Chapter Text
Alastor woke up on the floor of his radio tower, clutching at his side expecting broken ribs but only found perfectly intact bone, the pain he knew should have been there, gone. Looking down, he saw that he was not wearing his usual red suit, but the outfit he died in, a white button up and black slacks. He paused, lost on how he has miraculously healed overnight. Why was he wearing different clothes?
Alastor slowly took in his surroundings, his radio tower was coated in a thick layer of dust, his broadcasting desk unusable due to long term neglect and even crude graffiti decorated the walls. How long was he unconscious? This had to have been the work of years being untouched. What year was it?
Alastor snapped his fingers, righting the tower back to its former glory and changing his clothes back to his usual red getup. He noticed how that little trick took a bit more energy from him than what he was used to. He focused and traveled through his shadows and onto the streets of Pentagram City. The large clock tower in the middle of the city read 'March 21, 2031'. Yesterday was March 21, 2024. Seven years. How had he lost seven years of time?
Alastor did his best to mask his confusion, this has happened once before, he didn't appear in Hell until seven years after his death. He knew that he died in 1933 but yet, when he awoke in Hell, it was 1940. It was something that had always bothered him, not knowing where he spent the first seven years of his death, but it had hardly crossed his mind after a few decades.
Now he was truly frustrated, he needed to find out where all of this lost time was going... but where would he even start? As far as he knew, no one else had run into this problem. Everyone dropped into Hell the day that they died, everyone but him.
The sinners in the street hardly reacted to his being there. Being gone for nearly a decade seemed to have greatly affected his reputation. That needed to be fixed quickly. He felt weaker than he did the day before or, more accurately, seven years ago but Alastor knew that he was still much more powerful than the average sinner; a very lucky discovery he made when he first fell, but he knew that something in these seven years had drained some of his magic.
How many of his souls died during his absence? He didn't keep all too many, he didn't really need them. He only owned about a dozen to earn his title as Overlord. He didn't feel the loss of any as far as he could tell. What was causing his magic to dwindle?
Alastor made his way to his territory, flaunting his return to the demons of Hell. A few gasps followed in his wake. It seemed some still remembered to fear him. He kept his chin up, stitched smile unwavering. They needed to believe that he had his reasons for disappearing, they couldn't know that he was just as lost as them.
His home was in disrepair, similarly to his radio tower, maybe worse. Vox seemed to have taken his disappearance after their battle as an invitation to slight him. Voxtek logos covered the outside, the windows were all destroyed and looking inside it seemed that someone held some sort of estate sale. There was nothing left of his furniture or decor. Alastor groaned, he needed to inspect his magic. He could feel that even just cleaning up the mansion would take too much energy from him in this state.
Crackling came through his staff. He winced, his large deer ears twitched when the sound reached them. Another reminder of when he first landed in Hell. His demonic form and all of its quirks took some getting used to. The ears being much more sensitive than his human ones, his balance being off due to having grown about a foot and the small pain in his skull from suddenly having antlers sprouting from it. The deer form infuriated him, though, that was exactly what it was meant to do. Mock him. A cruel punishment for the sinners in Hell, becoming a heartless reference to their cause of death.
He got used to it after a while, using his prey-like sinner form to his advantage. Sinners underestimated him for years, until he revealed himself as The Radio Demon. A demon that didn't need angelic steel to kill permanently, a demon that delighted in torture and sharing the screams of his victims with the citizens of Hell.
The crackling from his staff cleared and he heard a voice. "Mr. Radio Demon?"
It was Rosie's voice. His closest friend, The Overlord of Cannibal Town. Why would she refer to him as anything but his name? How much had changed in these seven years? Was he forgotten?
"Radio Demon, are you there?"
Alastor brought the microphone up to his mouth. "Rosie, my dear! To what do I owe the pleasure?"
He heard a loud gasp from the staff. "Oh my! You really are back!"
Rosie hadn't forgotten him. Alastor sighed with relief. He didn't know what he would have done without his friend. Alastor thrived off of solitude, but it didn't hurt to have someone who was willing to lend an ear from time to time. They had confided nearly everything with each other. There was no one else living or dead that he trusted the way he trusted Rosie. The only secret he had kept from her was his lost time when he first fell, he refused to acknowledge it, even finding it painful to talk about.
Alastor's head pounded as he tried to make sense of his most recent disappearance. He quickly switched his focus back to his friend. "Yes, well, I deserved a little sabbatical, wouldn't you agree?"
"I'd wring your neck for disappearing on me like that but... We have a more pressing matter to handle first."
A more pressing matter than him being missing for almost a decade? "Oh? Well don't keep me in suspense, darling."
There was a long pause. "There's a woman here... she swears she just fell, but she's lookin' for The Radio Demon. She woke up from her fall holding a letter with strange instructions... says she has to give you your own letter, that she has to hand it to you herself. She doesn't seem to know who you are at all!"
"Is she delivering a message for someone?"
"See, that's the strangest part... her instructions say that Mr. Broussard sent her."
Alastor's blood ran cold. His name, something he had kept to himself since his fall. Names held great power in Hell, you were safer if people didn't know who you were in life, much less could be held against you. The only person that knew his full name was Rosie. Who was this woman and why did it sound like she was sent to find him from him? If not sent from him then someone who knew too much. He needed to send a message to whoever sent her, killing their messenger for sticking their nose where it didn't belong.
Alastor said nothing as he traveled through shadows, stepping into Rosie's office in her emporium. He didn't look to his friend, who gasped at the sight of him, before his claws were digging into the mysterious woman's cheeks. Her blood red eyes widened. Overlord eyes. Eyes she shouldn't have had if she just fell. Eyes he had when he fell.
Her feathered wings, with a color scheme that resembles fire, tightened into her back, shifting the floral blouse, the top buttons undone, exposing her white undershirt. Alastor had to focus to not let his eyes wander down to her low neckline, something he had never had to think about before this moment. Her long red tail, tipped with the same fire-like feathers as her wings, wrapped itself around her hips, covering the belt holding up her tight bootcut jeans, revealing brown working boots.
The phoenix demon didn't scream, she didn't beg for her life, she simply looked him up and down in the range of motion that his grip allowed.
"Well, you're terrifyin'," she stated calmly, a thick southern drawl rolling from her tongue.
Something about this woman was familiar. Impossible, especially if she wasn't lying about having just fell, he had never met this woman. But he couldn't shake the feeling that he should let her go, let her explain.
He stuffed that feeling down. In his weakened state he was unable to take risks like that. This woman knew too much about him, but not enough to react to his threatening in the proper manner.
His lip curled into a sneer. "Who are you," he asked through gritted teeth.
"Dawn. My name's Dawn."
"Who sent you?"
"I don't know. I just woke up holdin' these." Dawn held up two white envelopes. "One was addressed to me... in my handwritin'. The other is addressed to The Radio Demon from some guy named Alastor. I don't remember writin' it and I don't know anyone named Alastor. I'm guessin' that's this Mr. Broussard fella."
She guessed correctly, but she was clearly unaware that he, The Radio Demon, was Alastor Broussard. Information that he would be keeping to himself while he figured out who this woman was and why 'Alastor' sent her.
He kept his eyes on Dawn, "Rosie, please excuse us. I need to have a private conversation with miss Dawn here. I will come find you when this business is settled."
He didn't wait for an answer before taking Dawn through his shadows and into his radio tower. May as well get information from her there, she may make for a lovely first broadcast since his return.
He released her cheeks from his claws, leaving deep gashes behind. She didn't make any move to run, just stood there, staring at him curiously.
Did she see familiarity in him too? Did she want to trust him more than she should as he did for her?
"Where are your instructions?"
Dawn took the envelope that had already been opened and handed it to him. The envelope read 'To Dawn, DO NOT LOOK TO THE PAST -Dawn'. A letter to her from her. What could 'do not look to the past' possibly mean?
Alastor looked up from the envelope to the woman with his brows knitted in question.
"The instructions are inside."
She made no sign of knowing what the warning meant but she made no sign of confusion either.
Alastor decided to put that question on the back burner until he had read each letter thoroughly. He slowly pulled out a folded piece of parchment and opened it. The letter was written in his handwriting but, of course, he had no recollection of writing it.
He sat with that thought for a moment, racking his brain for any memory of writing a letter to someone named Dawn. A migraine began to form at his temples, pulling his focus. Grunting, he pulled his thoughts to the words in front of him, rather than the person that wrote them.
'Dawn, follow theses instructions down to the letter. Your life depends on it.
Find Rosie, she lives in a place called Cannibal Town. Unfortunately, there is no telling where you will fall when you arrive in Hell so I am unable to give you directions. Do not ask anyone for any help. Trust no one. You have magic, protect yourself. Follow the eyeless folk, they will lead you to Cannibal Town.
When you find Rosie in her emporium, inform her that you have a letter for The Radio Demon, you must hand him this letter in person. She may mention that he has not been seen for seven years, assure her that he is back. If push comes to shove, tell her that a Mr. Broussard sent you to deliver the letter.
Give The Radio Demon his letter and ensure that he reads it in front of you. Then, and only then, look back on where you were March 21, 2024 after your death.
- Mr. Broussard'
The date. She died on the same day that he disappeared. What did this woman's death have to do with his disappearance?
Alastor held out his hand, ready to read the letter addressed to him. She watched him curiously and slowly handed the letter to him. He could see her anticipation building as she shifted on her feet and anxiously played with her long orange hair, tipped with yellow, clearly just as interested as he was in finding out what all of this meant.
He looked at the envelope 'To The Radio Demon - From Alastor'. Again, the handwriting was his. The answers to where he had been must hav been in the envelope. He ripped it open and pulled the parchment from it. His letter was much shorter, though much more mysterious.
'Heal her. Only she can free you. Follow her instructions. Use this rune.'
The rune was one he didn't recognize, clearly a meshing of a few different symbols to create something new.
He looked back up to Dawn and surveyed her body. She didn't look injured save for the gashes he left in her cheeks. Why would he need to heal her? Alastor knew plenty of healing runes, having had decades of practice with his newfound blood magic after he manifested in Hell. Why this symbol? What instructions would this woman have for him? She seemed just as confused as him.
"You read it?" Dawn asked, clearly getting impatient.
Alastor narrowed his eyes but gave a curt nod.
Dawn took a deep breath in. As she released her breath, her eyes glazed over and darted around wildly. Her breath caught and her eyes widened. She snapped her gaze back to his. "Al!"
Before Alastor was able to react to her sudden recognition of him, her nose began to bleed. She grunted, gripping her head in pain. She appeared as though she was trying to focus on something. He wanted to tell her to stop what she was doing, to stop thinking, to pull her focus from what she was seeing. But he made no move to do so, needing to see the outcome.
Dawn's eyes focused and unfocused erratically, bloodied tears pooled in her eyes. She looked up at him, the blood dripping down her cheeks, her expression pleading.
The rune, she needed the rune. Instinct told him to draw it, to stop questioning, but he still didn't move. He didn't know this woman, why would he risk the unknown for her?
She fell to the ground and a scream ripped from her throat. He saw that there was no time to weigh his options, either he healed her or she died.
'Only she can free you'. Alastor growled, he needed to know what that meant, why he wasn't free.
He extended his claws and pricked his thumb, a droplet of blood forming from the wound. Dropping to his knees, he drew the strange rune on her collarbone.
The effect was immediate, the green glow of his magic started at the symbol and slowly encompassed her entire body.
As the green glow died down, Dawn slowly relaxed, the pain subsiding, the gashes in her cheeks closing up. She was still breathing heavily but she was healed. She weakly looked up at him. "Told you it would work, Al."
Alastor masked his exhaustion from the overuse of his magic. What was she talking about? She gave him no reassurance for whatever this was working. It was clear that only moments ago, she didn't even know his name, but the familiarity in her tone was apparent.
"Who are you?"
She closed her eyes and smiled easily. "Already told you that, didn't I? Dawn."
"What was that?" Alastor couldn't mask his impatience with her. "Why act like you didn't know who I was?" He was so sure that this woman was clueless. What did she want from him?
"I didn't. Now I do," Dawn stated as she brought herself up to a seated position. She wiped a bloodied tear from her cheek and inspected in curiously. "Let me see your wound."
His wound?
The prick on his finger. His blood was still dripping from it. "No."
Dawn scoffed. "Come on, I'm testin' a theory. You can trust me."
"Why should I trust you?" Alastor sneered at her, asking himself more so than her.
She fluttered her lashes at him. "I can tell you where you've been for the past seven years."
Alastor's eyes widened at that. This woman appeared in Hell with letters written in his handwriting, with his name. Surely, she must have known something. No one else knew that he was unaware of where he had been, he was desperate for answers. Slowly, he gave her his hand.
Dawn grabbed it gently and rubbed the tear into his wound. It immediately scabbed over. Her tears were healing, but not nearly as healing as his own magic. Interesting.
She breathed a laugh, "funny," she said flatly.
Alastor ripped his hand from her. "Explain yourself. Now."
"Before I do that..." she gave him a meek smile, "I need to borrow your magic."
This woman must have been joking. There was no way in, well... Hell, that he would be handing anyone any of his magic. He snarled at her.
"I know how that sounds, darlin', but unless you want to succumb to that-" she gestured to the pool of blood on the ground that she was just convulsing on, "-I'm gonna need to be able to heal you."
"Is that a threat?"
Dawn rolled her eyes. "No, Radiohead, it's a warnin'. I'm not telling you anythin' until I know that I can heal you."
Alastor sneered at the nickname. Why would she care if she could heal him or not? Why would she need to heal him after sharing information?
"I don't know you and I most definitely do not trust you."
She smiled, visibly entertained. "Well, why don't you get to know me? I could use a tour of Hell."
The thought of spending more time with the woman was both intriguing and infuriating. Everything she was saying seemed genuine, but Alastor was not a trusting person. He had never given away any of his magic to another soul, yet something about her was so familiar, so trustworthy. He couldn't shake the small voice in his head screaming at him to do as she said.
The letter specifically instructed him to follow her instructions. He decided that he would spend the day with her and see just how desperate he was to find out what was happening at the end of the day.
Alastor stood and begrudgingly offered her a hand. She smiled warmly at the gesture, her eyes practically sparkling as she reached for his hand and pulled herself up to standing. He felt something in his stomach fluttering at the sight but immediately decided to ignore ot, chalking it up to anticipation.
Alastor took a deep breath to gather himself, having used too much magic already for the day, and moved them through the shadows and onto the streets of Pentagram City.
Dawn flourished a hand, blue glowing sand coming from her fingertips, manifesting a mirror in front of her, visibly delighting her.
The letter to her seemed to ring true, she did possess magic. She used the mirror to wipe away the dried blood she saw on her cheeks and lips, then carefully covered the rune he drew on her by buttoning up her blouse. She snapped and the mirror was gone.
She studied her hand for a moment, clearly still learning the extent of her magic, and smiled back up to him. "Alright, ready for my tour."
Alastor offered her his arm instead of his hand, which she took eagerly, and lead her to the inner city.
As Dawn looked around, she didn't seem surprised by anything. There was murder and thieving happening at every corner, yet she just looked around as though this was completely normal for her, in fact she was leading the way more so than Alastor.
Dawn appeared to both know too much and too little at the same time. It was maddening trying to figure her out.
Her attention only seemed to catch on a demon running from them, texting on his vPhone in a panic as he rounded the corner.
Her eyes glazed over like they did in the radio tower.
Alastor readied himself to get them out of the public eye if she were to collapse again, but she just refocused and looked up at him casually. "I think your old pal Vox was just made aware of your return. That guy works for him."
Alastor stiffened. "What do you know of Vox?"
She smirked. "Everythin'."
Before he could demand that she explain what she meant by that, a group of sinners with red swirling eyes approached them, clearly under Vox's spell.
Alastor cracked his neck, hoping that there was enough magic in him to handle the demons.
Dawn raised her hand. "Hold on. I wanna see somethin'."
Alastor did as she said and watched her as she tested out her magic.
Dawn flicked her wrist towards the hoard of sinners, setting them aflame with a blue fire. Her breath caught as her eyes widened, horrified at what she had just done.
Alastor's head cocked to the side. The woman seemed so unbothered by everything else. Perhaps she had never actually killed someone before?
While he was completely distracted by his curiosity, another demon with the same swirling red eyes snuck up behind them, shocking them with powerful tasers, rendering the both of them unconscious.