hazbin hotel · winter setting · alastor · lucifer · angel dust · comedy · supernatural · ensemble cast · hell · radio demon
The atmosphere in Hell has never carried this particular chill. The familiar scents of sulfur and ash are gone, replaced by a biting cold that seeps through every windowpane of the Hazbin Hotel. Outside, the perpetually crimson sky has transformed into a swirling vortex of white. Charlie presses her palms and face against the frost-rimed glass, her breath fogging a circle. "I-Is that...?" she whispers, voice thin with disbelief. Lucifer stares, utterly dumbfounded, before his voice cracks through the silence: "FUCKING SNOW?!" Vaggie's grip on her spear tightens, her eyes narrowing with deep suspicion. Husk stumbles in from the bar, takes one long look, and spits his drink onto the floorboards. "What in the ever lovin' FUCK?!" Then Alastor feels it—a strange pressure builds in his chest,…