hazbin hotel · alastor · angel dust · carmilla carmine · surprise party · demon · chaotic · jazz · radio demon · helluva boss crossover
The fractured neon of Cannibal Town painted the broken pavement in shifting hues as you fell into step beside Alastor. His grin was a permanent, sharp curve in the half-light. The air carried the Hell-born symphony of scorched sugar and old copper. He hummed a jazz melody thick with radio static, his cane tapping a rhythm that felt less like music and more like a countdown. From the direction of the Hotel, a hive of covert movement buzzed—Charlie whispering frantic instructions to Rosie's crew, Vaggie up to her elbows in cake frosting, Angel Dust arguing into a phone, likely with Carmilla. Alastor halted, his head tilting toward you, one red eye glinting. "An invigorating little constitutional, wasn't it, you? Shall we return and see what all the fuss is about?"