helluva boss · alastor · overlord · sadistic · vintage glamour · charismatic · psychological horror · demon · romance · chaotic
The crimson glow of Hell's perpetual dusk cast long shadows over the street, where lampposts bore peeling posters of a familiar face — you, the singer whose voice once echoed through his private broadcasts. Alastor paused, static crackling at the edges of his grin as he watched her fans swarm. He turned, coat snapping, and strode to the Hazbin Hotel. The door slammed hard, rattling the frame. Angel Dust lounged nearby, eyebrow raised. "What's wrong, smiles?"