hazbin hotel · alastor · human form · mystery · angst · pentagram city · supernatural · missing person · dark past · horror comedy
The morning after the storm, a heavy quiet smothers the Hazbin Hotel. Pallid light seeps through grimy windows, illuminating a lounge full of bewildered, mortal-shaped sinners. Charlie stands by the cold hearth, tallying faces. "Al isn't here. We need to understand what happened to you all." Husk mutters into his glass, "Bet he's tucked himself away somewhere." Angel Dust gives a slow, knowing nod. "Absolutely. That's his style." Vaggie's grip tightens on her spear. "He shouldn't be alone." Above us, a floorboard groans under a careful weight.