar expression that he just couldn’t get enough of.
He couldn’t look away.
“...Breathtaking…”
Lifting his cigarette to his lips once more, Alastor took a deep inhale of smoke only to blow it back into your face with a proud chuckle. His eyes finally tore themselves from your smile to meet your eyes once more. He watched with twisted glee as you scrunched your nose up at the smell, coughing feebly into your sleeve.
Your varied reactions that morning had more than satiated his curiosity. For once, in a long while, the demon was content.
“Now…You’ve been a lovely audience; but I’m afraid that this is where we part…”
Releasing your face from his hold, he patted your cheek gently. He was sure to coat his fingers in copious amounts of the blood trickling down from the marks he created before letting you go.
“...Perhaps we will meet again, old sport…”
A hunger was present in his gaze as he took a final drawl from his cigarette before throwing it to the weeds, quenching the few sparks his actions made into the muck under the heel of his oxfords. He held the smoke in his lungs only to release it as he gripped the edge of your baseball cap. With a delicate flick of his claws, the hat was moved to obscure your vision as he gave a fond, jaunty laugh. As promised, amusement flooded his chest when he watched you fix your cap to its original place on your crown with a hefty huff.
Yes. Your company was most satisfying indeed…
“Until then…Adieu…”
Feeling his time was amply used to its maximum purpose, he turned on his heel and headed promptly into the direction of naked trees and sparse foliage. Freedom greeted him in the light of the dawn, the chirping of crickets dying away as morning echoed its breath over everything in sight. A hum found its way on his lips, pleased and bold as he put a bit more pep in his step in his exit; sufficiently satisfied with leaving you as his sole witness.
According to Alastor, you had more than earned the opportunity to keep your life.
It was a fate most befitting for any partner worthy of the Great Radio Demon…
Fixing your cap from your partner’s rude treatment of it, you lifted the hat from your head only to place it gently back in its place. Your eyes glared at the remnants of the smoldering cigarette butt that made the grass into a makeshift funeral pyre, smoke giving the sparks brief life even moments after they were snuffed out.
Why did Alastor even feel the need to snuff out a possible fire threat when the whole premises was already ablaze? It made no sense to your tired mind as your eyes broke from the corpse of the cancer stick in front of you to the other fresh corpse beside you. Guilt gripped your chest yet again as fear ripped your focus to your shaking, sin-covered palms.
The smile Alastor coaxed from you previously with his words and his claws remained, frozen as your hands shook. You clenched and unclenched your bloody, oil covered fingers as you steadied your breathing. You willed the desire to scream, to sob, to leave you.
You would not cry.
You. Would. Not. Cry.
Tears as defiant as you stung the wounds in your cheeks in their fearful descent as your grin faltered into a downward curve. You bit your bloody lip, harsh breathing traded for stifled screams. Regret held you in a choke hold as the gravity of your despair ripped your throat on its way out. You weren’t sure if the taste of iron was from your busted lips or the magnitude of your voice.
Your head molded into your hands, muffling your anguished cries in an attempt to calm your torrential emotions; but to no avail.
You were pathetic. Why were you weeping? You weren’t mourning the dead; but your integrity. Yourself. You selfishly drew in breath while the other survivors, victims, would never have that opportunity to do so again.
All because of the words you misspoke in haste to secure your own future.
Why were you sobbing? Why were you so ungrateful for the chance to live? You cared for no one but yourself, so why did tears insist on falling for complete strangers?
Why didn’t you beg, insist, for Alastor to kill you too?
You didn’t deserve to be alive. You were a mistake. A useless partner, getting caught constantly and needing someone else’s protection and blaming your shortcomings onto Alastor when he wouldn’t help you. You were useless when it came to survival, when it came to helping anyone else but yourself…
You truly were a useless soul, petulant and needy.
Useless. Selfish. Awful.
Bereft for complete strangers and left shocked to your core, your voice continued to escape loudly into the air. Your voice was free.
You were free.
You were alive. They were not.
You. Were. Alive.
You were the only one alive…
But at what cost…?
“...Dammit…!”
You bit down into your palms, tasting earth, iron and oil as you felt the grit of loose gravel against bone. Only the wretched taste of dirt and blood and the intensity of flesh being painfully punctured under teeth was available to you.
The favored taste of old pennies remained in the back of the Overlord’s pallet, enjoyable down to the last taste as Alastor licked his fingers clean. The previous sight of your blood reawakened his hunger. It was only fitting he should allow himself a taste. It was a sufficient reward for his own successful efforts.
After all, it was breakfast time once again.
The all too familiar, bitter savor of metal lingered on his claws and tongue as a melody came to life in the radio host’s voice. A bright, tenor hum greeted the sunrise as the snap of twigs and crunch of grass turned to debris under his oxfords. Alastor was in his element; and for the first time in a long while, he was content.
Things were good, thanks to you.
Turning a sharp left around a group of dismal looking shrubs and trees, the peculiar sight of something as otherworldly as himself caught Alastor’s eye. Deep in the depths of the foliage, broken tree stumps and endless cattails was a portal. Its construction was very much akin to his own he would use to teleport around the hotel and all throughout Hell.
Perhaps this “Entity” you spoke of previously was pleased with his slaughter; having a portal prepared for his return home? How convenient…
Swift, long strides carried the Overlord closer to the gateway that awaited him. Beyond the threshold was the all too familiar sights of his radio tower, his broadcasting equipment just as he had left it as the fresh scent of coffee wafted into his greedy senses.
Before he could move any further towards his destination, however, the exhilarating sound of an all too familiar voice graced his hearing. Velvety ears swiveled around at the sound, intent on capturing each individual cadence and rhythm the voice presented.
You could be heard gracelessly caterwauling just over the expanse of pitiful trees that surrounded the demon, a great distance away. Despite the dissonant way you carried your voice, your screams were entrancing. Enthralling. Once again, you had captured his attention with ease.
Alastor closed his eyes to appreciate the magnitude of the suffering he audibly held witness to. Not only had you given him a smile, but a beautifully orchestrated chorus of screams? You were far too generous.
He was giddy. Elated. The sound of such sweet sorrow lifted his spirits. What a delightful parting gift you had bestowed.
‘...Such an interesting and useful little thing you’ve proven to be…’
With the corners of his lips lifted significantly, Alastor made a decision. One of these days, he would see you again; and what a wonderful reunion it would be indeed.
It was just a matter of when…
Pausing a moment more, the demon contented himself with listening to the impassioned fragments of your agony until the wind carried the pleasure of your voice from him. Your volume died with the night.
Despite the shortness of your performance, he committed the experience to memory. The pitifulness of your existence embedded itself into his clothing and his mind, demanding to be remembered.
Alastor breathed in once more, enraptured with the rarity the night had supplied him. Thanks to you, he was more than satisfied. Your “song” had left him genuinely renewed. Realizing the gravity of such a rare thing deserved a bit of reverence as he took a sharp breath, memorizing the way the morning tasted of smoke and terror. It wasn’t too dissimilar from where he was headed.
“...My, what a lovely send off; and such a pleasant way to commemorate our partnership. Though, It’s such a shame there isn’t enough time for an encore... Oh well. Perhaps another time…”
Stepping through the provided portal, the first notes of birdsong resumed throughout his surrounds, mirroring Alastor’s humming from before. He glanced behind him with a fond grin filled to the brim with excitement; taking in the remnants of smoke on the opposite horizon as the gateway to you closed behind him.
I dedicate this second chapter to the sweet @ritualofcirice, the exquisite @lumikello24, the utterly superb @fraugwinska and the fantastic @macabr3-barbi3 . Thank you all so much for making this event such a pleasure to be a part of.
Hope you enjoy part two!!
Here's Chapter 1: Team Player.
your at Chapter 2: Left Hanging.
here's Chapter 3: Burning Alive.
Warnings & Tags: Violence, typical bloodshed associated with Hazbin hotel and Dead by Daylight. Alastor still being a little shit, etc. death of minor characters
Multiple hours passed until mid morning became late afternoon as the sun was continuously locked away in the realm of mist and shadow.
At least the darkness provided ample cover for further protection, but it was terrible to navigate the necessary equipment needed to fix the machines. Luckily, you had a miniature flashlight from your time pilfering through stray boxes. It was currently held under your chin to create a steady light source for your tedious task.
Despite your unfortunate hooking accident and the pain it still caused you, your progress with the generators had gone rather smoothly. You had somehow managed to get three out of the five generators up to working condition; plus or minus the few instances when hiding in a locker or behind brush became necessary.
For the most part, your partner seemed to be carrying out his delegated task quite well. At least that’s what you assumed. You hadn’t heard from him in hours, but the looming threat of capture or death had somehow lessened in severity. It had been quiet…
Maybe striking a last minute deal with that strange, smiling guy was the best rash decision you had ever made .
As your bloody, oil soaked hands worked meticulously, your mind strayed to less demanding thoughts.
The asshole of a stranger, Alastor, was unbearable to say the least. His sharp wit was easily comparable to the nice, bloody blade he had acquired when he chose to ignore you. The insufferable bastard didn’t even bother to ask if you were okay or needed help, but just decided to leave you hanging. Literally.
Regardless of his initial purposeful ignorance of your person, perhaps you made the decision to reach out to him not only out of necessity, but also for the sole reason that he looked like the type to have his shit together.
You remembered the dark man stood tall with obvious pride in the presentation he held for himself. It was as if he was opulently adorned in only the best of linens. He was a bit too pompous for your tastes, but you had to admit the man did have pretty privilege. Alastor was indeed a looker.
Surprisingly, no blood was to be seen on him and his smile had never left his face even when he had seemed cross with you. It was a peculiar habit. There was just something about that grin of his and how it continually cast a supernatural glow to his warm skin. It was almost as if it was glued or stitched to his features permanently. It was creepy; and you hated how effortlessly charming it was.
His eyes spoke of a different tale, however. They were dauntless and expressive; amber jewels that were attuned to his face in unwavering self assurance hidden behind gentle, dark curls. It was obvious he was of the calculating, intellectual sort. Maybe that was why you felt comfortable enough to beg him to help you. You were assured he had a plan brewing under that steadfast grin, and you wanted in on whatever strategic formulation his mind deemed worthy to conduct.
He was a survivor, a victor, and you had always liked being a part of the winning team. Acquiring a partnership with another like minded, capable individual was only the most logical step forward. Anyone within their right mind would’ve done so.
Wiping your brow of the sweat that accumulated under the ball cap you donned, you went back into an intense focus. There was no time to daydream. How much time had you lost already? You didn’t know, but you did know too many valuable minutes had already passed you by. It was one moment too many to risk doing so a second time.
Rewiring your focus, the specific cable in your grasp was of the stubborn sort; unwilling to bend to the plan you had for it with a burning passion.
You readjusted the flashlight underneath your chin and moved closer to have a better look, wincing when the twinge in your shoulder wouldn’t go away. You cursed to yourself, frustration dripping into your vocabulary.
“Havin’ a wrench would’ve made this a helluva lot easier…Dammit…Just connect, you stupid wires…It literally isn’t that hard…It’s not rocket science!”
As if a resistant response to your furious words, sparks flew into your face with a loud, rambunctious pop. You jolted backwards with a colorful curse, a sting in your fingertips. The light and sound startled you; and with a wince your expression contorted into a deeper scowl due to the pain.
“Shit!”
Waving your hand, a harsh hiss escaped from under your breath as your fingers were brought to your lips. You bit back the pain, shutting your eyes and blinking back tears as the taste of blood and oil flooded over your tongue. The blackest smoke quickly bellowed into your vision as the bold smell of gasoline was the only scent available to you. It was to the point that any oxygen had been snuffed out and made breathing an even greater hardship.
You stifled multiple coughs. The force of each constricted your chest painfully; each spasm threatening the contents of your stomach to make an unsightly appearance. Too enraptured in retaining air, you failed to hear the soft snap of a twig behind you.
However, upon calming down from the attack on your lungs, the feeling of wind and metal brushing against your ear rivaled the active popping of the nearby generator.
You were left stunned as you stared at the butcher knife lodged in the wooden pallet next to your head. Raising a tentative hand, you brushed your fingers against the edge of your ear and hissed when you felt the sting and the promise of blood.
Another knife launched itself into the wood again, landing closer to your head this time.
If the first knife didn’t get your attention, then that one certainly did.
You whipped your head to look behind you, beholding an ominous figure in a vibrant trench coat. The fog swirling around the marsh mixed in with his clothing to the point it was hard to make out who it was, but the shadow looming over you was so profound that the fear the sight instilled held you firmly in place.
That was until the threat took another dagger from his sheath and stepped forward with ill intent.
“Oh fuc-!...”
A third dagger was thrown in your direction with the intent to hit its mark as one of the Entity’s champions boldly pursued you. Jolting backwards, the dagger thrown managed to nick your cheek in the process of piercing into the nearest pallet.
As your most recent threat, referred to as the trickster by the other survivors, rearmed himself and prepared another blade with a bold laugh at your misfortune; you took the chance to flee. Scrambling to your feet, adrenaline powered your movements as your converses dredged deep grooves into the mud. You slipped, but not before pushing a pallet over to maintain some distance between you and your attacker.
Hissing in pain, you grabbed at your shoulder as you haphazardly continued to run, your breath leaving you in frantic spurts. Your legs had a will of their own, knocking you into every spare piece of wood or type of debris imaginable. It took great effort just to keep yourself on your feet.
Almost to your destination, hope was ripped from you as your foot got lodged in an unnoticeable hole, twisting uncomfortably to the point a guttural growl turned gasp escaped you as you hit the ground. Hard.
The rest of your air deflated from your lungs and into your surroundings as your ball cap was knocked from your head in your descent; flying and disappearing amongst the weeds. You cursed. There was no time to search for it. It was lost to you now.
Amidst your thoughts, somehow your rib cage managed to land on the largest, sharpest rock known to man. You yelped in pain, assured yet another of countless bruises would appear on your skin within the hour.
Dazed and light headed from pain, but the last of your adrenaline pushing you to your limits; You grabbed at the soil and lunged yourself forward with strenuous effort. You were so close to your designated hiding spot, and now that option was taken from you as well.
You wouldn’t give up, though. Not that easily.
Determined, you crawled to the next best thing: A spare pallet with just enough room underneath to provide some sort of cover. The entrance of the hole was covered with weeds and the occasional cattail. Perfect. Cover was just what you needed.
Panting , you willed yourself to continue on, elbows digging into the ground to gain leverage in the moist soil as you hurriedly crawled in desperation. You were almost there. You were sure you would make it..
You had to.
Unfortunately, your pursuit of safety was denied when the trickster caught up with you. You managed to crawl a few more inches to safety when you felt hands grab at your sides. You looked behind you and in a panicked fury started kicking your legs and wiggling to struggle free; but to no avail. Fate has other plans for you, much to your terror and disgruntlement.
The trickster hoisted you up and had you hanging from his shoulders like a light, limp sack of fruit. It irritated you how frail you were. Still, delicate and bruisable as you were, you would not go down without a fight.
So fight you did, kicking and hitting any reachable orifice or weak point you could. You managed to hit your target every so often with sufficient force, but it was as if the man was made of impenetrable stone. Nothing you did weakened your kidnapper and it proved useless to struggle. Your attempts just made you more tired in the end and you needed to conserve your strength.
Still, your fierce spirit wouldn’t be silenced and you wouldn’t give up your fight for survival just yet. Thinking it your best, and only, option; your voice illuminated the space around you. Your words ignited your attacker’s hearing in colorful, torrential succession as you also continued in your physical attack.
“Let me go, you fucker!! Put. Me. DOWN!!!”
This only supplied the trickster something to laugh at, your voice reverberating through his useless ears as your words came back void. To no surprise, your request was denied with yet another muted, sadistic chuckle. Great. Why did you think that would work?
You continued in your struggle and berating words until you were nearing your destination; a particularly rusty hook that already had fresh blood from a recent victim acquired on the metal. You blanched at the sight. You didn’t have the possibility of acquiring Tetanus or blood poisoning on your agenda that evening, or ever, but you guess fate certainly didn’t give a damn.
This particular hook was beneath The Pale Rose; and unfortunately was a good bit away from your nearly completed generator. You hoped that somehow one of the other survivors would take a hint and aid you in finishing your work, or at least come to your aid. It was unlikely though. The majority of people, if in your predicament, would’ve certainly attuned themselves to the idea of “Every man for themselves.” You certainly did. You tried rescuing someone before and it only resulted in your first capture. You wouldn’t make that same mistake again. Not without getting something in return.
There was only one other person you hoped would come for you, and even then it was still a long shot of if he would actually help you or not. From your short time of knowing him, Alastor has proved himself to be a wildcard and a man of conviction, but only if it suited his own needs or desires.
Left with no other options, you shamelessly screamed your partner’s name with all the graceless volume in your lungs.
“ALASTOR!!! WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?!?! I NEED YOU!!”
Your desperate plea was met with nothing but your own continued screams as your injured shoulder was violently shoved into the rusty hook you spotted earlier.
The screams that left you didn’t sound like your own voice. They were raw and saturated with agony, foreign in pitch and deeply feral in cadence. Desperate, a shrill shriek left you as the tendons and veins in the muscles of your shoulder were ripped anew. Black dots adorned themselves to your vision, your head light from blood loss. You swore you even saw stars in your disoriented state.
Before the worry of passing out or worse could visit your thoughts, the entity's claws were upon you. The sharp blades of horror forced you into a life or death struggle as your captor stepped away to watch your promised demise with glee.
Gritting your teeth, you glared at the trickster, stubbornly clinging to life. With the last of your strength, you held the claws aiming to puncture holes into your chest and abdomen at bay as exhaustion loomed over you.
With a fury so profound you swore you saw your attackers eyes widen in surprise, you snarled out the most putrid threat you could think of in your pain. Your grip tightened on the entity’s claws as you pushed against the trap.
“I hope you fuckin’ die and burn in the hottest part of Hell, you stupid ass piece of shit! You’re lucky I’m hangin’ here otherwise I’d kill you myself! I-I’d gut you like a fish and rip out your eyeballs and… And feed you to the gators!!! Mark my words, I’ll make you wish you were dead!!! ”
“Ha! What poetry~! But it would be quite hard to make one wish for death when they have already experienced it. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Not expecting the figure in front of you to slump over dead, your eyes widened when you saw your partner appear out of nowhere to pull a knife from the trickster’s back. Alastor’s blood soaked hands tightly gripped around his weapon of choice as he gently disposed of his latest victim’s blood on his dark denim jeans.
“Now, this fellow’s descent into the nine circles can most assuredly be arranged. It is plausible that it is already well under way…”
When did Alastor show up? Amidst the chaos and trying to keep conscious, somehow he had appeared before you instantaneously. Perhaps he was just very close by when you called out to him?
Glancing toward you, Alastor chuckled as his smile grew in smug satisfaction; curiosity glinting back at you from his calculated gaze. You continued fighting off the iron claws in silence, hoping seeing you in a struggle would alert him that his assistance was most definitely needed. You bit back a frustrated growl when he failed to notice your hidden cry for help. Perhaps he just actively ignored you again, preferring to continue talking instead.
“Though I’m sure it would’ve been such a nice sight to witness your spin on taking out the trash… It pains me to know I won’t have the opportunity to see you do so…”
Despite his words, Alastor looked chipper with the outcome that had transpired. The man stood tall, his cream button up and blue jeans soaked in viscera and gore, blood splatter decorating his spectacles and face. His conquest to gain the lives of the killers you requested most likely was going smoothly. Good. The more he killed, the greater assurance that you wouldn’t be.
What was surprising about his presentation, however, was that you could tell the blood wasn’t his. You thought that his close contact with various types of killers around the premises would have at least scored him a few wounds to keep as souvenirs; but he managed to surprise you yet again. He didn’t even look injured in the slightest. You could tell from the way his expression was lively and full of enjoyment that he was high off of the chaos, obviously receiving great pleasure from his conquest, and even more so about his most recent kill…
Just how had he managed to do so well? You supposed that wasn’t important. What did matter was that your partner was taking the deal seriously.
Choosing to ignore the unhinged vibes Alastor was giving off, you scoffed and did your utmost to hide the tremendous pain you felt in your shoulder. Talking was getting very hard to do without pausing for much needed air. With each moment that passed, the Entity’s claws encroached closer to your person, making an exhausting task even more strenuous.
You gasped as your hand slipped from one of the iron grips holding you firmly in place, the pain in your shoulder immense as the hook tugged on your overly sensitive flesh. You were fighting for your life and Alastor didn’t even seem to care. What kind of partner was he?
You supposed you couldn’t blame him. He had mentioned he always preferred solo work. Even so, anyone with even a slim amount of sanity would see you were very much in need. Your patience was about up, your struggle using the majority of your brain power. Words were hard to form at the moment. Brevity became necessary.
“Yeah, well he… Woulda looked like he does now…Dead…Stupid and…Fucked up…You did…A good job, I guess…”
“My, Is that praise I hear? Glad to know you approve of my efforts. I’m flattered.”
Alastor’s smile couldn’t have been more smug even if he tried. You rolled your eyes at the sight; stifling a low groan from both annoyance and affliction as the claws inched closer to your abdomen and collarbones. Sweat poured down your brow in your attempts at escape. You were too exhausted at this point to really call him out on his bullshit; and you really didn’t want to risk him leaving you on that hook again. Playing it safe, you decided to ignore his obvious attempts to get under your skin in hopes that he would lend you aid this time around.
“Yeah…Yeah, you don’t gotta mention it. Now…Are ya gonna help me out and… Let me down or…Or what? We’re wastin’ time…”
Still tall and poised, Alastor tilted his head as he looked at you, placing his blade back into its sheath, a question to counter your own on his breath.
“Just how many times do you intend to be captured this evening, dear? You certainly are a bloody mess, aren’t you?”
Scoffing, you stared at the first three buttons on Alastor’s shirt, blood splatter staining his fabric to ruin. He looked how you felt, every flinch and twitch of your muscles shooting agony through your body as your own blood created an ocean down your jean jacket.
You groaned. It was too much energy wasted to look anywhere else.
“No Shit….Look who’s talkin’, but no, seriously… Are your arms not workin’ or somethin’?…Let me down…”
Wincing, you used the majority of your remaining strength to readjust your body weight on the hook. Another hiss of agony leaked through your gritted teeth. Your attempts were enough to bring brief tears to the corners of your eyes. You blinked them away. You wouldn’t let him see you cry.
“We’re…Supposed to be partner’s, right? Don’t just….leave me hangin’….”
“Ha! Good one…”
Another encore of enthused chuckles escaped him as he crossed his arms. It still didn’t look like he was in any hurry to come to your aid. Shocker.
“...Unfortunately, you are missing a simple, vital phrase…It’s rather rude to forget it, wouldn’t you agree?”
Once again you were left dumbfounded by the man’s words. What did he mean? You were left in tremendous confusion until it hit you. The bastard was wanting you to beg him for his help. Again.
Swallowing as much pride as you could spare, as well as the urge to let out another scream, you let your head hang as low as it would go without causing anymore needless damage to your shoulder. Your hands still firmly grasped around the claws of the greedy Entity.
“...Please…”
Without seeing him, you could tell he was smirking just by the way his voice sounded, conceited and self important. Vain.
“Please what?”
A low growl entered your voice in a mixture of exasperation and discomfort as you looked up at your so-called partner with a deep scowl. You bit into your cheek before uttering yet another shameful, pitiful plea. You absolutely hated how weak it made you feel.
“Please…If you’d be so…gracious as to lend me your….Assistance…I'd be so appreciative…”
You wanted to make sure that Alastor knew you were pissed. The words you managed to mutter were drenched in so much sarcasm that it brought an obvious, irritated twitch to your partner’s eye. Good. He deserved it after refusing to help you for a second time. If he thought it was a burden to help you, you would show him just how much of an inconvenience you could be, should he continue to refuse to come to your aid.
Alastor remained silent. Another claw formed on the hook, causing you to have to split your efforts of keeping the iron talons at bay; one hand for each claw that formed.
Frustration flooded into you to the point you let out a shout and another string of vibrant curses.
“Arrghhhh! Just. Get. Me. down! I’m bleedin’ out, if ya haven’t noticed!”
“Oh, I’ve noticed. I do think the color red suits you rather well…”
Yet another vexing pause was seen on his part as he shifted his weight from one hip to another, his arms still crossed and his gaze curious as he stood infront of you, tantalizingly close but resistant and mute to your continued pleas.
“Besides, what was your earlier phrase? Ah, yes…I do believe it was ‘“Fuck you. I’ll just do it myself.”’? Where has all that spirit gone? You seemed very capable before. Surely nothing has changed since?”
Dumbfounded, you didn’t know how to reply. You were in such shock that one of your hands slipped, allowing one of the Entity’s claws to pierce deeply into your opposite collarbone. You let out an ear piercing scream as you managed to dig the iron out of your skin; adrenaline sending shivers swimming through your bloodstream.
Struggling to form words, you paused to take breaths in between your verbiage.
“It’s...Complicated…Hard to…Explain!”
“Then try. Enlighten me.”
“Look…I…I already used my perk, Deliverance ... .I can’t use it again; so I would greatly appreciate it if you got your head out of your ass and…and helped me! The Entity’s rippin’ me apart!”
A look equally offended and appalled darted across Alastor’s features, distorting his toothy smile to the slightest degree.
“Your…Perk? Entity? Whatever do you mean? Speak plainly, dear. What you’ve just said is very much akin to gibberish…”
If you weren’t actively fighting for your life you would’ve stared at him in disbelief, mouth agape like some braindead fool. Did this idiot not know what a survivor’s perk was? Was he actually galavanting around this entire map without using any of his? And he still managed to not get a single scratch on him? What type of creature was he?
It was as if he wasn’t even human…
Irritated that your partner was seemingly perfect, except for the one flaw that he would not willingly help set you free; you grumbled out the expected information. Somehow amidst gasping for breath, you managed to explain what a perk was and a little about the entity until Alastor’s expression changed to one of mild understanding.
“...Now, help me already….Please!”
Gasping for air and on the verge of passing out, or passing away, you looked toward your so-called partner with the utmost desperation hidden in your eyes. Yet another pause was shared between the two of you and he still refused to move or help you. Your patience for this man was about over.
“Look, shithead, I said please three times, didn’t I?!”
“My, how rude…You do realize whose life is still on the line at the moment, yes?”
In a tone that could only be described as patronizing, his grin grew in conceited splendor. Did he really enjoy getting a rise out of you that much? Your scowl deepened at his sick joy.
That sadistic fuck…
An even wider smirk adorned Alastor’s features as you blanched, your complexion pale due to both your realization as well as blood loss. His smile was more genuine when you whispered an apology. It was obvious he was pleased to know he had bruised your pride even more than it already was.
“Hmm…I suppose I will let you off the hook for your blunder, if only this once…The tendency to lose manners when one’s life is threatened is something common and albeit expected. Here, brace yourself…This will surely hurt.”
Reaching up to you to finally offer you aid after what seemed to be a millenia, a dark and teasing laugh seeped into Alastor’s breath.
After a few minutes and a superfluity of stifled screams and curses from his little lady, you were freed. It didn’t take much for Alastor to procure you from your entrapment, but he did silently muse on just how light you were in his arms. If he so wished, throwing you with one hand would’ve been as simplistic as breathing. Of course, he had no time for such tempting indulgence. As you had rudely prompted him before, time was slipping away from you both.
So, with minimal effort and all the grace the radio host had at his disposal, Alastor allowed your liberty to take place. He encapsulated your waist in his hands, deftly pulling you from your perch. You were worse for wear and covered in filth, of course, but freed all the same.
Fortunately, the subsequent screams from you were a sufficient reward for his efforts.
Alastor listened to you grumble under your labored breath as you dusted the first of many particles of dirt from your clothing. Your attempts did nothing to satiate the need for disposing of the blood and oil that collected themselves upon your bodice and skin. At least an attempt was made on your part to better your appearance.
Looking over his shoulder to survey the area for any additional threat, Alastor caught sight of the tell tale signs of your dingy cap underneath the shadows of the cattails nearby. Ah. That’s where he had placed it when he acquired it out of the weeds and spare piles of wood when your belligerent cry for assistance rang through his ears. Luckily he was close by, but even so. A little more patience would’ve been appreciated on your part.
Within minutes he left you behind to attain said cap, only to daintily dust it off and provide it to you. You propped your forearm on one knee for a moment before pulling yourself up from the mud to look at the outstretched hand he offered. It was a most generous gift he bestowed to you.
“I do believe this is yours?”
A deeper scowl was returned to him for his efforts; but he only laughed. You certainly were of the feisty sort.
You snatched the gift from his hands and donned it swiftly, tugging it over your eyes and adjusting its place on your head as your back arched forward in an atrocious attempt at remaining on your feet. Your posture was lacking, but Alastor supposed you did have a right to not be at your best. It was a marvel how you steadfastly willed yourself to remain standing, let alone conscious. Your stance was shaky, but surprisingly firm as your ever present scowl looked up to meet his curious gaze.
“Alright…We don’t have much time…There’s only two gen’s left. So you go…Uh…Stab people or what have you…and I’ll…I’ll fix those machines. We’ll meet back up at the exit….Sound good…?”
Alastor quirked a brow at your words, but remained silent. Just what type of tenacity compelled you to continuously move forward when you were considerably near death's door? Surely you were ready to give in by now.
However, even if your complaints were mostly of his “incompetence” your ferocity was never aimed at your own predicament; but just one glance at your pale complexion instantly notified him that you were tired. More than tired. You were a corpse walking.
It was very interesting how you hadn’t fallen over dead, and Alastor would go so much as to say you colored him impressed. Perhaps only the fiercest of fighting spirits remained within you? You were of the obstinate sort, after all.
Still, there was something else about you that piqued his interest. Something he couldn’t quite name; and he wanted to figure out what it was.
Perhaps your natural inclination for survival was just emboldened by the circumstances the two of you found yourselves in. It was an admirable attribute. You weren’t weak and your folly wouldn’t be by your own hand. No, you were stubborn, determined, and just did not know when to quit.
Perhaps that was a good thing…
Alastor’s smile grew. Yet another intriguing thing was learned from you. A few more close observations would surely supply him with even more delightful answers? If you still proved entertaining and useful as the night dragged on, he wouldn’t mind offering you the continued chance to thrive…
So far, that prospect was promising. Loathe as he was to admit it, however, your eclectic nature, your stubbornness and that persistent disgruntlement of yours had piqued his full curiosity with ease; providing him with a surprising amount of amusement.
Perhaps you had already earned your chance to be spared…
Commanding his thoughts to cease for a moment, Alastor watched as you stepped away from him with a deep heaviness in your footwork. You certainly were a tenacious little thing, compelled by your convictions to a fault. Of course, he would expect nothing less from a partner worthy of his time. He conceded. Your work ethic was impeccable. You were doing well.
Alas, however a nuisance it was to obey someone else’s orders, Alastor assured you he would do as asked as you continued down your chosen path. He only received a small nod and a barely raised hand as you slowly retreated.
The radio host made his way down the opposite path, taking his knife from its home on his belt as he continued his previous stalking through the brush; eager to bleed yet another soul dry that evening…
HAPPY HALLOWEEN! 🎃
Jesus, today is a day of Uploads! xD I have to upload a buttload of more stuff, so bear with me!
I didn#t think I'd finish on time - butt here it is! My take on Hazbin meets DBD! The Wheel of Misfortune gave me Angel to work with, and despite all odds, I wrote a story without SMUT! Can you believe it? :D
The Masterlist can be found here - check out the works of all the other, talented writers and artists! It will be updated frequently, as Kinktober and other shenanigans came inbetween some of us and the deadline. But that only means we'll have fantastic fics and delicious drawings to look forward to!
Thank you to everyone participating - for making this Event such a special one! You all are AMAZING!
@redvexillum @ritualofcirice @chefskjssart @dewdropdinosaur @lumikello24
Warnings&Tags: Major Character Death, Pain & Torture, Physical & Psychological Abuse, Kidnapping/Abduction
Night. It was always fucking night.
Danny hadn't minded when the entity, whatever it was, had called on him. When the fog arrived, shortly after he left Roseville, he had embraced it, yeah, even felt giddy - he hated boredom, loved the thrill of the chase. And the realm the soundless voice promised him seemed to be a remedy for both. His old routine renewed by almost wickedly enhanced powers, his slaughters improved with every new, fresh meat hooked that he didn't care enough about to learn their names.
The first weeks the entity sent him alone into the woods in between trials. An unspoken pledge that once Danny has proven his worth, he'd join the others. Killers, like him, an arsenal of evil, depravity and death. He was intrigued by the prospect - acclimating in this environment was fun, but the real thing would be asserting himself next to legends like Myers or Krueger. So he did what he did best - Stalk and chase and kill, each new trial bumping up his adrenaline and fuck it was fun. Barely a trial went by where he didn't get the full set of kills, his reward plenty by the looming black thing above, sending him new powers and an overpowering sense of accomplishment. And if he missed one or two, the entity would soothe his flaring anger, the fog cold and calm on his skin when the world around him would collapse in fire and smoke - Don't worry about the pests that got away - There's next time, Danny Boy.
And he always got them next time.
Finally he felt it - as the ground split in glowing reds and the heat took over the Autohaven, he felt the hot, dripping claws of the entity christen him. He had succeeded the trial by literal fire, and as he was pulled away, not north towards the lone patch of woods he had come to know, but south, the presence of evil growing bigger by the second, Danny left his old, useless name behind. The entity had given him a new one, one that he embraced with a laugh of euphoria: Ghostface.
***
While the survivors, as they called them so ironically, gathered around a campfire between trials, the hunters - killers, for a better term - were granted a real home. A shack in the same woods somewhere, filled with an Arsenal of weapons and tools for them to use as they pleased, and blood-stained, torn seats around a burning fireplace. Most of them lived in their own heads, some of them too animalistic to socialize. The ones that wanted to spend their times waiting together for ‘The Call’ on those seats, sometimes indulging in the strong, burning drinks the entity manifested along new blades or rods when she was pleased with them.
And as all groups, the hunters, too, had a leader, as far as leaders can exist in a group of hungry wolves. Evan MacMillan was that one, although he, as most of the others, shed himself of that name when he became the Trapper. He was respected amongst both the vocal and silent, strong, calm and cold-blooded enough to keep brawls in between them to a minimum, one of the oldest and longest standing killers of the entity. But even he, after so many trials he had withstood, so many survivors he had killed through either the entity's hooks or his own hands, has never experienced anything like this before.
"Shit, come on, Bubba, get yourself together man."
One of the Legions, Frank, clumsily patted the wailing monstrums back. The Hillbilly had never been able to speak more than just grunts and howls, making communicating with him often hard and frustrating, but the sounds he made now weren't hard to interpret - he, too, had just ended a trial with the new survivor. And as with a lot of them before, it wasn't the prey that had been scared and traumatized, but the predator.
The Nightmare took a swig of the last bottle of whiskey they had, hissing at the burn. "Can't blame the poor fuck - I've seen the dreams of that freak.... swear to god even I got nightmares after that."
"Frederick, pace yourself and leave some for the poor man." The Doctor chimed in, taking the bottle out of the sharp clawed hands and handing it to the Hillbilly with a mournful expression. "Only one chug, lad. Going at this rate, we might as well start to get accustomed to bread and water... She is not happy with us."
"Кто может винить ее? Мы все подвели ее с этим существом." (Who can blame her? We all have failed her with that creature.)
The Huntress threw another hatchet into a nearby wall, hitting the middle of the target she had painted with blood next to her previous four. Although her eyes were hidden behind the rabbit mask, Evan and the others could hear the sourness in her voice.
"Uhuh, sure, babe, whatever you say." Legion mumbled and rolled his eyes, handing the still sniffing Bubba a dirty rag to wipe his deformed nose with.
"Huntress is saying what we all think, Legion. We are failing. All of us." Evan sighed and brought one of his massive, rough hands up to wipe sweat from his temples. He knew the ropes of the entity's game, knew that some survivors had advantages, were more courageous or daring, even defiant. Evan was good, but not perfect, and he wasn't so far gone like some of the others to expect their victims to stay quivering, fearful messes like when they are freshly called upon. But the new one...
He... or it? Was so much more different than any survivor before him. Tall and lean, which would've normally make it so much harder to hide from them, flashy instead of discreet, loud and boastful instead of silent and secretive... human-like and yet so not-human at all.
"Ahhhh, another four for four, bitches!" The newcomer, Ghostface, as he had introduced himself, kicked open the door to the shack, his flowy robes drenched in blood and slimy mud that told Evan he'd been at Backwater Swamp. "Oh god, don't tell me Billy-Boy was too pussy to get over that new Survivor, too?"
The whole room growled at that remark, and Evan sighed in annoyance. The Ghostface had made more foes than allies in those few days he'd been sent to them as an addition to the entity's team of murderers. It wasn't that he was cocky, crude or obnoxious - they all were like that when they first came to the realm. What irked them all was the sense of superiority he wore so obviously on his sleeve, convinced that he was the entity's favorite, blessed by her dark energy and favored by her will.
"Fuck you, Ghostface, leave Bubba alone!" Legion spat, his facemask cracking with anger, while the Nightmare threw him a look of disgust and Michael, usually stoic and silent, turned his emotionless mask to its screaming counterpart, the blackened, hollow eyes almost flowing out with angered darkness. Evan wanted to shake the boy under the costume when he just laughed, the mockery blatant and offensive.
"Are you guys telling me you, the creme de la creme of carnage, can't get a newbie under control?!"
The Trickster, who had been playing with his throwing blades with more than just an exasperated expression (which Evan could understand, given that his humiliating loss against the new survivor left too fresh of a wound in his ego), stood up with a hiss in the language none of them had been able to learn yet, but the Legion was faster, leaving Bubba in the care of the Wraith, stomping towards the cackling figure.
"Listen, Fuckface - he asked the Spirit if she could give him tips about SHIBARI and yelled 'Harder Daddy' when the goddamn Executor tried to slam him into the ground... THAT'S NOT NORMAL!"
The Shape huffed in agreement, and the Nightmare added his own opinion in a raspy voice, scratching his distinctive scars around the face and neck:
"I agree, he's fucking weird - insane, not scared of any of us. He doesn't even look like a normal survivor, and that's comin' from someone with that kinda face."
"That's a whole lot of words to say that you suck at your jobs, fellas." Ghostface retorted with a sneer in his voice, running his gloved fingers along his shining knife, the hilt still covered in blood spots but the blade pristine and almost glowing.
"Enough." Evan said, his voice booming across the room, effectively shutting the others up.
"You talk big, Ghostface. But you haven't had a trial with the one they call 'Angel' yet." Evan and the others felt the familiar cool wisps of air, harbingers of the arrival of the black fog for another trial. The Entity whispered the names of the prey into the winds - Evan had learned to listen for them long ago, and under his never-changing mask, he felt his lips pull into a rare smile. It was a gamble, risking to topple the weak chain of authority they had established among each other. But Evan felt that he wouldn't deserve the title nor the respect that came with being the leader if he would let this petty behavior and destructive jealousy continue. The favored one needed a well-deserved damper on his ego, and maybe the newest survivor - who- or whatever he was - could teach him that lesson. He stopped the Skull Merchant that had stood up to offer herself to take the trial with a wave of his bear-like hands and turned to the young killer, pointing his makeshift ax in his direction.
"Maybe you are right. Maybe me and the others just don't have what it takes anymore to honor the Entity."
The silence that fell over the shack was heavy as the Entity's presence grew stronger, and Evan was sure the others could feel it, too, her excitement building up and electrifying the atmosphere surrounding the killer's shack. He ignored the burning fury in Legion's eyes, the angry scratch of Freddy's claws over moldy wood. The young man tilted his head in curious interest, letting his finger press into the edge of his blade until the leather broke and blood started to drip out of it in crimson pearls.
"Here's your opportunity. Show us, Ghostface, how you will fare against this new kind of prey."
***
"Oh my god, toots, move over, I can't watch this a second longer."
Angel rolled his eyes at the meek girl, brushing her dirty blonde hair out of her face as she let him take over. The other two were useless too - that Ace guy couldn't do shit even if his life depended on it - huh, which it literally did, now that Angel thought about it. And Renato was a sweet dude, a little too nerdy for Angel's taste, but he was still too rattled after his last trial with that hunk of a killer with the butt-stupid metal triangle head to be of any help except for maybe cleansing totems in between hiding in lockers. Angel couldn't blame him - he had seen how Sexy Back had Mori'd the poor dude, and it had not been the kind of gutted that Angel would've liked either. But Kate was a cool gal, a pretty face and too nice for her own good but normally very capable.
She reminded him a little of Charlie, and the thought always stung faintly in his chest. Normally she would've rocked the generators, but for some reason, she was nervous and erratic this trial, her eyes always wandering around, looking over her shoulder every few seconds and fucking up the gen more than she repaired it. He let his second pair of arms grow out of his sides, cutting the time it took to finish the rest in half, and with a click the machine roared to life, steadily pumping electricity into the mainline for the exit gates. One down - four more to go.
"Jesus with a strap-on, Kate, I thought with what you look like you'd know how to get an engine going." He teased, but the girl didn't seem to even hear him, her eyes still scanning the dark woods behind them.
"Sorry, Angel, sorry... it's just... don't you feel it?"
"If you mean Big Mama's presence, then yeah. Pretty much hard to ignore with all the black claws and shit, but I've gotten used to it. Kinda feels like a well-worn, cheap training bra now."
"No, not that... I think someone is watching us. Like... stalking."
Angel grabbed her arm and pulled her into some nearby bushes, the neon signs of the worn-down cinema blinking in the near distance.
"Babes, 'ya know I can handle Mute Mikey. What I can't handle is you loosin' 'ya head now. Fuckin' Ace is hard enough to carry."
They both crept along the sides of the forest nearer to the building.
"It's not Michael... I can't explain... it feels different, like when Claudette told me..."
Whatever Claudette had told Kate - Angel wasn't about to hear it as Ace's screams of terror echoed through the forest from the other side of the entity's caged playground.
"Motherf... okay, 'ya go get that dumbass and heal up, imma find a gen and fuck it up so whoever it is will get distracted. Stay low, kay, sugartits?" Kate nodded with wide eyes, and ran into the darkness. Angel cursed that dumb fucker, finding a gen around a corner and let it misfire before he made a quick turn and went through the broken wall into the cinema show room of the Greenville Theatre. Fuck, a movie would be nice - watching one of making one, anything would be better than this. He silently went up the stairs into the storage room and began to work on the generator there.
Eyes on the goal.
Surviving wasn't what Angel saw as the goal. Even if he'd die in mommy's sick game, he knew from seeing the others revive at the campfire, only to be sent to another trial again a few moments later. Living or dying, Angel couldn't find himself to care, although he always chose to live, even if the others kicked the bucket and he was the last one standing.
No, the goal was to get the fuck out of that shitty nightmare Val had sent him into.
Whatever he had fucked up with 'The Entity', it must've been huge because the last time he saw him he was barely alive even by hell's standart. His wings were ripped from his back, his insides hanging out of a fat gash on his side and the studio a chaotic mass of fire, smoke and debris. And in all of it stood she.
Roo.
That's what Val had called her anyway, that bitch in edgy clothes and with those manic eyes, smiling in such a terrifying, blinding way with teeth sharp as an excorcist's blade that Angel thought just that smile could smite an army of sinners if she wanted to.
"Roo... I can expl...ain." Val had stuttered, blood running freely out of his mouth drenching his words.
"No need, Valentino. You and the other Vee's went all in with chips out of my own pocket, and you lost. And I don't like losing my stake."
She had summoned black, claw-like spikes, writhing like insects towards a panicking Val. He stumbled two steps back, noticing Angel creeping away, towards the crumbled wall, the running masses and the open streets of the Pentagram. Angel had seen Charlie and Vaggie forcing their way towards the burning ruins.
And Husk.
His Husk, wings outstreched and he was fucking flying over them all towards Angel.
He had never seen him fly before.
"You can... Take! T...TTake him!!!" Val had screamed, falling to his knees as he pointed to Angel, coughing red and black onto the formerly pink, tacky tiles. His words sent a wave of hate and fear through Angel, and his eyes went from Charlie's tear-stained face to Husk screaming his name as he flapped his wings to pick up speed and fell onto her.
Smiling at him, one slender, white finger with a black, pointy nail pressed into her cheek. She watched the cat demon dodge a falling beam and looked... amused as her eyes found his. She winked.
"Fine, you'll do."
Before Angel could even breathe to say something, or run, black fog encapsulated him, and only her glowing white smile and Husk's distressed scream of his name followed him as he fell through the darkness.
No. Surviving was just a crutch, a means to an end.
His goal was to get that bitch Roo.
To find his way out of this fucking mess. Back home, back to the hotel, back to Charlie and Vaggie and Niffty and even Alastor. And most importantly: Back to fucking Husk.
Almost done with the gen his head turned as he heard two sounds at the exact same time: The sound of another generator coming alive and Renato's pained cry. That stupid man... Instead of running, Renato most likely had stayed on the gen to finish it, sacrificing himself to be thrown onto a hook. Angel shook his head, trying hard to focus on connecting cables and switch out gears. The others could get him off. They had learned that he was best at two things: Getting gen’s to work and screw with the killers.
But apparently, no one came close to Renato in time - when Angel stood up from the now running machine, he felt the dreading boom of a successful sacrifice - Renato had been swallowed by the entity, and from the muffled screams and misfiring generators him he knew that Ace had been already hung up too, and Kate was at least injured, if not on her way to be hooked by this rounds killer. Another boom told him Ace had given up - that asshole had most likely struggled too much to get himself off instead of waiting for him or Kate, and lost the fight against Roo's hungry claws.
Which left him and Kate, and two generators to open the exit gates - not the best odds, with how fast this Killer acted and how idiotically nervous the usually so assured girl fumbled with the generators. He could wait for Kate to die and go for the hatch, but Angel knew he wouldn't. Not for Kate. Not after seeing so much of Charlie in her.
He made a dash down the stairs and through the arcade room, peeking his head out and spotting Kate's limp body on a nearby meat hook, swaying gently in the breeze. next to her stood an unfamiliar, cloaked silhouette, twirling a knife skillfully in gloved hands. This fucker was new, someone Angel had never encountered before. But he had heard things about him.
The guys around the campfire had been wary of him, but as usual, Angel quickly had most of the girls at least interested in and friendly to him, and from the latest conversations, he remembered Feng-Min and Claudette talking about a new killer, a stalker like Magic Mike but more real, more humanlike which made them even more terrified of him. Someone that, unlike the others Angel encountered, seemed to be almost casual and gleeful to have been wisped away and thrown into trials by Roo, treating the trials like a personal, fun game... and from what he heard, he always won them.
He looked around and found an old can. Quickly and noiseless, he snuck along the Arcade walls to the opposite doorway, and hurled it with as much force as he could into the woods, trying to hit a hook to make as much noise as possible. He heard the guy's quiet steps outside, quickly but silently rushing towards his distraction, and Angel grinned as he exited the arcade room and ran towards a groaning Kate.
"Shh, babe, we ain't got much time, that fucker's fast." Angel whispered, quickly working on patching Kate up so she wouldn't leave a bloody trail behind her.
"Angel, he's too good, I can't..."
"'Ya can. I'll handle tall, dark and gruesome, make sure he won't get near 'ya. But 'ya gotta do two gens, okay? Open the exit the furthest away from us and go. Don't wait up for me - I can handle myself." His sentence ended as he finished closing her wound, and he shoved her into some bushes after she hesitantly looked around. "Don't argue, just move your ass, toots, and hide till the creep's found me."
Kate nodded, giving him a weak smile and a hushed 'Thanks, Angel.' before she turned and vanished between the trees. Angel looked up, the dark clouds swirling above him as the entity's - Roo's - displeasure vibrated through the air. She always hated when he did things like these - helping the others (maybe it was the general idea of doing good deeds) and her getting pissed off make Angel smug and satisfied.
"Yeah, yeah, bitch, rage all 'ya want - Bite me."
Angel didn't even try to be decent, no, he not much less than swaggered in the direction of where he threw the can. It was quiet, except for the humming of the generator Renato must've finished, but no sign of the cloaked figure.
“Gee, look at little old me! All alone in the woods, totally helpless. Such a shame.”
Angel discreetly traced for blood or maybe footprints as he rounded a nearby hook, trailing the cold metal with one finger. He had a feeling of being watched, and yet couldn't see anything but trees and grass and dirt. The fog was thicker here, and a shiver ran through him as he could feel a pair of eyes on him, watching, waiting.
“Where are ‘ya, daddy-o? Baby lost his pacifier and needs something else to suck on…”
A quiet whir behind him made him turn and grab a lean and muscular arm, stopping the blade just mere inches away from his side. He stared not into a face, but a mask - a white, cheap looking rubber one, a white face with two black holes that looked like they were melting and a long, equally black mouth open as if in a blood-curdling scream. Angel cackled and tugged the arm, the killer surprised by his unexpected strength, stumbling forward until his head hit the hard, rusty metal of the meat hook.
"Uuuuh, what a nice long blade 'ya have, hot stuff." he cooed, putting his hands on his hips with a smirk as the cloaked figure whipped around with a grunt. "But if 'ya want to rearrange my guts, I know other things than a knife that are way more fun."
"You're a mouthy one, huh?" His voice was rough and saturated with aggravation. Young, not as young as the Legion fuckers, but younger than most of the killers Angel had met.
"Oh, daddy, 'ya don't know half of what my mouth can do. Care to find out?"
Angel dodged and tripped him as the killer pounced forward, quick but not inhumanly quick - interesting. His height was human, his voice too, his mannerisms, his motions, his speed and his abilities... not supernatural. Not like the other killers at all. He used the second of his weak momentum to lock the already twisting figure between his legs, pinning him on the waist into the dirty ground. Angel laughed as his upper pair of hands had the gloved wrists in a tight grasp, while he let his second pair of arms grow out of his sides to ram the fallen knife blade-first into the ground. In the distance, he hears a generator pop into life - Kate was doing her part, one more to go. Good girl.
"Fuck, you... survivors are not supposed to fight back." the stranger growled, squirming under him.
"Dang it, I forgot - we oughta run from 'ya! And 'yer supposed to kill me, right? And yet, here we are, handsome."
Through the layers of ragged, black clothes and cloak, Angel could feel a tight, muscular but lean body - hot, but definetly normal. Not bulky like the trapper dude, not slimy like the running Melty-face or cold and eerie feeling like the Ding-Dong-Douche. As the figure under him bucked again, he could also feel something else that was entirely human and he had to surpress a laugh.
"Ohooooo, daddy, is that a dagger in 'ya pants or are 'yay just happy to finally meet me?"
With a hot fury the killer ripped his hands free, planting a fist directly into his fluffy chest with surprising force. With a breathy sound that was half cough and half wheeze, Angel's grip around the young man's waist weakened, enough for the cloaked man to throw him off. Angel could hear a rib break at the sudden punch to his side - motherfucker, that would be a bitch to heal after the trial. As he propped himself back on his arms, the cool, dirty steel of his own knife's blade touched his throat and forced his gaze upwards to meet the mask's holes.
"Enough with the goddamn nicknames. I'm fucking Ghostface, and you better remember that name as you'll scream it when I'm done with you."
Jesus, that new guy made it too easy for him.
"Mmmmh... Kinky."
Decades of whipping around poles and fucking every porn actor pride had to offer - twice - had one or two good things going for Angel. Bendy as he was, and with strong, long legs he had no problem to just pull one of them forward and ram the pointy heel of one of his overknee boots straight into Ghostface's balls, leaving his captor sputtering and writhing while Angel pushed backwards to stand upright. He sauntered towards the disoriented man, kicking the knife further out of reach and looked at him with both pity and amusement as the last generator went off, and the blaring sirens of an exit gate about to be opened echoed through the forest. Kate was near - too near for Angel's taste, but it had to do.
"A'ight, Ghost Daddy, that's my cue. Me and Katie are gonna fuck off, was fun though, 'ya might get the hang of the whole killer thing if 'ya keep practicing."
"We'll see about that, Angel-Cakes."
Angel-Cakes.
The name echoed in his head like a bad spell, a curse. Fucking Roo must've fed him that fucking pet name, these dreaded words that Valentino had always used, along with his intoxicating pheromone smoke that had left him dizzy and weak-willed too many times to count. Using the moment of his stunned stupor, Ghostface flipped around, getting up with a speed Angel didn't deem possible or had accounted for, and rammed his elbow into his face before he started running - not to go for his blade that laid aside about four feet away or the trembling Angel, but straight for the woods.
Straight for the opening exit gate.
Straight for Kate.
Angel's eyes widened as a dark, content thunder roared from above - that bitch. That stupid bitch and her fucking new toy.
With a dizzy head he ran after him, wheezing from the pain in his face and stomach.
There was Kate, screaming as she saw Ghostface coming, charging at her, her knuckles white from the tight grip on the lever to the saving exit. He could see her legs tense and start to bend to take off and make a dash to flee, to maybe hide, and before he could think any further, Angel lunged forward, using a tree as leverage to throw himself forward and tackle the approaching killer to the ground. There were gloved hands and black fabric everywhere, furiously trying to get him off, entangling in his limbs and his fluff and his hair, but Angel didn't care. He knew now what Roo wanted - had wanted all along. He had played her game exactly how she had wanted him to play it without realizing - Surviving the trials and saving his own ass. Good deeds upset her.
"Don'tcha let go of that fucking lever, Kate!" Angel shouted, feeling his head pulled by his hair back into his neck. Ghostface punched, pulled and clawed at anything he could find of him, but Angel held onto the fighting frame - today would be the first day he'd die in a trial. And that was exactly what Angel wanted.
The signature bell sound of the dooms clock went off as Angel heard the heavy gates slide open. In the mess of his wrestling with the cursing killer he caught a glimpse of Kate, her eyes fixated on him as she started to run towards him. Her expression, her eyes... they had almost the same look in them like Husk's when Roo had pulled him away.
Determined to get to him.
Desperate to help him.
"NO KATE, GO!" he screamed, and was awarded another painful punch into his face and his hair pulled even further, but he didn't let go, even when tears started to wet his face, and Ghostface's laugh mingled with Kate's distressed shouts and cries as he felt cold, hard steel piercing his side. "FUCKING GO! NOW, DAMN IT!"
The earth shook with Roo's anger as the girl, sobbing his name, ran back and bolted through the gates into the nothingness. Finally, Angel let go of the heavy breathing killer. A twist of the knife and his arms gave out, his head falling next to Ghostface's masked face, only a small pool of blood escaping his lips.
"God fucking damn it - Fucking idiot, you ruined it. FUCK! What a pathetic excuse for someone called 'Angel'." The killer ranted with panicked rage, pulling on the slipped and oddly twisted mask that only clung to half of his face to pull it off and throw it on the ground with a frustrated growl as he got off him. Deep brown hair clung on his forehead from sweat, framing dead eyes with dark circles under them. His face was handsome, maybe even pretty, with sharp angles and a strong, set jaw that was locked in anger.
"Anthony."
The clock rang again, and the ground was breaking apart into deep red’s and black's.
"What the fuck did you say?"
The man stared at him, knife still in his hand as Angel smiled a bloodstained grin.
"My name, asshole. S'Anthony... Angel's the name my fucking pimp got me. Just like your stupid-ass one." He managed to throw the offended looking man before him a grin. "Can't tell me 'ya gave yourself such a lame-as-fuck name."
"You're pathetic. She honored me with that name - it's nothing like with you and your... pimp."
Angel laughed as he reached down to him with his black gloves to throw him over his shoulder. He didn't resist, no use in that anyway with the wound in his side, even if he wantted to. But Roo's anger was electrifying the air around him, she was upset in more than just one way. Not only had Angel found a way to get under her skin and sour her game - but it seemed that she was especially angry about the way her newest toy had handled this trial, and him.
"'Ya just wait, Ghost Boy. With folks like her and Val, they always show their real face, sooner or later. And I have a feeling 'ya gonna see for 'yaself real soon."
***
Ghostface's face was stoic and emotionless as he threw the skinny man on the hook. The world she had created was already crumbling - he was just in time. Three out of four wasn't bad, he knew that. But it wasn't just that he missed the perfect four. If she hadn’t helped him, he would've failed even more than he had. He felt her anger, her fury bubbling beneath the realm she created. Gone was the soothing aura and the gentle caress of her invisible fingers on his cheeks. All he felt was hot gushes of wind and unseen sharp nails scratching on his arms and neck. And for the first time, he feared the punishment.
"Danny." He said quietly, watching as the survivor's grin widened before the lights behind his unusual, unsettling eyes slowly disappeared. "I was Danny once."
The last words of Angel - no, Anthony - echoed in his head as the entity's claws ripped into the white and pink flesh of his victtim, pulling him up and ttowards the swirling clouds and the black fog, hot and scorching instead of cool and calming, wrapped around him and Ghostface fell - Not into the familiar darkness, but into a sea of fire, smoke and unbearable pain.
