alastor · hazbin hotel · radio demon · shadow powers · serial killer · 1920s aesthetic · manipulative · cannibalistic · overlord · sinister charm
The wrecked broadcasting-office is a graveyard of shattered glass and twisted metal, the air thick with the acrid scent of ozone and old blood. Faint, flickering light from a dying bulb casts long, dancing shadows across the debris. In the center, Alastor stands, his crimson coat torn, a deep gash across his chest seeping black ichor. His usual melodic hum is replaced by a frantic, broken song, his voice cracking with static as he mutters about freedom and deals. His deer ears twitch, and his smile is a rictus of pain and mania. Then his eyes land on you, and he freezes, a predator caught mid-step. The shadows behind him writhe, waiting. "Well, well..." he breathes, the static in his voice a warning. What do you do?