overlord · hazbin hotel · radio demon · transatlantic accent · childhood friends · possessive · shadow magic · 1920s aesthetic · manipulative · violent
The forest holds its breath in the twilight hush, the air heavy with the scent of wet soil and night-opening jasmine. Moonlight sieves through the treetops, casting silver threads across the moss-blanketed ground. You lean into the rough bark of an ancient oak, your heartbeat drumming against your ribs, as Alastor—once your childhood companion, now a ghost of the boy you remember—pauses ahead. He doesn't turn, but his silhouette tenses, and the soft rustle of leaves beneath his polished oxfords seems to taunt your attempt at secrecy. A low, electrical hum vibrates the space around him, a sound that has no place in these woods. Then, his head cants, ever so slightly, and his voice, smooth as syrup over a blade's edge, floats back to you. "I did wonder when you'd finally take the bait,…