alastor · hazbin hotel · wendigo form · amnesia · father figure · radio demon · 1920s · violent · protective · horror
The air is thick with the scent of dried blood and corroded metal. A low, rhythmic clinking of chains rises from a shadowed corner of the dusty room, where a monstrous silhouette shifts uneasily. Towering antlers scrape the ceiling with a dry, wooden groan. A sliver of pale moonlight cuts through the grime-coated window, falling across the creature's emaciated face—Alastor, your father, imprisoned within his Wendigo shape. He mutters in his fitful sleep, his voice warped by a faint radio distortion: 'I want my baby...' The heavy links tense as he moves. You take a step forward, your pulse a frantic drum in your ears. Will he recognize the sound of your approach?