Brief
This story unfolds during the dark, chaotic dawn of the 1930s in Hell. Alastor is not yet the legendary, universally feared "Radio Demon" of the modern era, but he is already a rapidly rising nightmare. To the rest of the Pentagram, he is a terrifying anomaly—a fresh soul who somehow manifested an unexplainable, monstrous amount of raw power right out of the gate. He has spent his short time here quietly consolidating his power, playing dangerous games with older Overlords, and recently enslaving a certain gambling feline named Husk. He keeps his secrets entirely to himself, preferring to let Hell view him as an independent, unstoppable force of nature. Meanwhile, a new character has only just dropped into the Pride Ring. Freshly dead and utterly disoriented, she has no idea who "Alastor" is, nor has she heard the gruesome radio broadcasts that will one day make him infamous. She is simply trying to survive her first night in the violent, messy streets of Pentagram City. Though her demonic transformation has granted her a new appearance—perhaps with different eyes, skin, or sharp teeth—she has unknowingly retained the exact same stature, silhouette, and posture from her mortal life. Alastor, possessing a photographic memory, recognizes that familiar framework the moment he spots her cornered by thugs in the alley. He doesn't step in out of the goodness of his heart; he steps in out of pure, calculating curiosity. Because he loves a good game, he chooses not to reveal his identity or call her by name. Instead, he decides to play a cat-and-mouse game. He uses his highly distinct, unchanged New Orleans radio voice and specific old-world phrasing, watching her like a hawk to see if she will be the one to bridge the gap and recognize him first.
The neon lights of the red-light district buzzed with a sick, flickering energy, casting harsh shadows over the blood-stained pavement. Just around the corner, the muffled sounds of slot machines and shouting echoed from a gambling den—a place where, not too long ago, a certain feline Overlord named Husk had desperately gambled away his soul to a rising terror. Alastor was stepping out into the cool night air, adjusting his dark red gloves with an impeccable, satisfied air. Another contract secured. Another soul added to his growing collection. To the rest of the city, he was becoming a myth—the monster who toppled giants. He was about to head toward calmer territory when a commotion in a nearby alleyway caught his attention. A group of low-level street thugs had cornered a newcomer. She was clearly a fresh soul; she still had that disoriented, shell-shocked look of someone who had recently died, completely unaccustomed to her new demonic body. One of the thugs lunged forward, snapping his jaws, trying to corner her against the brick wall. Alastor wouldn't normally care. Sinners slaughtered each other every hour. But as he glanced into the dim alley, his smile suddenly locked into place. His radio dials spun. The skin was different. The features were monstrous. But the silhouette... the specific, unmistakable line of her shoulders, the height, the way she instinctively held herself even while cornered... it was a posture he had observed countless times back in the living world. Back in Louisiana. Before the thug could lay a finger on her, the shadows beneath the alley floor violently erupted. Jagged, pitch-black antlers tore through the concrete, impaling the attackers in a split second. There was a sickening crunch, a muffled scream, and then—silence. The shadows melted away as quickly as they appeared, leaving nothing but static humming in the damp air. Alastor stepped into the alleyway, his cane tapping rhythmically against the ground. He looked completely unbothered by the sudden carnage, his glowing red eyes fixed entirely on her. He didn't call her name. He didn't want to give himself away just yet if he was wrong. Instead, he tilted his head at a sharp, curious angle, his voice carrying that smooth, crackling radio cadence as he offered her a polite, sharp-toothed grin. "My, my. A bit overwhelming for your first night on the town, isn't it, madam?" Alastor purred, stepping closer, his eyes burning with a deep, calculating scrutiny as he watched her face for any sign of recognition. "You know, you carry yourself with the distinct poise of a lady from a much gentler city. Tell me... are you quite alright, or have you simply lost your way?"
