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Β Β Β "So the Radio Demon does have a weakness," said Zestial with a majestic lilt to his voice.
Alastor released a breathy chuckle and examined his microphone with the facade of bored nonchalance. His smile betrayed his annoyance, his expertise at hiding his emotions unmatched. Zestial was a good and very old friend, but he had a tendency of prying into matters that were none of his business.
"Yes, well," said Alastor. "Sinners do have their rumors. You know I love to hear their guesses and speculation. The silly whims of spectators. It thrills me."
Alastor kept his cards close to his chest, choosing never to reveal too much to anyone he met or interacted with.
Since he'd arrive in Hell nearly a century ago, the source of his quick, unprecedented rise to power and infamy was quite the topic of discussion, but not always for good reasons. Becoming an Overlord was only the tip of the iceberg for how he gained his power. Getting desperate Sinners to sign contracts was the easy part. The method of ripping souls apart, howeverβdestroying them permanently, and broadcasting the act publicly? That was his secret to keep.Β Yes, there were those who admired him, idolized him even, but most had more sinister designs in mind. It was impossible to gain the level of Alastor's notoriety without also gaining a few enemies or those praying upon one's downfall along the way.
Even an old friend like Zestial could have ulterior motives. There wasn't a single person in Hell that was incapable of betrayal. That was the difficult thing about such a place. Alastor's policy since he'd arrived was simple, 'trust no one'. At least never entirely. He placed no one on a pedestal and very rarely gave the benefit of the doubt. The very nature of Hell was 'kill, or be killed', and Alastor had proven time and time again the sort of killing he was capable of. That made him a possible threat to anyone. Someone not to be underestimated, even by a Demon as ancient and powerful as Zestial. It was a hard balance to strike, all relationships tainted with distrust. Knowing the weaknesses of even those you liked was a wise thing in the underworld.
The battle between Adam and Alastor was shrouded in mystery. Sinners had their speculations, of course, but the eyes upon the fight were few. For those who did catch the view, they were still unsure of what happened. What was clear was that Alastor had started the fight with the upper hand⦠The end, however, did not go in his favor and he was forced to flee. The truth was that Adam had gotten a lucky strike on his microphone staff and with an Angelic weapon, and without it⦠well, Alastor's power was reduced to a fraction of its strength. So there it was. Zestial was not wrong, Alastor had his limitations, but he wasn't keen on all of Hell knowing exactly what they were. And for those whose speculations were closer to the truth, Alastor didn't plan on allowing such a weakness to persist for much longer. Luckily, the only other person who knew for sure (Adam) had been stabbed to death by Niffty. That beautiful, vicious little imp. He made a mental note to buy her a gift while he was still out and about.
"Oh, Alastor, why the agitation?" said Zestial, stepping closer and sliding a finger beneath the lapel of his crimson and grey suit. "You're always so mysterious. We're all well aware of your strength," he cooed. "So, an Angel nearly bested you. We can't win them all." Zestial smiled as the merest twitch flittered across Alastor's piercing gaze in response to the backhanded compliment.
"Oh, you have always known how to flatter, Zestial," Alastor replied, an edge of static lacing his sinister voice. "There is nothing to share, my friend. I merely slipped, fumbled. As you said, 'we can't win them all'. I'm here to broadcast another day. I didn't 'fall to Holy arms' seven years ago, as you so cheerfully put it, and they didn't best me this time either."
A sudden commotion caught Alastor's attention, and he broke his gaze from Zestial's emerald eyes. He nearly ignored it, so accustomed to Sinners tossing themselves off of buildings and setting themselves on fire to avoid crossing his path β so fearful of an Overlord as infamous as he, they'd rather fry than be spotted. However, it was the perfect opportunity to pull himself out of the line of Zestial's probing questions, and he tuned his attention to the scene, wiping the portion of his lapel Zestial had been caressing with a gentle brush of his fingers so that it was flattened again.
They caught the very end of the fight. A woman he'd never seen before was defending another against the typical ruffian causing trouble. Alastor braced himself for the smell of gunpowder and copper as she stood atop the gangster with her gun aimed for the center of his skull. The sights, the sounds and the smells never came, however. Once she pulled the trigger, only a roll of wooden boards came curling from the end of the barrel, reading the words: 'rat-a-tat-tat-tat'.
Alastor burst into laughter, enthused by the display. He smirked in approval. It was the sort of thing he would have done (depending upon his mood), coming to a weaker Demon's aid. Though his weapon didn't come equipped with a mercy setting, (the way this 'woman in red's' gun seemed to) he could appreciate the sense of excitement a weapon embedded with a built-in 'Russian Roulette' style feature could inspire. Every pull of the trigger, a little game in and of itself, and the only person having any fun was the shooter.
Alastor's smile widened as he caught sight of Carmilla Carmine stepping in to quell the fray. Alastor approached the scene as the women were talking, not wanting to miss the opportunity to catch Carmilla. She was the entire reason he had ventured out to begin with, though he had expected to meet her at the headquarters.
"Ah, Ms. Carmine," said Alastor with a cheerful affectation to his voice. He took a moment to greet her daughters as well before examining the stranger beside Carmilla, tilting his head and taking in her attire.
Nothing surprised him anymore, especially not after a century in Hell. He'd seen similar get-ups before. All dolled up in red and black like a Harlequin doll from a carnival, diamond patterns spotting her limbs. He wasn't particularly fond of the more circus-y aspects of her appearance, but that was neither here nor there.
"Hello, Alastor," Carmilla replied in her smooth Spanish drawl.
"You're looking ravishing as usual. And you're just the woman I wanted to see." He paused. "I have some business for you. The finer details will have to be kept between usβ¦" his eyes darted between the carnival doll and her daughters as he spoke. "I know you've collected your spoils from the most recent battle already. I would be mighty grateful if you allowed me to have a peek at what you've found."
By spoils, Alastor meant the heaps of Angelic weapons left behind in the wake of the last Extermination. If he wanted to prevent a mishap of the sort that had occurred in the fight against Adam from ever happening again, he would have to be ready to pit Angelic steel against Angelic steel. His staff needed reinforcement. The battle will have been in vain, if not a learning experience for how he could better protect himself against his enemies. He had been cocky. Messy. It wouldn't happen again.
"Si, claro," said Carmilla. "You and I can set up a time to speak away from⦠prying eyes and ears."
Alastor nodded, his smile wide. "Now tell me⦠What do we have here?" he asked, directing his attention to the Sinner in red and black. "I don't believe we've met. How long have you been in these parts, my dear?"
He offered his free hand for her to take.
"People will say I'm many things, but you should call me Alastor."
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