By: DoublingDownOnRed
The potential Alastor had spoken of clung to you like an echo, bouncing around in your mind as the tendrils released their grip with a sickening squelch. The cold, wet sensation around your legs dissipated as quickly as it had come, and you stumbled forward, catching yourself on the slick floor. Your breath came in ragged gasps, your heartbeat pounding in your ears.
But before you could fully process what had just happened—before you could ask the dozens of questions swirling in your mind—everything around you shifted again. The walls that had seemed so close, so oppressive, rippled and distorted, like water disturbed by a sudden breeze. And just like that, they were gone.
You weren't in the hall anymore.
The floor beneath your feet had changed, smooth and polished now, like the surface of a grand ballroom. The dim, shadowy light had given way to chandeliers, their glass prisms catching the faint light of Hell's perpetual twilight and casting long, eerie shadows on the marble. Around you, figures danced—ghostly, flickering images of men and women, dressed in the fashion of a time long past. They moved in perfect sync, though their faces were obscured, their movements fluid yet strangely mechanical.
You blinked, trying to make sense of the sudden change, your body still tense from the events of the last few moments. It was like you had been dropped into some twisted version of a grand ball, a scene pulled from the depths of a nightmare.
Alastor was beside you, his tall, lithe form seeming to blend into the strange scene. He stood with one hand clasped behind his back, the other holding a silver-tipped cane that hadn't been there before. His red suit was impeccable, sharp as ever, the flickering light of the chandeliers reflecting off his polished shoes. His smile hadn't changed—it was still that same unnerving, too-wide grin that didn't reach his eyes.
"Welcome, my dear," he said, his voice smooth and dripping with amusement. "To the grand dance of Hell." He spread his arms wide, gesturing to the ghostly figures that twirled and spun around you. "Quite the spectacle, wouldn't you agree?"
Your breath caught as you took in the scene, the macabre beauty of it all. The dancers didn't stop, didn't acknowledge you or Alastor. They just kept moving in perfect, eerie harmony, their feet never quite touching the floor, their movements like clockwork.
"What... what is this?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.
Alastor chuckled, the sound low and reverberating. "A memory," he said simply, his eyes gleaming with some hidden knowledge. "A fragment of a world long gone, preserved here for eternity. But it's not the past you should concern yourself with." His gaze shifted, locking onto you, and there was that hunger again, lurking just beneath the surface. "It's your future that holds the real interest."
Before you could respond, before you could ask what he meant, the room shifted again.
The dancers froze mid-step, their ghostly forms flickering like broken images on a failing television screen. The chandeliers above you dimmed, their light fading to a soft glow, and the floor beneath your feet trembled.
Alastor's grin widened.
And then, the floor gave way.
It wasn't a slow collapse. It was like a trapdoor had opened beneath you, pulling you down into the darkness once more. Your stomach lurched as you fell, the air rushing past you in a whirlwind of sound and sensation. But this time, you didn't hit the ground.
This time, you landed in water.
The impact was jarring, the cold shock of it stealing the breath from your lungs. You thrashed, disoriented, trying to find the surface, your limbs flailing in the dark, murky depths. For a brief, terrifying moment, you thought you might drown—but then your head broke the surface, and you gasped, sucking in the stale, heavy air of Hell.
You blinked, water streaming from your eyes, and looked around.
You were in a river. A slow-moving, foul-smelling river, the water thick and black like oil. The sky above you was the same twisted twilight, casting long shadows on the riverbank. The air was heavy with the stench of decay, and the distant sound of something—something large—moving beneath the water sent a chill through your bones.
Alastor was nowhere to be seen.
For the first time since you'd arrived in Hell, you were alone.
Panic flared in your chest, and you scrambled toward the riverbank, your limbs heavy and sluggish as the thick water pulled at you. The current was slow, but it was relentless, and every stroke felt like a battle against some unseen force trying to drag you back under.
You reached the edge, your fingers clawing into the muddy bank, and with a grunt of effort, you hauled yourself out of the river. You collapsed onto the ground, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath, the cold mud squelching beneath your hands.
For a moment, all you could do was lie there, your body aching, your mind racing. Where was Alastor? What had just happened? And where the hell were you now?
You pushed yourself up on shaky arms, your heart still pounding in your chest, and looked around. The river stretched out in both directions, disappearing into the horizon like a long, black scar on the landscape. The ground was muddy, the air thick and humid, and the trees lining the riverbank were twisted, gnarled things, their branches reaching out like skeletal hands.
And then, you heard it.
A low, rumbling growl.
You froze, your breath catching in your throat. The sound was close—too close. Slowly, you turned, your eyes scanning the dark water, searching for the source of the noise.
And then you saw it.
The surface of the river rippled, and something large, something massive, began to rise from the depths. At first, it was just a shadow, a dark shape moving beneath the surface, but as it emerged, you saw it for what it was—a creature, monstrous and grotesque, its body slick with black water, its eyes glowing with an eerie, unnatural light. Its mouth was wide, filled with jagged, razor-sharp teeth, and its long, serpentine body coiled and uncoiled as it slithered up from the river.
Your heart slammed against your ribs, and you scrambled backward, your feet slipping in the mud. The creature let out another growl, low and menacing, and then it lunged.
You barely had time to react. You threw yourself to the side, the creature's massive jaws snapping shut just inches from where you'd been standing. Mud sprayed up around you as you hit the ground, your hands sinking into the wet earth.
The creature roared, its eyes locking onto you, and you knew you couldn't outrun it. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide.
But then, just as the creature reared back to strike again, the air around you shifted.
A familiar sound echoed through the thick, humid air—the sound of static, crackling and alive.
And then, Alastor was there.
He appeared without warning, stepping out of the shadows as though he'd been there the whole time, his cane tapping lightly against the muddy ground. His smile was still in place, that same wide, maddening grin, but now there was something different in his eyes. Amusement, yes—but also something colder. Something more dangerous.
"Well, well," he drawled, his voice smooth and melodic, "it seems you've made a new friend."
The creature snarled, its massive head snapping toward Alastor, but the Radio Demon didn't flinch. If anything, his grin widened.
With a casual flick of his wrist, Alastor pointed his cane at the creature, and the air around him shimmered, the faint sound of a radio tuning in growing louder. The creature hesitated, its glowing eyes narrowing as it watched him, its body coiling tighter as though preparing to strike.
Alastor chuckled, the sound dark and low. "Oh, I wouldn't do that if I were you."
And then, with a snap of his fingers, the world exploded. The explosion wasn't fire, wasn't heat. It was sound—pure, deafening sound. A blast of radio static so loud it tore through the air, bending reality itself around it. The creature recoiled, its massive body thrashing violently as the wave of sound hit it, rippling through the water and shaking the very ground beneath you. You covered your ears, wincing at the intensity, but even through the noise, you could hear Alastor's laughter—rich, full, and terrifyingly joyful.
The creature roared in pain, its long, serpentine body twisting in the river, sending massive waves crashing against the shore. But no matter how it thrashed, no matter how it tried to escape, the sound clung to it, relentless. Alastor didn't move, didn't blink. His cane remained pointed at the creature, his eyes gleaming with something dark and cruel.
Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the sound stopped.
The silence that followed was suffocating. The air felt heavy, thick with the remnants of that strange, otherworldly static. The creature lay half-submerged in the river, its body limp and still. You could see the faint rise and fall of its massive chest, the slow, labored breaths of a dying thing.
Alastor lowered his cane, the smile never leaving his face. He turned to you, eyes gleaming with amusement as though he'd just finished some sort of performance. "Well, that was quite the show, wouldn't you say?"
Your heart was still racing, adrenaline flooding your veins as you tried to catch your breath. The sound of the creature's death throes echoed in your mind, and the weight of what had just happened hit you like a wave. You had been moments from death, swallowed by something monstrous, and Alastor had—what? Saved you? Played with you?
"Why..." You struggled to find the words, your voice hoarse. "Why did you do that?"
Alastor cocked his head, his smile softening, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Do what?" His tone was light, almost playful, as though he hadn't just obliterated a massive river beast with the flick of his wrist. "Saved you? My dear, don't misunderstand. I didn't save you." He took a step closer, his red eyes locking onto yours with unnerving intensity. "I was merely... ensuring the game continues."
You blinked, confused. "Game?"
His grin widened again, sharp as a blade. "Why, yes. What else would this be?"
Before you could respond, the ground beneath your feet trembled again. But this time, it wasn't the creature thrashing in its death throes. No, this was different—more subtle, more deliberate. It was as though the entire riverbank was shifting, rearranging itself.
Alastor's eyes flicked to the horizon, and for a brief moment, the amusement in his expression faltered. It was gone in an instant, replaced by that same maddening smile, but you had seen it—the flicker of something that might have been concern.
"Ah," he said softly, almost to himself. "It appears we have company."
Your stomach dropped. "Company?"
Alastor didn't answer. Instead, he straightened, his posture rigid, his eyes scanning the riverbank with a cold, calculating gaze. The river had grown still again, the creature now nothing more than a massive, lifeless heap in the water. But something was coming. You could feel it in the air, the way the atmosphere seemed to tighten around you, like a noose slowly drawing closed.
"Get up," Alastor said, his voice devoid of its usual playful lilt. "Now."
You didn't argue. You scrambled to your feet, the mud slick beneath your boots, your body still aching from the fall into the river. Alastor moved swiftly, his cane tapping lightly against the ground as he led the way along the riverbank, away from the creature's corpse. He didn't explain, didn't tell you where you were going, but you followed, your gut screaming that whatever was coming, it was far worse than what you had just faced.
The landscape around you began to shift as you moved, the twisted trees growing denser, their gnarled branches intertwining overhead to form a canopy that blocked out what little light there was. The air grew cooler, the stench of decay less pungent, replaced by something even more unsettling—the scent of burning, like charred wood and flesh.
"Where are we going?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, afraid to break the tense silence that had settled between you and Alastor.
Alastor didn't look at you as he responded, his tone clipped. "Somewhere... safe. For now."
"Safe?" The word felt foreign in your mouth. There was no such thing as 'safe' in Hell. Not with Alastor by your side. Not anywhere.
You opened your mouth to press further, to demand answers, but before you could, a sharp, piercing sound cut through the air—like the screech of a violin played just out of tune. It was faint at first, distant, but growing louder with each passing second.
Alastor stopped dead in his tracks. You nearly crashed into him, but he didn't seem to notice. His head tilted slightly, listening. His expression remained calm, but there was a tightness in his posture now, a tension you hadn't seen in him before.
The sound grew louder, sharper, and you could feel it now—an eerie, bone-deep sensation that vibrated through the ground beneath your feet. Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, your heart pounding in your chest as you glanced around, searching for the source.
And then you saw it.
Emerging from the shadows of the trees ahead, a figure—tall, slender, and impossibly pale. Its face was obscured by a mask, featureless except for two hollow, black eyes. It moved with a grace that seemed out of place, its long, thin limbs gliding through the air as though gravity itself bent to its will.
Alastor's smile returned, but it was colder now, sharper. "Ah," he said softly, almost to himself. "So, it's you."
The figure said nothing. It simply stood there, watching, its head cocked slightly to the side, as if observing a particularly interesting specimen.
You took a step back, your breath catching in your throat. "Alastor... what is that?"
The Radio Demon's eyes gleamed with something dark and dangerous as he spoke, his voice low and silky. "A challenge."
Without warning, the figure moved.
It didn't walk, didn't run—it blurred, moving faster than you could follow. One moment, it was standing among the trees, and the next, it was inches from you, its masked face looming over you, close enough that you could feel the cold air radiating off its body.
Instinct took over. You stumbled back, your pulse racing, but before you could fully react, the figure lunged. Its hand—long, bony, and disturbingly cold—shot out toward you, its fingers splayed, reaching for your throat.
But before it could touch you, Alastor was there.
He moved with a speed that matched the figure's, his cane striking out with a crack that echoed through the forest. The figure recoiled, its hand retreating as it skidded backward, its hollow eyes locked onto Alastor with something resembling hatred.
Alastor's grin widened, his eyes gleaming with wicked amusement. "Now, now," he said, his voice dripping with mockery. "Let's not be too hasty, shall we?"
The figure didn't respond, but you could feel the tension in the air, thick and oppressive. This wasn't over. Not by a long shot.
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