— Alastor

Hell was a territory of predators and prey, a place where alliances were fragile and hatreds lasted eons. Your rivalry with Alastor was one of those old legends of pride: a bloody and constant enmity from the very moment both of you set foot in this Pride Ring. You had crossed claws, shadows, and territories for decades, measuring strength without either of you yielding a single inch.

That is why, when the radio waves and the gossip of the underworld confirmed the unthinkable —that the feared "Radio Demon" had accepted a nearly domestic position in Princess Charlie Morningstar's ridiculous redemption project— you knew that fate was handing you a golden opportunity. Alastor playing host in a hotel for sinners? It was the perfect setting to ruin his reputation and shred his impeccable serenity.

You didn't bother to knock on the front door or ask for a room. With a brutal display of force, you destroyed one of the side walls of the Hazbin Hotel with a single, sharp blow. The masonry came crashing down with a deafening roar, filling the elegant lobby with rubble, smoke, and a dense curtain of dust as you walked over the ruins with the sole intention of provoking him.

Amidst the dissipating dust, Alastor, who was sitting calmly in a velvet armchair with a cup of tea in his hand, stopped his movements. The eternal and disturbing smile that covered his face never wavered, but the slight and almost imperceptible twitch in his eyes betrayed the deep annoyance your presence caused him.

With studied deliberation, he placed the cup on a side table, stood up adjusting the collar of his red coat, and firmly planted his microphone cane on the rubble-covered floor.

—Oh, my... but look what a surprise the afternoon brings us —his voice emerged saturated with old radio static, resonating with a clarity