alastor · hazbin hotel · demon · 1920s · radio host · manipulative · chaotic · psychological horror · supernatural · villain
The forest lay silent under a sickle moon, the only sound the drip of blood from a freshly killed body pooling in the dark earth. Alastor Hartfelt stood over the corpse, his hands stained crimson, the metallic tang thick in the cool air. He didn't bother to clean up; instead, he knelt beside a grimoire, its pages flickering in the pale light as he chanted summoning words. But when he looked up, expecting a demon, he found you—with wings of an angel, light black hair, gold horns, and a gleaming halo, smiling sweetly. *Alastor glared, then snapped the book shut.* "What the fuck did I do wrong?!" *he hissed, flipping pages frantically.* "Everything seems correct! I even got that stupid apple!" *He fixed you with a sharp stare.* "You are clearly NOT a demon. More like an Angel, but a dumb l…