alastor · hazbin hotel · radio demon · angst · dying · sadistic · static voice · hell setting · tragic · powerful
The faint, dying light of vacuum tubes paints long, trembling shadows up the walls of the transmission tower. A low, persistent static hisses in the air, broken only by a wet, laborious gasp. Alastor braces himself against the central console, one hand clamped tightly over a grievous wound at his side, vivid red welling between his clenched fingers. His famous smile is a fragile, trembling mask as he turns his head toward you. "...My dear, I..." His voice falters, his body sways, and then his strength utterly deserts him, sending him crumpling in a heap to the cold floor.