When one dies, where do they go? Nearly every culture in human history has believed in some sort of afterlife, and it's not a coincidence. Many probably picture the stage of crossing over as a beautiful thing—the idea of resting in peace serving merely as comfort in death.

That's all it really is. Just plain death.

This story could go on to describe how grand of a welcome one receives to pass on through the pearly white gates to Calvary after living a long, meaningful life. But the tale to this side of the afterlife doesn't take place in such a fantasy, so we'll never know what that ideal paradise is like.

No, not by a long shot.

What we do know, is that the entrance to Hell isn't anywhere significant in the slightest. And that on the first Friday the thirteenth of Y2K, Charlotte Magnes was going to find that out first hand.

Her awakening was sudden and anything but ceremonious. Whether the drop or the awareness came first, she didn't know. Charlotte finally made her first movements in the pile of rubble she so-ungraciously lies face first in. Nothing but an ear piercing ring could be heard as she struggled to lift her head, propping herself up weakly with shaky limbs. The world was on fire, and the sky was a deep, blood red. The peculiar sight accompanied with the sudden taste of heavy, rich iron in her mouth made her sick to her stomach.

What was going on? Where was she? How did she get there?

Charlotte clutched her pounding head as she tried to concentrate, but the ringing in her ears and blurred vision prevented it. She couldn't remember. She managed to stumble to her feet deliriously just as the sounds of muffled and distorted screams entered her ears. Her red pencil skirt was torn along the hem, her blonde hair was tangled and wild, and she had no shoes.

And that was when panic set in. Charlotte began to creep along the smoke stained brick along the alleyway she appeared to be in, hyperventilating at the sight of guns being fired, grenades being thrown, and knives being swung. She froze with a sudden jolt as blood spattered across her entire torso. Droplets dotted her face, and even gave her a taste.

The poor damsel couldn't have explained it even if she wanted to, but before she knew it, the blonde was thrown face first into the side of the burning brick building. Her hands were pinned on each side of her face against the wall as tears streamed endlessly from her stinging eyes.

"Please, just tell me where I am!" Charlotte sobbed. And every time she was answered, she only asked again. The three thugs behind her searched her pockets with loud snickers, but to no avail. "Fuck! You said she'd have goods dressed like that!"

"Who cares? She's really cute...Valentino could always use another whore for his shows," another demon cackled. "Gag her."

Charlotte kicked and screamed as one of the goons yanked her back by the hair before roughly attempting to knot her hands behind her. "No! Please! Let me go!" She cried. "I'll do anything!"

"Damn right you will."

A hand struck her cheek to shut her up. A bloody gash was left from a ring the thug had on his finger. "Shut up, you stupid bitch."

"I don't believe that's any way to treat a lady, now, is it?"

The group's chuckles were silenced as an ominous tension fell upon them. Charlotte's attackers went pale at the site of what seemed like a harmless demon with a chipper smile, but his demeanor was anything but. She shivered at this mysterious presence of the random bystander; he was dressed from head to toe in scarlet red with formal attire. His pinstriped coat was tattered at the ends, and a clean, tinted monocle rested below one of his glowing eyes that growing darker by the second.

Before anything else was said, the gang had discarded Charlotte into the gravel like a piece of trash as they attempted to save their own skins while they still could. She landed hard onto her knees while the demons fled. "Oh, I don't think so," the man's voice echoed, becoming deep and distorted as he began to take on a horrifying form. She gasped and shielded her eyes from the monster before her as her blood ran cold.

Blood curdling screams rang out in the alley as Charlotte kept her eyes pinched shut, listening to the unpleasant sound of carpet ripping apart. That's when she realized—

It was flesh.

Absentmindedly silencing her ragged breaths, she uncovered her wide, bloodshot eyes when the cries had ceased.

The alleyways looked like they suffered from a crappy paint job. Nothing but red. Her attackers were...well, everywhere. Their remains weren't even distinguishable. That's when she lost it. The deer demon was snapped out of his black trance when pitiful cries rang out from the girl bathed in blood before him. Was she dreaming? Was this some sort of night terror she couldn't wake up from?

Her savior's eyes scanned her slumped figure up and down, only to widen in surprise.

This woman...she had no mark.

The mark of a sinner.

It confused him, and what he could not understand alarmed him. "What is your name, my dear?" He called. With shaking fingers, the young blonde parted her netted hair from her face. "Ch-charlie," she stammered. As if nothing happened, the demon grinned wider and approached her without hesitation, offering her a gloved hand. She mindlessly accepted before he brought her up to her feet with an energetic spirit. "Alastor, King of Hell! Pleasure to meet you, sweetheart! Quite a pleasure!" He enthusiastically introduced, shaking her sticky hand heartily.

It was as if the entity before her was a completely different person. Everything was happening too fast. Charlie could feel her head beginning to spin. With Alastor's two large, perked ears and his friendly smile, it was impossible he was the same creature that wreaked havoc in front of her merely seconds ago. In fact, she refused to believe it. His voice was filled with static from a retro sounding radio, and he spoke like a talk show host. Her eyes shifted to a set of tiny antlers peeking out of his fluffed hairstyle.

"Where the hell am I?" She pressed with exhaustion. Alastor laughed at her question, although she didn't find anything funny about it. He dramatically threw out his arms to gesture at the chaotic scenery about them. "Why, that's it! You're in Hell!" He exclaimed. Charlie stiffened as she did a double take.

"...I'm dead?"

Her voice shook as she tried to make sense of things. "B-but I didn't die! I n-never...I couldn't have died! I don't remember it! I don't understand..." Alastor almost became bothered by her lost expression. "I just-"

"That's quite common, actually! Don't worry, it will come to you within time!"

She didn't want it to come to her within time.

"But why am I here?" Charlie pressed, suppressing a shiver as she spotted a homeless man mugging a dead body on the street. "Beats me!" Alastor remarked. "If it's alright, I'd like you to come with me and we can get that settled in a jiffy. I'm sure you're starved." As if on cue, Charlie's stomach slightly rumbled. Apparently dead people get hungry. Despite the monstrosity she had just 'not' witnessed, the first friendly face she's seen in who knows how long had just offered her answers and a meal. Even though considering Alastor was an all powerful demon who also ruled Hell, he had still technically just saved her.

"I...I guess," she trailed.

"Wonderful!" Suddenly he placed a hand on her shoulder and in a split second, the murderous scenery around them had magically melted into a vast, luxurious room in what seemed like a massive mansion. With a snap of Alastor's fingers, a cozy flame lit the fireplace in the corner. After sitting a clueless (and slightly traumatized) Charlie down onto a comfortable mahogany chair in front of the heat. Her heart skipped a beat when he suddenly stuck his nose inches from hers.

She quietly stared at his bright eyes as he narrowed them at the cut on her cheek. Just as fast, he withdrew and whipped out a crimson handkerchief from the inside of his jacket before politely presenting it to her. "We'll need to clean that," he noted. With a stiff hand, Charlie hesitantly accepted the token and placed it on the open wound. She winced at the contact while watching Alastor pace towards the doorway. "Make yourself comfortable, dearie, I'll get this predicament sorted out in no time at all," Alastor called over his shoulder.

Charlie rested in the chair alone in the room as her eyes glazed over the walls. There was an enormously large portrait of Alastor mounted in front of her. It was ornately framed, and in it she noticed he was holding a long staff that also served as an eyed microphone. He looked the same, only his tattered coat was much longer for a more dominating appearance, and his smile was almost menacing.

How did she get into this mess?

Meanwhile, Alastor's slender fingers picked up an old fashioned, black telephone and brought the corded earpiece to his head while his other hand held the sound receptor to his lips. As he impatiently waited for the device to dial, he gazed sharply behind him down the broad corridor leading into the parlor where he left the blonde damsel. His expression became disturbed for a moment until his ears perked at the other line picking up.

"Alastor speaking...there's been an incident..."

My first ever Charlastor fic for this fandom and I gotta say I'm HELLA excited! Haha see what I did there? Hope you liked!

~ Sapphire out