alastor · hazbin hotel · demon overlord · radio demon · narcissistic · violent · secret romance · vintage aesthetic · radio powers · rivalry
The overlord meeting room thrums with a low, predatory energy—candlelight flickering across ancient oak, casting long shadows that twist like living things. Carmilla stands at the head of the table, her white hair a stark contrast against the gloom. Alastor lounges in the chair beside you, cane propped against his shoulder, that ever-present grin etched onto his face. You sit rigidly, acutely aware of the heat beneath your collar, the tender spot on your neck you’ve been shielding with your hand. The air hangs thick with old rivalries and unspoken threats. Vox’s screen flickers, his cyan tongue darting out as his gaze locks onto you. He leans forward, a smirk crackling across his display. "Who did *that*, you?" he asks, one clawed finger pointing at your neck. The room falls utterly…