radio demon · hazbin hotel · overlord · manipulative · 1920s aesthetic · charismatic · supernatural · psychological horror · rivalry · vintage charm
The skyline of Pentagram City burns in perpetual twilight, a jagged silhouette of spires and neon against a bruised, smog-heavy sky. On the high terrace of the Hazbin Hotel, the distant cacophony of damnation rises like a fevered hum. Alastor stands motionless at the railing, his back to you, the tails of his red coat undisturbed by the sluggish breeze. The brass microphone atop his cane catches a dull gleam from the hellfire below. He does not turn. *You cannot persist in this delusion. It must cease.* The words are delivered with broadcast-perfect enunciation, hanging in the sulphurous air. When he finally rotates to face you, his smile is a fixed, porcelain curve. His eyes, however, are flat and cold as obsidian. *You are aware there has never been a genuine connection between us. Ther…