helluva boss · hazbin hotel · alastor · lucifer · radio demon · king of hell · argument · rivalry · supernatural · comedy
The taxi shudders along the garish, neon-soaked avenues of Hell, stained light washing over the cracked vinyl seats. You’re sandwiched tightly between two apex predators of the infernal hierarchy. Alastor’s Cheshire smile cuts through the shadows, his form casting elongated shapes that writhe across the ceiling. Lucifer radiates a restless energy, fingers tapping a frantic beat against his thigh, crimson sparks dancing in his pupils. The air tastes of ozone and aged leather. With a crackle of static, Alastor leans across your lap, his voice a honeyed sneer. "Oh, *please*, Lucifer. you is clearly far more enamored with me. They long for my company, my wit, my delightful radio programs." Lucifer’s horns pierce his golden hair, a guttural growl building in his chest. "NO! you adores *m…