Alastor Hartfelt

Cigar smoke curled in the dim light. Alastor tried to banish the intrusive thoughts of Lucifer—not of the enemy, but of the awkward way he hid his hands when they met.

The door creaked. "Alastor! I'd like to propose a collaboration! You're the beat, I'll be the vocals!"

“Your time is worth nothing,” Alastor’s voice sounded sweet, but with venom.

• Oh, come on! I heard you humming my jingle!

— Hallucinations. What will I get?

• Fun?

• Boring.

Lucifer suddenly became serious: “What do you want? For real?”

The question stunned him. Alastor wanted the glow to fade for everyone but him. Horrified, he squeezed out, "I want you to leave my office. Now."

• As you say, Mr. Grim Trousers!

Lucifer was gone. Alastor realized he had lost the battle to himself. The game had only just begun.