Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Greetings, damned souls, from the OG MC himself!”

Katie Killjoy felt her slashing grin crack as her broadcast was interrupted in a twinkle of golden light. The corners of her mouth tightened as the sinners around her flailed uselessly, Tom almost jumping out of his seat in surprise.

She turned her head to what was supposed to be her own face on the monitor screen and was instead greeted by a super close-up of a sparkling blue eye.

Eugh. This was going to involve angels. She just knew it.

And, if it involved angels, then it was all the fault of Little Miss Princess and her ridiculous crusade for betterment.

Fucking great.

The camera panned backwards, showing a glimpse of the actual pearly gates themselves, before the owner of the eye shoved their face into frame again. Blue eyes, golden hair, rosy cheeks, and alabaster skin, he looked strikingly similar to Lucifer, but his hair was a shade darker, obviously shrouded in angelic light and halos and - she could think it but would never say it because she wasn’t masochistic (that was Tom’s thing) – just a foot or so taller than their short King. The six wings feathered behind him were tawny and gold in colour and he had that insufferable condescending look on his face universal within Heaven.

“St Peter must hand those out with the halos when they cross the fucking gates,” she muttered to herself and Tom turned his useless face towards her, eyes as blank as his fucking mind.

The general chittering began to rise in the studio as the useless fucks she was surrounded with began to register the interruption. She sent a scathing look at them all, cowering them into silence and, if anything, his silence was the only thing stopping her from eviscerating Tom.

She still might, depending on how this went.

Odds were not looking good for him.

“Rejoice! For I have come with tidings,” the angel blithered on, full of pomp and self-importance and she could feel the powerless sycophants around her lighting up at the words just as her skin curled in revulsion.

“After the last Extermination went, er, differently,” here, the angel’s eyes slid to something behind the camera offscreen and a little righteous anger grew on his face (‘Lovely,’ thought Katie), “we here up in Heaven thought to ease the anxieties of you all down below.

“You’ll be pleased to know that your recent actions haven’t changed anything! Be glad, as we will proceed as usual with the next Extermination in six months and release you all from the eternal damnation you’ve earned!” The angel finished with a bright smile, cheerful tone and were those jazz hands?

She could almost hear the collective jaws drop in the studio and it was taking every morsel of good will she had not to strangle the closest to her.

And people said she had no restraint.

Seriously. You maim one suburb and routinely abuse your co-host and you get a reputation.

There was a beat of incredulous silence and then a wave of dismay flowed through the studio. She could practically hear Little Miss Princess’ wail from her hotel at the news and she felt a crumb of schadenfreude at the thought of her misery.

The table shook as the crew in the studio all started clamouring at once. Admittedly, she had thought that the actions of Little Miss Princess and her cloud of, eugh, friends would have changed Heaven’s mind. She had had a little sliver of hope that they’d be left alone after the last Extermination was fended off and Adam killed. Redemption? Now that was inconceivable but to be left alone to wallow in their miserable afterlife, that was worth hoping for.

But, what good is hope in Hell?

She should have known better.

The angel on screen, despite being a transmission and having no receiver, seemed to know that his proclamation would lead to mass hysteria and he was swaying minutely in silence (still with those fucking jazz hands) as he waited for a crowd he couldn’t hear to settle down. After the initial wails had tapered off into sniffles and murmurs of despair, he picked up as though there hadn’t been a two minute pause in his proclamation.

“And, since Adam had that little sticky encounter with one of your lot,” this was said through gritted teeth, “the next Extermination will be led by us instead!” Here, the camera wobbled as the angel grabbed it. There were muttered words and static as it changed hands and panned around to show those who were originally behind the camera.

The screen now showed two more angels, both as pale as their King with six wings and oozing condescension. The first was tall, broad and brunet with wings of gold and white and the gaudiest halo ever invented perched above his brow. His lip was curled into a sneer at the mere thought of being viewed by sinners and his blue eyes promised fiery conflagration to all.
The second was shorter, but stockier. Auburn hair fell into his narrow grey eyes, matching his bronze and gold wings as he crossed his, admittedly yummy, arms in stoic fury.

When he'd found a template that he liked, the big G-man upstairs certainly stuck to it. It filled Katie with a sick sense of delight that their King, the embodiment of the Sin of Pride, was physically the shortest of the group on screen. Did all angels look like that?

Was their King proof of the Napoleon Complex?

Or that angels were more fun when they were fun sized? Like, the bigger they got, the less fun they were?

Unlike her bedroom partners.

Or her kill count.

“Since I’m sure you don’t know us,” the now camera holding angel chirped up, tilting the lens back enough to show what should have been a highly unflattering shot of his chin and nostrils, but instead it looked effortless (‘Fucker,’ Katie thought and punched Tom in lieu of anyone with angelic blood), “this is Michael and Raphael. And I’m Gabriel!”

There was a record scratch where her thought process had been. Fuck.

They were the fucking Archangels.

The next Extermination was being led by the Archangels.

She almost missed the “and for Dad’s sake, Luci, pick up your phone!” that Gabriel called out before signing off and the studio was left in shocked silence. There was a beat as Hell registered the steaming pile of shit that had been dumped in their collective lap and she knew it wasn’t just silent in the studio but all through the Pride Ring at least.

Finally, Tom spoke up for the first time since the disaster began.

“We are all fucking fucked.”

She couldn’t agree more.

Chapter Text

“This is bad. This is bad. This is bad.”

“What’re we gonna do? What’re we gonna do? What’re we gonna do?”

The residents of the Hazbin Hotel sat on their couch, watching as Charlie and Vaggie spiralled in opposite corners of the reception area. It was a tennis match fitting for the denizens of Hell, as their gazes flitted between the two.

Vaggie was banging her head against the wall, punctuating every despairing sentence with a hit to her forehead and Niffty was delighted.

Either at the thought that there would be some blood to clean up afterwards or that someone else was in pain, no one was sure. But, Niffty being Niffty, it was better for their collective sanity not to ask.

Twisting their heads to look at the other side of the fireplace, they saw Charlie curled up in a tiny ball, blonde head buried in her arms to make her look smaller and not pausing for breath as she repeatedly questioned over and over. If nothing else, Angel Dust was impressed at her apparent lung capacity.

“Should we do something?” he questioned, looking concerned at the steadily increasing stream of blood coming from Vaggie’s corner. He wasn’t into that sort of thing, but the smell of angel blood, tainted as Vaggie’s was, was becoming harder to resist, even for him.

“I ain’t touching that,” Husk growled. “I might listen to all y’all bitching 24/7, but I don’t get paid enough to sort out,” his paw gestured at mess that was masquerading as the Princess of Hell, which was now rocking back and forth and whose mutterings had reached a pitch only he could hear, “that.”

They watched on in captivation as the two fell deeper and deeper into their respective corners of woe, unable to look away.

“Two grams of dope says Princess is about cry,” muttered Cherri Bomb.

“Sucker bet, not taking it,” was Angel’s response. He was stupid enough to sell his soul to Valentino, but he wasn’t that stupid. Immediately afterward, Charlie’s head came up, whining like a balloon about to pop and she let out a wail at the ceiling.

There was a squeal of radio static and they looked around to see Alastor appearing from the shadows of the doorway. He looked unperturbed by the Archangels’ declaration, slashing grin permanently etched on his face and clothing completely unruffled. But then again, the Overlord looked unperturbed by most things.

“Now then,” he tuned, “what’s gotten everyone so down?”

Charlie let out a further wail, the tears streaming from her eyes increasing in speed as Vaggie turned to look at the Overlord in incredulity.

“Where have you been? Didn’t you hear what Heaven said?” the Fallen Exterminator said, heedless of the blood wending down her forehead and across her nose. She noticed the small flicker of hunger in his eyes as Alastor traced the golden trail her blood had made.

She glared at the Radio Demon, metaphorically killing him whilst he smiled beatifically back. She was about to measure up to him but paused just outside microphone range, having learned that lesson when he first came to the Hotel.

“Why, yes I did, my angry chum. But I fail to see why it has caused so much…noise,” the closest he ever got to genuine emotion passed his face as his eyes cast over the wailing Princess and her scowling protector.

Vaggie’s dark eyes shadowed at his response. She knew he masked most of what went on behind those red eyes, but surely he could understand why they were freaking out? Why they were spiralling?

Surely he wasn’t so lacking in empathy he could understand that?

But who knew what was going on behind Alastor’s perfect façade. His face was made for radio as it gave nothing away and showed nothing he didn’t want it to show. And ninety percent of the time, that was bland amusement, real or otherwise. She was pretty sure the only time she’d seen something genuine on his face was the relish he showed when he was eating.

And the surprise when he fought Adam. Now that was real shock.

“As I’m sure you can understand, after your fight with Adam,” she says, almost savouring the way his radio static record scratches at the name and his shadow darkens, antlers splaying.
Perhaps she was a little more demonic than she’d previously thought, “everyone’s a little stressed over the upcoming Extermination.”

The collective souls in the room reacted. Angel flinched and Cherri winced. Husk took a long swig of his omnipresent bottle of booze and Niffty, well…

Her single eye was staring into the fire with her sharpened blade gouging into a bug she’d skewered to the carpet. Smiling widely.

“Because we barely survived last time,” Angel said, tone relaxed but offset by his hunched shoulders. All four of them.

“Some of us died,” was Niffty’s contribution, said with far too much delight.

“And that was with Adam, not with fucking Archangels,” Cherri muttered.

“Yeah, we’re just a little fucked,” was Husk’s helpful contribution from around the mouth of his bottle. Charlie’s sobs were reaching a crescendo and Vaggie’s eye was twitching in a manner that said she was two seconds away from stabbing someone.

“Well, we’re certainly not going to succeed with that attitude!” the deer crooned and his shadow lengthened menacingly. He kept his eyes fixed on Vaggie, the only person in the room who was actively reaching towards her spear and looking like she wanted to shove it into his face, but part of his attention was on Charlie.

He watched as her wailing tapered off into sniffles and she peered over her knees with bloodshot eyes as him. Optimism was not within his nature, much more suited for vice than virtue, but manipulation was and she knew him well enough to be suspicious of his laissez-faire attitude.

The others, more than likely taking their cue from Charlie, turned to stare at him with varying degrees of distrust, ambivalence and giddiness.

Sigh, such a shame that Niffty was the only one here who truly appreciated him.

“Not that this rousing display of optimism is unwelcome, Alastor,” Charlie began, unfurling herself from her ball of woe like a slowly blooming flower. She brushed the wrinkles out of her jacket as she went to stand next to her girlfriend, covering her blind spot. “But, I think taking down an Archangel is going to be a bit more challenging than Adam.”

“And he nearly killed us all,” Angel chimed in. They all ignored the “it was awesome” that came from Niffty.

He kept up his serene smile, antlers growing on his head with every moment as Vaggie explained that the Archangels were created to govern above the Seraphim, as God’s mightiest soldiers and his strongest shield. They were created before Heaven, made to help Him combat the Root of all Evil.

With each word Vaggie used to describe the fearsome threat before them, Alastor’s eyes deepened, morphing into radio dials, and his ears twitched. The fur on his tail and the short hairs on his neck raised in anticipation of the battle ahead.

In anticipation of the feast ahead. Though an Exterminator was Angel born, it was mightily different from the promised meal.

What was it Lucifer had said? Michelin tasting menu?

He could feel saliva building at the mere thought.

Gluttony always was his particular sin.

Well, that and Pride.

“Yeah, I’m not buying it,” Angel said, his heterochromic eyes narrowed in Alastor’s direction and pulling him from his musings of flambeed or fricasseed angel. “She’s-“ pointing at Vaggie, “-just finished explaining how we are epically fucked seven ways from Sunday and you’re still grinning like you’ve won the lottery. Either you know something we don’t, or you’re really looking forward to seeing what your own intestines look like.”

If possible, Alastor’s grin widened, his shadow splitting as it failed to contain his excitement.

“Haha, what a marvellous thought, my amphetamine loaded chum! You are wasted in pornography with that imagination!” There was a curious growl from Husker that he made a mental note to exploit later, but the spider in question just raised an unimpressed eyebrow. With the group silence spurring him on, he sighed dramatically.

“It seems everyone else has forgotten something quite important.” The singing tone of his voice was offset by his shadow creeping up the wall, spreading its inky fingers as wide as its broken smile. With little care for the dramatics (amateurs, he thought), his audience just stared back with aplomb, Vaggie’s frown deepening in concern as much as Husk’s careful nonchalance tried to convey his pretend non-interest.

For someone so invested in gambling, dear Husker had always had a terrible poker face.

“I’m surprised you haven’t picked up on this little detail, Charlie,” he curls into the room and Charlie frowns almost as much as her girlfriend, her pale fingers rubbing the edge of her jacket in concern. She didn’t think she’d missed anything, having watched the entire horrifying broadcast from the loveseat in the Hotel’s reception.

What was there to miss? Despite fending off the Extermination, Heaven was launching another in six months, to be led by the holiest angels ever created. If they struggled that much against Adam and his army, what hope could they possibly have against the Archangels and their forces?

She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes again as despair swelled inside her chest. Supportive as always, she felt Vaggie’s hand on her arm and managed a watery smile in her direction. The others looked as hopeless as she felt, tempered with stubbornness, but Alastor?

His grin was widening, antlers splaying as he crooned at her. Almost gleeful.

“What is it?” she asked and, if possible, the Overlord’s smile widened further as his shadow took on a darker hue.

“I could tell you,” he said, clawed hand reaching forward to shake her hand. As sweet as the apple that once tempted Eve, his syrupy voice continued. “For a price.”

She immediately recoiled, already feeling the weight of her under-discussed previous deal with Alastor like an albatross around her neck. Vaggie’s shoulders hunched up further as her hackles raised and Husk slunk down in the corner. Angel shifted closer to the cat demon, almost curling into him as though to shield him from Alastor’s deal making glow.

“No! Noooooo! Absolutely not!” Vaggie shrieked, pulling Charlie back and out of arm’s reach, trying to physically shield her from him. Alastor’s eyes flashed dangerously at the interference.
She laughed nervously. “I don’t think we need to make a deal. You’re my steadfast Hotelier, after all,” reminding him of the words he’d once spoken when riling up her father.

“I’d really like for you to tell me, Alastor, as my friend,” she said, trying to coax him into changing his mind. She wasn’t weak like she was the last time she made a deal with the Overlord: she was rested and surrounded by support. He wouldn’t take advantage of her this time!

“Oh, come now! I don’t want anything nefarious!” there was an undertone to his dismissive words that made the skin on Charlie’s nape crawl. “After all, if we’re friends,” his teeth sharpened and eyes flashed, “then what’s the harm?”

Husk had fully retreated behind his bar now, not a whisker could be seen. The only indication he was there was the roiling anger coming from Angel as he perched on the wooden bar adding to the flimsy barrier between him and Alastor.

“Gonna be a hard no there, pal,” his fingers twitched as though wanting to reach for his machine gun. “I am the undisputed king of bad decisions and this here, this is a terrible one.” Cherri had slunk closer to her friend, an unlit bomb in her hand and she glanced nervously between Angel, Alastor and Charlie, unsure where to aim.

Or run.

The air in the reception room seemed to get heavier with each passing second, pressing uncomfortably on Charlie’s skin. It felt like when her mother and father would argue; the very gravity increasing as much as their voices did. Well, as much as Lilith’s voice did; her father was always strangely silent during their disagreements.

(She couldn’t remember her father ever having raised his voice, before Adam. Even at his lowest, most desperate, when the absence of Lilith was at its most fresh, he’d never spoken to her with anything but love. It was one of the memories that fuelled her desire to make the hotel work. If her father, Fallen though he was, source of the Original Sin, could still love with such gentleness, then there had to be hope for everyone, right?)

Alastor was staring right at her, gleeful and smug, like he knew he had her. She wracked her brains for something, anything, she’d missed but couldn’t think of it. Sparing a despairing look at Vaggie, she could see the frown on her face that suggested that she couldn’t think of what Alastor was hinting at either.

Casting her eyes over the others there, she could see the ramping tension in Angel’s shoulders and it was almost palpable the way Cherri’s eye would flick towards Sir Pentious’ portrait.

What had she said before? If only there had been a way to avoid the meaningless bloodshed of the previous Extermination?

Her father had always warned her about making deals. About how they could go wrong. About how they could hurt.

But maybe, if she made this one and did it right, it would help her save everyone here. Everyone in the Pride Ring. Current and future souls of all of Hell.

Surely that was worth whatever Alastor wanted as payment?

“What,” she started cautiously and she saw the transmission of Alastor’s eyes glow a little brighter, “would you want in exchange?”

There was an instant clamouring from everyone else as the room exploded into noise and Vaggie tried to pull her back further, but she remained steady.

“Charlie, I don’t think-“ she started, watching Alastor’s smile broaden (‘do deer have that many teeth?’ Cherri thought). He leaned into Charlie’s space, all angles and sharp edges, with his coat darkening like it was dripping with blood.

“As I said, nothing nefarious. Don’t be so concerned now!” he purred, licking his teeth in anticipation. He could almost taste this deal and it was so heady.

“Something simple really.”

“You haven’t even cashed in your last deal,” Vaggie muttered and Charlie winced at the thought of owing something as nebulous as a “favour” to someone.

To owing someone who enjoyed eating people.

“Oh, I know, dear Vagatha! I’m saving that one for a rainy day!” Charlie almost had to physically stop Vaggie from launching herself at him for that and she was almost proud of her girlfriend for the restraint she was showing.

Everyone else winced in anticipation of their clash, edging closer to the door, not wanting to get between Vaggie’s burning rage and Alastor’s mask of placidity. Except Niffty.

Niffty was vacillating between cheering for a fight and bemoaning the promised presence and auspicious absence of blood currently in the clean reception room.

Now, that showdown would probably level the Hotel.

Again.

She had to stop this now, before the Hotel suffered the consequences. Again.

“I’m not saying I’m definitely making a deal,” Charlie reassured everyone in the room and there was an audible sigh of relief. “I just want to know what this information would cost me.”

Alastor’s permanent smile flickered at the thought that his temptation might be refused, that he might be denied so close to getting what he wanted.
What he needed.

“For telling you what I know,” he started, the weight of everyone’s eyes on him, “I want…” He trailed off meanly, watching Vaggie’s remaining eye twitch in anger and hearing Husk’s breath hitching from behind his bar counter.

“You to give me…”

Twitch.

Hitch.

“One of your…”

Twitch.

Hitch.

“Father’s rubber ducks!”

The disbelief in the room was delicious and Alastor’s smile morphed into something less cruel, his shadow receding back from projecting his true form into the condensed thin veneer of civility he usually showed, as he began to enjoy the thought stopping bomb he’d just released.

Angel fell from his perch on the bar in a tangle of fur and limbs as Cherri’s unlit bomb slipped from her nerveless fingers. Husk’s breathing, the only thing that told Alastor he was still there, stopped hitching but he did let out a delightful choking cough at the proclamation and Niffty, who was as much an agent of chaos as he, giggled.

Vaggie looked like she’d been stabbed in the eye once more as she almost visibly rebooted her thought process and her defensive posture dropped at her surprise.

Charlie though.

Charlie had the best reaction.

Wide eyes began to narrow as her lips pursed.

Clever girl.

“Why would you want something like that?” she asked, suspicion climbing. She knew it was a one-sided deal, heavily in her favour, if all he wanted was a duck. She knew Alastor and, as much as she wanted to believe his actions were driven by friendship, she knew he was motivated by his own agenda.

He let his smile morph into something a little more wistful as he decided on the mask he would show for this. “Why does anyone want anything?” he mused aloud.

“Because I might need it later.”

Avoiding thinking on how Alastor could possibly need a rubber duck, Charlie exchanged a look with Vaggie.

“And you don’t want anything else?” she cautiously asked.

“Hmmmmmm, nope!”

“And you won’t ask for something else in future?” Vaggie found her voice again.

“Well, not based on this deal.”

“I get to choose the duck?”

“But of course! It would be one of your possessions you’d be parting with, after all!”

“And if I give you the duck, you’ll tell me all the information you know?”

“About this matter? Certainly!”

It seemed too good to be true. Too easy. And, if there was anything Charlie had learned in her years, it was that Hell was never easy.

She’d learned that when applying for the Hotel’s building permits.

“One moment!” She dragged Vaggie back to the fireplace as Alastor remained by the bar, humming cheerfully as though he hadn’t just shaken their heads by asking for a rubber duck. Husk had emerged again at the absurdity, reaching for a new bottle and Angel’s face of contemptuous disbelief was a thing of such absolute beauty that he passed the spider a glass in silent solidarity. At noticing the alcohol, Cherri perked up and started demanding her own shot.

“I’m not buying it,” was Vaggie’s opening salvo as soon as they were in the relative privacy of the fireplace. Her eye was fixed on Alastor’s attempt at an innocent smile as the other residents pretended they couldn’t hear her from across the room.

“I know Vaggie,” Charlie whispered back, “I don’t really believe it either, but I can’t say no.”

“Charlie-“

“No, listen. If all he wants is one of Dad’s ducks, that’s easy. He’s given me about fifty of them over the years and they’re just sitting in the wardrobe. Dad’ll never even notice if I gave him one. Well, apart from Duck Norris, who’s on our headboard, but he’s different. He was Dad’s first and Dad gave him to me when I grew my tail in.”

“Getting a bit off topic there, babe.”

“Right! Anyway, if all he wants is a duck, I can give him one. Dad probably won’t even notice.”

“But Charlie, he must have a reason for wanting one.”

“I know, but I can’t think why. I mean, they’re just ducks! And if it helps us fend off the Archangels, surely it’s a small price to pay?”

Vaggie sighed, knowing Charlie was right. She knew that it was a small price for Alastor’s knowledge, knowing that he usually charged a soul or a favour, but she knew there was something about this that she was missing.

Alastor didn’t ask or act without having a specific reason; he didn’t pursue things on a whim, despite how whimsical he could seem at times, so for him to be asking for a duck, he must have a need for it. And, contrary to what he was purporting, he must know that reason now.

Which meant there was something about those ducks that they didn’t know. Something that made them much more valuable than they would seem considering the number that were carelessly shoved in Charlie’s closet.

She sighed again. She was going in circles and she’d never fathom out the answer with the amount of information she had currently. She’d just have to let it play out for now and hope that they could weather the aftermath of Alastor’s machinations when they came about.

She gave Charlie a small nod and got a reassuring smile back in return. Charlie took a deep breath and marched back over to Alastor, who was doing his best impression of an innocent child waiting for their parents to return.

It was a disturbing mental image.

As much as he pulled off whimsical or nonchalance, he did not portray innocence well.

“Ok,” Charlie said as she neared the Overlord and Vaggie followed like the disgruntled cat she was. “I’ll give you a duck, but you have to tell us everything you know that could help us.”

Alastor’s smile changed from false innocence to something more sinister, more fitting for him. The space grew heavy as he stretched his long-fingered hand towards Charlie. Power gathered, thick and acidic, spitting off his palm in sharp waves and Husk looked like he was about to run from the room.

“So,” Alastor purred the word, bending closer and closer. She began to lose herself in his eyes, so deep.

So red.

Like blood.

“Shall we shake on our deal, my dear?”

Chapter Text

In the beginning, there was darkness.

Though difficult to comprehend, before there was Something, there was Nothing.

No Time.

No Space

No Matter.

And from that Nothing, God created.

He created the Universe that contained His worlds. He created the Matter that contained His realms. He created His people who would worship Him in turn.

But, within the Nothing that preceded His creation, lay the hungry maw of want. The ravenous, roiling mass of anger and despair that was the Root of Evil.

Jealous of His creations, it feasted upon them. Turning them from His love and His light, it drew them back into its Nothingness. Ever hungry, ever envious, ever lustful, it wanted and it consumed.

For some time, God and the Root existed in symbiosis, for what use was creation, without destruction? But, as its gluttony and greed increased, so did the Root’s appetite, and it began feasting without restraint.

God’s creations fell to the gaping jaws and He knew that, if left unchecked, this entity would consume everything in its path. And the Universe was in its springtime, not yet ready for that next step.

So, He created beings that could help Him fend off the insatiable appetite. Beings that would help defend the corners of His Universe from consumption. Beings that would keep His flock within His love and away from the temptation of the Root.

His Archangels.

Michael, His First, was His vanguard. His bright shining beacon of light used to chase the Root back to cower within the darkest depths of the Nothing once again with his angelic sword. From his first moments, Michael’s talents were used to oust the Root from His Universe, no matter where it may be hiding. Michael acted as His hands, delivering His judgement to the Root and His creations alike.

Raphael, His Second, was His shield. His strength was used to defend the Universe from harm. Whilst Michael attacked, Raphael kept the borders safe, using his blessed whip to encircle the Universe in protection and light. In times that the Root receded and shrunk, he became a Healer and acted as His legs, walking alongside those infected by the Root’s insidiousness and guiding them back to His warmth.

Gabriel, His Third, was His herald. His messenger and support, he would ferry His words to the others, using his holy arrows to deliver His tidings. Gabriel, in times of strife, could be found upon high, protecting Michael and Raphael with fiery projectiles, delivering His retribution. During peaceful eons, Gabriel was His voice, passing divine edict to His subjects and granting them His light.

And then, there was his Fourth.

Lucifer. His inventor. Created not to help Him battle the forces of the Root, but to help Him birth new life into His Universe, Lucifer had little place on His battlefield. He was the Lightbringer, the Morningstar, the closest to Him. He was borne purely to create. He held no divine weapon but no creation is ever truly without power and Lucifer’s lay within his imagination.

Alas, Lucifer’s power was also his downfall. For when God created him to help fabricate the Universe, he bequeathed Lucifer with a sense of wonder that the other Archangels did not have. Lucifer contained a curiosity that could not be quelled. An inquisitive nature that could not be stopped.

And this curiosity was his downfall.

For it was that very curiosity that led him to enacting the Original Sin. Free will, the very need to ask, to examine, to question.

But, everything in the Universe was created at His will. So, to question anything was to defy Him.

And nothing defied Him within His own Universe. Except the Root.

The passing fancy of curiosity could have been forgiven, contained, as long as Lucifer demurred to Him, but when he spread that Free Will to Lilith as well, akin to spreading his wings, God knew.

He knew that his child would not stop with Lilith. He knew that Lucifer, so curious and so eager to spread that curiosity and knowledge, would not stop until he’d passed it on to all of His creations.

He saw the future. Saw that same curiosity evolving into contempt. Saw that same Free Will becoming defiance and He knew that was the path through which the Root would corrupt His denizens.

So, He tried to prevent it the best he was able. He cast Lilith out from the Garden, banished her from His light and barred her from crossing the pearly gates upon her mortal death.

His Morningstar, though, as the source of the sin, had to be addressed as well. As Lucifer was borne from Him, he could not be contained within the mortal realm, so He had to take drastic action.

He went to nip the sin in the bud. As an Archangel, Lucifer’s banishment had to be done through less conventional means. As Michael’s sword lanced his side, as Gabriel’s arrow pierced his wing, as Raphael’s whip encircled his wrist, God cast His Lightbringer through the Lake of Fire into the underrealm between His Universe and the Root’s Nothing.

This underrealm became Hell.

And its first occupant, its first prisoner, was Lucifer.

Cut off from God’s light, fallen and broken. His fall had spiritually killed him, leaving him but a shell of himself as he pieced himself back together.

As he learned to live outside his Father’s benevolence.

Shattered, he scrabbled pieces of himself back together, the fall fragmenting him across the realm. He collected his form by sheer force of will as he mourned the loss of his Father and tried to keep his being together, knowing that even if he managed to physically remain in one piece, he would never be able to bask in his Father's love again.

And oh, how it had hurt.

Every cell of his being was burned by the hellfire he’d fallen through. Every iota of his self was fractured and torn, pulled apart and crushed together as though travelling though a black hole. He’d bled into his eyes and they’d never changed back. He’d scarred his fingers a charcoal black and they’d never improved. As his halo was wrenched from his brow, the wounds had morphed into painful protrusions that had spiked up and caused a piercing pain every second of every day.

Existence was agony; he burned and froze simultaneously and every breath was like acid on his tongue. The skies burned with him, furiously red as the ground trembled with his cries of anguish. The rain started, scalding the ground with his tears as he wept blood.

He wept for the brothers he’d abandoned. He wept for the realms he’d never see again.

He wept for the Father who he’d never embrace. He’d never know his Father’s benevolence, his kindness ever again. All he would know would be his wrath.

Broken.

Alone.

But he wasn’t alone for long, as Lilith joined him upon her mortal death. Unable to pass the gates and join God within Heaven, she had returned to Lucifer within their new dimension. Her own punishment resting prominently upon her brow; curling rams horns showing God’s divine intervention.

For years, they learned of their new realm, existing together outside of God’s light but within their own loving embrace, punished for the sin of curiosity. They comforted one another, Lucifer casting his angelic power into his beloved to heal her aches as she tried to do the same for him. They explored the brimstone earth, the fiery skies, the ashen lakes as they adapted to their new forms. They trialled their powers within the barren landscape as they discovered the changes to what was once mortal and angelic.

But the Original Sin could not be contained to them alone.

As God created more angelic beings, more questioned His plan and were cast into the realm alongside Lucifer. Their inquisative nature leading them to fall without the Morningstar’s intervention. Lucifer welcomed the Fallen, nursing them through their spiritual death and appointing them to rule the realm alongside him and Lilith, and they looked upon him as their king, choosing to follow and love him. And, from the Fallen, came the Hellborn.

But, he felt sorry for the poor humans, trapped within their lives. For what good was loyalty when one wasn’t aware of alternative choices? What good was love when one wasn’t allowed to make that decision themselves?

So, Lucifer returned to the mortal realm. Forbidden as he was from walking upon the Earth, he crawled on his belly in the guise of a serpent. Heaven was beyond his reach now but he could, perhaps, give others the will to choose. He would show God that love and devotion was better when it was chosen, not enforced. That Free Will would make the virtues matter more because they were choices, not inevitabilities.

He hoped he could show God that he was still His child, acting for Him.

And in his scaly form, he offered Eve an apple.

Thus, the Original Sin spread throughout humanity and, as humanity expanded across the world, so did the sin. And from that Original Sin came pride, for what could be more prideful than trying to improve upon God’s design? What could be more prideful than acting above His will?

And with the development of pride came the other deadly sins. As humans exercised the Free Will they’d been gifted, they strayed further from God’s light. Unable to face His creations now that humanity existed in shades of grey, as humanity chose vice alongside virtue, God barred all who possessed the Original Sin and its derivations from His realm.

Punishing them to Hell when they left the mortal coil.

Humanity took his sacrifice, his gift of Free Will and warped it into the sinful mess they had become. They became a species that revelled in murder, that celebrated pain, and they didn’t appreciate that he had suffered for them to be able to make that choice.

Lucifer, aghast at what humanity had chosen to with his gift, his sacrifice, began to despair. He never wanted this. He just wanted to show God and his brothers that devotion and piety is better when it is chosen. He only wanted to show God and his brothers that honesty was a selection and shouldn’t be done for the sake of being done.

He wanted to create a world where everyone chose to love the Lord, not because they knew nothing else, but because they wanted to.

But he’d failed. And by the time his prideful, wishful nature had let himself admit that he might have been wrong, his Father had cut all spiritual ties with him, cast him out and he couldn’t figure out how to return to his embrace.

He despaired at this, mourned his family and regretted his choices.

For he’d always held the hope that he’d be able to return home.

When Heaven approached him, Sera’s stern face like stone, he’d been at his lowest and most desperate. Seeing no alternative, with Hell’s population ever growing as humanity’s choices strayed them further, he agreed to the exterminations.

And he watched in horror as Hell’s residents were eradicated, with his brothers’ weapons providing the framework for the Exterminators. He watched, with resentful apathy, as angelic steel from Michael’s sword cut through skin. He watched as blessed rope from Raphael’s whip restrained and as holy bullets from Gabriel’s arrows pierced flesh.

But, the sinners had brought this upon themselves with their choices in the mortal realm.

They deserved Heaven's wrath.

When he birthed Charlie, he made his only stipulation for the Extermination: no Hellborn was to be touched during the events. For it was not their choices that landed them in Hell, they shouldn’t suffer.

The only way to keep them safe was to separate Hell into its sinful rings and contain the sinful population within his ring of Pride. Within the other rings, the Hellborn lived their lives and made their own choices, both good and bad. He could keep the sinners and the angelic weapons contained to Pride as he raised Charlie in Gluttony. Always keeping a two ring barrier between her and the root of his shame, watching Bee help teach his duckling to fly.

As he watched Lilith become more distant. More cold. More hurtful.

But when he returned to the Pride ring, leaving Charlie to explore Hell’s rings and entrusting her safety to the Ars Goetia, leaving Lilith’s frosty words and burning punches behind, he saw that chaos reigned.

And, when faced with nothing but the worse humanity has to offer with no family or love to temper him, what little faith Lucifer retained in humanity began to crumble. Deeper, he fell into his despair. Covetous to return to a home that would no longer accommodate him, wanting for a family that he no longer fit in with. Dreaming of Charlie in Heaven, next to his beloved brothers.

It was a struggle to make himself leave the bed he’d created when all he could hear outside were the screams of the damned. It was easier to focus on his inventions rather than see the mess he’d created.

It was easier to pretend that Lilith was still in the next room.

It was easier to pretend that Charlie still needed him to teach her

If he didn’t answer the phone to Charlie, he could pretend she was still in the same house, in the same Ring. If he didn’t acknowledge that she wasn’t there, she could still be in his life.

And, when he looked up from his latest invention, the Pride ring had developed a management structure that didn’t need him. Sinners who held contracts with other sinners, Overlords, had risen above the pack, leading with a governing structure that, whilst tenuous, kept the infighting to a minimum. The sinners had learned to hide when the angelic portals opened. His realm had learned to survive without him.

Hell didn’t need him: the other rings were self-governed and, between the Sins and the Ars Goetia, they were thriving. The Pride ring had worked out its own management, and he was left on the sidelines to ponder his own uselessness.

The Hellborn didn't need him: ruling their Rings without involvement from him. Living their long lives, both good and bad, without need for his input thanks to the other Sins and the Ars Goetia.

Humanity didn't want him: happy to revel in their afterlife of vice. Despite giving them every chance he could, despite falling for them and tearing himself apart cell by cell, they scorned any input he could give and threw his chances to return to God's light into his face.

And how he would give up nearly everything to return to his Father's light.

Charlie didn’t need him: long grown into a young woman, exasperated by his flighty nature. She didn’t need him hovering over her, having learned to live without him for centuries now and maturing into her own person.

Lilith didn’t want him: her love for him long evolved into something dark and stagnant instead. Any warmth she once held for him had long been leeched from her gaze and any affection gone from her words. He would always love her, until the Universe scattered into dust, forever hers, but he understood that she no longer felt the same for him.

Afterall, who could love an angel who couldn’t even get into Heaven?

Chapter Text

Like any good Southern boy, Alastor’s mother had raised him on a steady diet of grits, catfish and the Bible. She had diligently schooled him, tested his knowledge of scripture and the Old Testament for most of his childhood, and he found himself retaining that knowledge into his adulthood and even, beyond his death.

The God he knew, from his mother’s lips, was the one he related to the most. The Old Testament God, one filled with wrath and punishment, not the benevolent dictator the later works portrayed. He understood righteous anger and just punishment, after all, it was his vocation at when he was alive.

His mother had ensured that his education was thorough. Not content with Alastor just attending Sunday school with the other children, she taught him all she knew of the Holy Book and the word of God. He vividly recalled days spent in her kitchen, making jambalaya together as she recited scripture to him. He fondly remembered resting his head on her lap as she preached in his ear whilst stroking his hair.

He knew more than most when it came to religious matters, a knowledge that had aided him when he found himself within the crimson realm of Hell upon his death. He took his knowledge of demons, devils and deals and ran with it, grasping at contracts like straws as he ascended into power quickly.

He had thought his own deal to be well negotiated at the time but it was only on reflection that he’d discovered how constricting it was within Hell’s domain. He thought he’d thoroughly thought out every stipulation and contingency, but he had been thinking like a mortal when he discussed his deal. Thinking within the constraints of the human world.

He should have known better.

How foolish he had been, thinking he could beat a devil at their own game.

How foolish he had been, to mistake his holder’s smile for ignorance over indulgence.

He felt the contract tight around his neck when he flexed his powers, when he stretched his antlers. Every time he loosened the restraints on his energy, he could feel the albatross on his shoulders, burdening him with the knowledge that he was in his position purely through the magnanimous will of his owner and oh, how he bristled under that yoke. That tight leash strangled and suffocated him with every passing moment.

And, as he dwelled on his chains, he retreated from the spotlight into the shadows. Spent time pondering his noose and how to remove it from his person. Curled in the darkness, he grappled for an escape from his contract, thought himself in circles and despaired. By the time he had the beginnings of a plan, the spark of a notion, he’d been away from the politics of Hell for seven years.

Few remembered his meteoric rise through Hell’s hierarchy and even fewer were cowed by him, his absence more prominent in the minds of most meaning he’d lost some of his reputation. His fear. And, if the Old Testament God had taught him anything, fear was the best method to corral the masses.

His actions in the hotel had helped reestablish him within the pecking order, helped remind his slaves that he was still here and not to get too comfortable. He could almost taste the despair they felt at his return and it was so heady.

It would taste so much better if he were free.

When he was free.

Soon, he’d be able to rid himself of his reins and use Hell as his new hunting ground; to feast on the unworthy and administer his own righteous wrath, like the God he knew. Like the God his mother had groomed him to be.

But, he had to bide his time. Currently, his contractor held all the cards and had him tangled in a bond that left him breathless in its terms. Had him bound, like prey in a spiderweb.

And Alastor was anything but prey.

His smile widened and his eyes darkened as his shadow frolicked behind him. He could feel his antlers spreading as his acid green power concentrated around his outstretched hand. Bending at the waist, salivating at the promised deal, he looked directly at the Princess.

“Shall we shake on our deal, my dear?”

He could see her hesitating, her eyes as tentative as her hand as she reached forwards to grasp his. He tried to reign in his shadow, could feel the umbric simulacrum of himself grinning manically and elongating as he became more delighted.

He was so close.

So very near to his goals.

He just needed Charlie to reach forward a few extra centimetres.

With a rush of power, the reception area was showered in acid green. The strength of the deal washed over the other sinners present and unleashed a cavalcade of his shadowy minions from his grasp as he struggled to keep a hold on his tight restraint in the backlash. He could feel the conditions locking in to place with every finger he wrapped around the Princess’ palm and he could feel his shadow begin to silently laugh with glee.

Finally.

He’d done it.

With this one deal, he’d have everything he needed.

And he was positively giddy with the thought.

Once the power from their deal had settled, Charlie scuttled off to her room to choose her end of the bargain with her angelic bodyguard in tow. Head still swimming with anticipation, Alastor made his way over to join the others. Husk had finally poked his whiskers out from behind the bar, his frown almost vocal with disapproval as he wiped down a spotless glass. Angel was frowning into his dirty martini and Cherri was steadily making her way through Husk’s bottle of tequila. Shot after shot disappeared until she gave up on the pretence entirely and just went for the bottle. Angel seemed to think that was a tremendous idea and started making grabby hands towards Husk’s bottle of vermouth, who just sighed and handed it over with fond exasperation.

Niffty, meanwhile, had scurried over to dear Vagatha’s previous spot and had begun to scrub at the drying blood, cackling with wild abandon as she made the stain worse.

“I think this calls for a celebration,” he chirped as he rested his microphone against the bar. Everyone paused at his words until Husk, with a heavy sigh, reached behind him and began making him his preferred drink.

Call him old fashioned, but Alastor enjoyed an Old Fashioned when he was putting his plans into action.

He was just finishing up the glass when the girls returned, Charlie’s pale hands cradling the duck of her choice.

“So, Alastor,” she began, fingers drumming an unheard beat on her duck, “you’ll tell me everything you think would be helpful, right?”

“Of course, my dear,” he crooned, eyes fixed on the object in her hand. “That was our deal.”

With a glance to Vaggie and a nod in return, Charlie reached out and handed over the duck, one of her father’s gifts, to the Overlord. She saw Alastor’s smile widen even further as his crimson fingers curled around the duck and she thought she saw his shadow cackle behind them.

In a flash of magic, Alastor whisked the duck away into his shadows and he clapped his hands together. “Well, now that you’ve held up your end of the bargain, I suppose I should uphold mine!” Picking up his microphone, he strode towards the chaise by the fireplace. Once seated, he crossed his legs and rested his hands on his knees, the very image of an indulgent father about to start story time.

With more caution, the others shuffled over although Angel snagged his vermouth before slinking off his stool, bottle in hand. Charlie and Vaggie took the loveseat, Husk seated himself in the wingback with Angel perched on the arm and Cherri sat down on the floor in front of Pentious’ portrait, hugging her own legs. Niffty had squirrelled off into the labyrinthine corridors of the hotel, only the scratching of insects and her muttered giggling pinpointing her location.

“As dear Vagatha explained,” he crooned, smile widening at Vaggie’s aborted attempt at decapitation. Only Charlie’s swift hand on her arm stayed her spear from making intimate contact with his neck and he shivered at the prospect. The hotel was full of entertainment! “The Archangels were created as God’s mightiest, to act as shield and sword. But, to defeat them, we just need to remember three things.”

“Firstly,” he raised a single red finger from his microphone, eyes locked on Charlie. “There are three different types of being we’re dealing with here. The mortal souls, who transcend to Heaven or Hell alike.” He gestured to himself and the other occupants of the Hotel. In a fit of solidarity, Angel raised his bottle in an imaginary toast as Cherri snorted from her corner.

“The Heavenborn,” he continued, smiling condescendingly at Vaggie, and then shifted his eyes to Charlie, “and the Hellborn. We know only the mortal born can be harmed by mortal weapons, but past experiences have shown us that all three can be harmed by angelic ones.” He fixed his pointed gaze on Vaggie’s missing eye, highlighting how she’d Fallen from Heaven and Charlie’s restraining hand on her arm became more comforting.

“As Archangels are simply a stronger version of a Heavenborn, it stands to reason that there exists an angelic weapon strong enough to harm them.”

“But we don’t know that!” Charlie couldn’t contain herself any longer, eyes widening in dismay. She felt the slightest hint of offense when Alastor laughed at her proclamation.

“Ah, ah, Charlie. But we do know that. After all,” he leaned forwards, bringing himself almost nose to nose with the Princess, “how do you think your father got here?”

She froze.

She knew, logically, that her father had Fallen. She read the story every year to the point she could recite it backwards. But for the first time in her very long life, she paused to consider what that really meant.

Her father loved Heaven. Fiercely. Without restraint. She remembered hearing his stories repeatedly as he wove tales of a warm family, a beautiful realm, and a caring Father. She could recall the adoration in his voice as he described his brothers, his home.

His Lord.

Lucifer would not have Fallen willingly. He would not have given that up easily, nor calmly accepted his fate. He would have fought, tooth and nail, if not for himself then for her mother, to stay within Heaven.

He would not have accepted exile when he felt so strongly about free will. Would not have walked sedately towards the edge of the clouds, nor stepped voluntarily off the summit.

No.

He would have been dragged.

Pushed.

Kicking and screaming, with his fingernails leaving bloody trails along the floor as he dangled on the precipice. He would have clung on with all his strength until he was forced to let go.

Forced to accept his fate.

For how else would Pride have Fallen, if not reluctantly?

How else would God show Pride the error of his ways, if not by force?

And how else would he have gotten to the edge of Heaven?

He would have been made to go. With swords, and spears and pain.

Vaggie’s eye was a testament to the lingering effects angelic weapons had on Heavenborn, even after Falling. The eternal damage inflicted by their weapons. If Vaggie’s eye remained mangled after being torn out by the weapon of an Exterminator, if Charlie lay awake at night hearing Vaggie crying in pain over her missing eye, what were her father’s wounds like? Alastor was proposing that the angelic steel they’d been protecting themselves against for millennia was but an ant compared to the might of a weapon strong enough to fell an Archangel, so what injuries had Lucifer been nursing all these years?

She knew that the Fall had hurt her father emotionally. Being isolated from his family and his home had crippled him in a way. She’d tried to fill that hole, as well as any child can try to comfort their parent, but she’d always felt like there was something missing in him. Growing up, whenever they’d been in the Pride ring, he would always look toward Heaven’s portal wistfully when he thought no one was watching him, a longing on his face so intense that it pained her to see, but she’d never considered the physical pain he must have endured when he Fell.

Silently, tears began to stream down her cheeks again as she grieved for her father. She remembered all the times growing up she thought he was avoiding her, being distant; saw the memories once more with enough clarity to see his furrowed brow.

His strained smile.

His sad eyes.

“Dad,” she whispered, wondering how often he’d struggled alone. How often he’d nursed old wounds behind closed doors, hiding physically than trying to conceal his hurts from her gaze. She collapsed back into the loveseat, into Vaggie’s arms as her soul crushed for her poor father.

She almost missed Alastor’s addition with her grief. “The strongest angelic weapons would be held by the strongest angels. So, it stands to reason that the Archangels can be harmed by their own weapons.”

“Secondly,” the Radio Demon continued as though he hadn’t just shaken her world, raising a second finger, “if angelic weapons can harm Hellborn, it stands to reason that demonic weapons can harm Heavenborn.”

Vaggie’s arms tightened around Charlie as the Princess silently cried. It’s true that demonic weapons were rare in the Pride ring, being crafted in the lower rings and typically held by their nobles, but she’d felt something uncomfortable when Charlie had brought out her trident. The darkened steel gave of an ominous aura that made her skin tingle and she saw how quickly the Exterminators fell to the triad of sharpened points.

Like she could feel the negative energy flowing from the blades and it was eager to feast on flesh, regardless of where it came from, but that angels were a particular delicacy.

“Don’t know if you noticed, Alastor, but demonic steel is bloody hard to get up here,” Cherri piped up and Angel nodded in agreement.

Alastor’s ever-present smile widened even further. “For an answer to that, we just need to consider the third thing.” He stood with a flourish and walked towards Charlie, whose silent tears had tapered off and she looked at him with a furrow on her brow.

Leaning down with his shadow stretching far behind him to shroud the fire in a darkness that dropped the temperature of the room. There was a collective shiver through the room and Vaggie hugged Charlie’s shoulders closer with the Overlord’s approach.

“Thirdly,” he crooned, smile wide and eyes mean, “who, exactly, do you think your father is?” Charlie’s non-plussed silence was met with a disappointed sigh.

“Your father is the reigning King of Hell. Do you think there are any who would refuse an edict from him? If he commanded, the seven rings would clamour to give their demonic weapons to him, which would be able to arm a significant number of those willing to fight back. These weapons would be effective against the Exterminators and the potentially the Archangels.”

“But what if demonic weapons don’t work against the Archangels?” Charlie moaned.

“Yeah, we don’t even know if they’d hurt the Archangels, let alone kill them,” Angel chimed in, having had his bottle wrangled away by Husk earlier. Alastor stepped back from Charlie to face the room, a look of disappointment on his face.

“Well, before he was the King of Hell,” he sighed as though surrounded by idiots, “what do you think Lucifer was?”

There was a pause, the very air heavy with anticipation as the penny dropped.

“He was an Archangel. So, he’ll have an Archangel weapon.”