Disclaimer: I don't own Hazbin Hotel. It belongs to Vivziepop.
Does an Overlord dream of demonic sheep? Alastor does. Well, he dreams of killing demonic sheep. Any demon, really. Because of Alastor's history, he'd even kill in his sleep. Not sleepwalking, thankfully, but he'd have grand time killing in his dreams. But this time, it's different.
The demon sheep in front of him fell in a bloody heap, his body horrible twist and mangled. While this doesn't bother Alastor—it's fun actually—there was something wrong. The stag didn't want to kill the damned soul in this fashion. He was going to toy with the victim first before unleashing his minions on him. So, why?
Alastor just happens to decide to glance down at his arm to see that it had become the arm of a wooden marionette, his sleeve and glove painted on it. He wiggled his fingers, watching the circular joints roll. It was same for his other arm and his legs. He then realizes that his entire being had become a marionette. Confusion muddled his mind. What is going on?
Then, his arm started moving on its own, manipulated by wired strings attach to his joints. His other arm, holding his cane up as red energy vibrated from it. What is he doing? The red light grew brighter and brighter as the radio noise grew louder and louder until the eye on the microphone opened and—
Alastor wakes up in a cold sweat. He looks over his arms, relieved to see that they are normal. He runs a hand across the appendage. No strings are attached to make them move against his will. That dream was…troubling. Absolutely troubling. And hopefully nothing. Nothing to worry about at all. He looks around his room, taking a moment to remember that he is back in his tower. Alastor looks at his clock. 6:36 am. A little earlier than usual, but nothing major.
He pulls the covers off and heads to his bathroom for a quick shower. Hot water cascaded on Alastor's gray body and red fur, getting rid of any dried sweat stuck to him. His ears flatten down from saturation and his red eyes watch the water go down the drain. He runs a hand through his hair. He feels his hand shaking against his scalp. He looks at it, watching his fingers tremble. It was same for his other hand. Tremors quaked from the tips of his fingers to his elbows and could feel his heart racing. Alastor hadn't had this happening since his first kill…
…back when he was alive.
He leans on the tile wall of the shower, taking long and deep breaths. Despite his attempt at calming himself, his breathing steadily became more erratic. With each unstable take of air, the static around him grows denser, the lights in the room flickering and the wall around Alastor cracks. Swiftly and violently, Alastor punches the wall behind him, leaving a large dent. What followed was a throbbing pain. The action was enough to satiate Alastor's pounding chest, his nerves not as chaotic. Alastor lets out a staticky, shuddered breath.
He's in control. He's in control. He's in control.
He feels a presence in the shower with him. It was his shadow, staring at him. It mirrored Alastor's strained smile. He could almost feel the shaking coming back. "Leave me be," was Alastor's only command and the shadow went away.
A few minutes later, Alastor finishes his shower and dries himself off. He dons his usual attire, but not feeling up for his jacket, revealing his crimson red shirt and black vest. He does wear his gloves and monocle, of course. He ventures out from his private sanctuary and into the kitchen to brew some coffee to start the day. The strong, scalding liquid felt good on his taste buds before it went down his throat. After he went through his morning routine, he teleports his way to the hotel.
All the while ignoring the strange, irregular speed of his palpitating heart.
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Most of the Happy Hotel's patients barely jumped when Alastor appeared in the middle of the lobby, having to have seen his grandiose entrances many times to the point of no longer being startled. For others, they nearly relieved themselves.
"Good morning, everyone!" he declared, a stock applause and cheers generated from nothingness.
"Good morning to you too, Mr. Alastor." Niffty greeted with a wave of her feather duster, accumulating dust particles in the air and making nearby sinners to cough. "Oh! Oopsie!" she giggled. "Pesky dust bunnies."
Alastor chuckles. "Well, I'll leave you to it, little darling. Oh, and do inform Charlie of my arrival." Niffty giggles again before zipping off. The stag makes his way to the bar/reception desk, where Husk had already prepared whiskey on the rocks for Alastor. "Thank you, my friend." Alastor didn't notice how his still shaking hand made the ice clink against the glass.
Husk eyes it for a split second. "…Yeah. Whatever."
"Good morning, Al!" Angel greeted, Fat Nuggets in his lower arms. He takes a seat one stool apart from Alastor. "See ya doin' good today."
"And what do you mean by that, my effeminate fellow?"
"Remember what happened, like, a week ago? Any normal joe would be out of it for a while. Then again, you ain't normal."
"…I suppose I'll take that as a compliment." Alastor said before taking a sip.
Angel looks at him curiously, Fat Nuggets snuggled up in his arms. "Ya sure you're doin' good?"
"Why?"
"Your hand's shakin'." Husk nearly choked on his bottle.
Alastor blinks. "…What?"
"Yeah, your hand's as jittery as me after I took a popper."
"…Currently or in the past?"
Angel rolled his eyes. "I didn't take one."
Alastor dared to look over at his hand, seeing it shaking slightly. He knows he's shaking by the ripples in the alcohol. His smile felt strained and the pounding in his chest started to intensify as he tries to keep his breathing in check. He dragged his free fingers across the surface of the counter as his radio starts to become dense. Fat Nuggets started to stir before waking up, clearly afraid at the change of atmosphere. Angel and Husk noticed the change as well. The lights in the lobby started to flicker.
"Al?" Angel wondered. He was about to put a hand on Alastor when the latter moved to grab his wrist. Angel flinched, waiting for the inevitable and painful vice grip. But it didn't come. Alastor's hand was curled around his wrist, but the fingers never touched him. In fact, the spider could see the digits twitching, like Alastor was fighting against it. Fighting against what was a question that came to mind. "Al?"
Alastor calmly, though stiffly, places his half empty glass on the counter and walks away towards the stairs, leaving a confused/worried Angel and a puzzled Husk. The two exchanged glances, having the same question appear in their minds.
What just happened?
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The Radio Demon power walks his way to his hotel room, his distortion effects following close behind. He even scared a pair of demons with static faces and imagery. Alastor speeds up his pace and tries to calm down. Thankfully, he finally arrived at his destination.
Alastor closes the door behind him, in his sanctuary that is his private quarters. After locking the door, he leans on the red wood, sliding down to seat. His hand clenched tightly on the front of his shirt, over where his heart would be. The organ started to beat more rapidly and he was feeling very dizzy. Alastor struggled to bring his breathing back to normal, but the more he tried, the worst it gotten.
What's happening to him?
His shadow is looming above him, its smile slowly dipping.
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