The acrid sting of failure - or, more accurately, a grave miscalculation - is not something Alastor takes lightly. There's an anger bubbling underneath, the darkness he can always feel at arm's length manifesting into physical tendrils swirling around him as he seethes. His antlers grow, sharpening at the edges and rising far above his head, and it's difficult to reign in the sheer bitterness that pulses through him.
But he must. For Charlie, for the hotel, for the future of Hell.
Letting out a long sigh, Alastor regulates his breathing and feels the calm return to him. He's nothing without his cunning wit, after all, and it would be unbecoming of a demon like him to not show self-discipline.
However, despite him regaining control, he can not shake the thought of that vile angel snapping his microphone in two. Had he truly underestimated his rather obnoxious opponent, or was there something in Alastor's core that shook his own valor? He'd flashed his usual smile and thrown everything he could at Adam - perhaps that was the wrong strategy?
Or, perhaps, he had simply been unlucky.
Thinking too hard about it right now is pointless. Now that his wound has been sewn shut by his dutiful shadows, it's easier to focus back on what matters at the moment. He'll need more time to rest it, but this should keep him from falling apart for now.
There's a distinct lack of screams as Alastor shifts back to the hotel - screams of neither demons nor angels, he notes. The Hazbin Hotel lies in rubble; for a moment, he can imagine nothing but his cohorts underneath, squirming under the foundation if not already in gorey pieces spread across the dust.
But before he can even entertain those possibilities, he hears joyful, familiar voices in the distance. Charlie and the rest are conversing with the cannibals, standing far enough in the distance that they haven't noticed him yet. Slinking back into the shadows, he begins to move carefully towards them - but something makes him stop.
Though many bodies litter the ground, there is a particular broken form that catches his eye. Larger than the others, it lies amongst the debris, golden blood still pooling around it. Alastor sniffs the air, hoping the carcass is fresh enough - it's not quite his taste, but his cannibal companions would be more than happy to indulge.
That is, if he didn't know exactly who the body belongs to.
"This is lovely," he murmurs cheerfully to himself, casually striding closer.
Who had done this pathetic excuse for an angel in? Alastor notices Lucifer amongst the distant crowd, and wonders if it had been the king himself that completed the job. Of course, Alastor would take credit for wearing the angel out, as he can't afford to let Lucifer have full bragging rights.
There's a bit of anger that courses through the Radio Demon as he recalls Adam's taunts, how the imbecile had almost bested him. What an embarrassing moment for Alastor, but at least he's still alive to feel the shame.
"Radio's dead," Adam had said. Well, now look who's dead.
Truly a pitiful end indeed.
Alastor huffs in amusement, nearly sending out his shadows to make quick work of the body. It would allow him to vent his frustrations at losing to this imbecile, but he's stopped short once more by an observation. It's barely perceptible, but present nonetheless: a twitch. The body's chest moves up and down in the slightest of motions, signaling air through its bloody lips.
"Hm…?" Alastor bends over to inspect closer, only slightly wincing at the pull at his wound. He chuckles darkly once he confirms it: the angel is still alive.
Oh, what fun.
There is something beautiful in them being brought back together like this. It means nothing good for Adam, of course, but Alastor feels quite grateful. He definitely isn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth. All sorts of ideas swirl through the demon's head, thinking of all the ways he could make the angel suffer. The thoughts of violence do more for his battle wounds than any balm or magic healing could.
Like a predator who just found a fresh kill, his eyes rake over the prone form, taking in the man's bruised face, his torn clothes, the way his wings weakly wilt around him…
"Yes… yes, this will do nicely," he murmurs to himself, shadows flickering around him in excitement.
Not so unlucky after all.
There's nothingness for a long while.
Darkness. It's unending and almost… gentle, comforting.
Then, without warning - pain. Throbbing, unfamiliar, agonizing pain. And, right behind it, fear.
It all clenches around him like a noose, unforgiving and cruel.
Adam can see nothing, his eyelids still heavy and closed. His other senses are muted as well, his body wilted and lifeless. The beat of his angelic heart is slow and arrhythmic, weak breaths pushed through punctured lungs.
He's never known pain before this - well, not since Earth, anyway - and he can barely reign in the terror that pierces his form as a result.
I can be hurt, he reminds himself in despair. I can be hurt, especially here, and I can suffer - so what else is going to happen to me? I can't fucking move! He grows more restless, trying to will any part of his mangled body to move. It's a futile effort, however, as his wounds are deep and severe, enough to- enough to…
If I can be hurt, then I can die, too… I'm going to die, aren't I?
And somewhere in his half-consciousness, Adam realizes that yes - he is, in fact, dying, and that causes a panic to flare up through his system. It's enough to make him suck in air too quickly and too harshly, prompting him to cough out viscous blood. It makes him sick, the way it drips down his chin in thick, slimy globs.
Is there anything for him to even do now, besides wait to die? It makes him feel completely useless, but he keeps lying there, immobilized by his own injuries and lost in his own head.
Memories flit through his half-conscious mind, recalling the battle that led him to lie in this metaphorical bed. He'd led his exorcists against the sinners for an awesome Extermination, like usual - but this time, the fucking bitches at the hotel were ready to fight back. How did they figure out angelic steel hurts angels? Adam didn't even realize that before today! And now he's supposed to just die because someone stabbed him through the gut a million times?
How unfair! The thought frustrates him. As if his story's supposed to end here, in a heap of his own blood! He can't accept that, not for the First Man.
So fucking lame…
He doesn't know how long he remains there. Because it's so quiet, aside from his own tiny gasps for air, Adam is able to easily recognize when something finally does break through that silence. He registers someone's footsteps behind him, but his eyelids are still heavy and refuse to cooperate with him. So yeah, he can't see whoever's coming, but the steps are light and feathery enough that he can hope it's an ally coming back to retrieve him.
Damn it. He needs help. They can't just leave him here, can they? He's- he's fucking Adam!
God, the thought of being alone, of dying here alone, scares him even further. A violent shiver courses through him as he attempts to lift his head, only for something to hit his sternum and push him back down.
With a barely-suppressed whimper, he lets it happen, unable to resist the force.
"My, my, you have certainly found yourself in a troubling position, haven't you, Adam?"
A filtered, vaguely familiar voice teases him, and he knows almost immediately that it's no one on his side. Despite that, he doesn't have the strength to find anger in retaliation. He can only wait, uncharacteristically silent and at the voice's complete mercy.
And because he can't open his goddamn eyes yet, there's a terrifying layer added to this situation, as he's vulnerable to everything and everyone like this. But it's like the blood is sticking his eyelids shut, and he doesn't have the strength to fight past it.
But after a few terrifying moments of nearly choking on his own blood, he does finally wheeze a few fractions of words past his cracked lips. "Wh… what… th'... f…ck?" Okay, so it's not fucking poetry, but it's all he can manage.
"What was that~?" A mocking tone and a laugh is his answer, something deeply wicked lurking in the timbre. The owner can't hide the glee at Adam's lack of coherent words, and it'd be outright insulting if the angel wasn't too out of it to care
He tries again, his words a bit clearer this time. "Wh… what the fuck is goin' on…?"
Something slicks underneath him and lurches his body over, pressing his face into the cold ground. He gasps in surprise, and suddenly he can smell the dirt, taste it along with ash. His wounds screech in protest as they're jostled around. His teeth clench so tight he fears they'll crack, and he can feel himself heave another wet cough at the jarring movement.
The mystery person gives a tsk-tsk-tsk. "You poor thing… Why, I predict you'll be dead in the next half hour or so - perhaps an hour if you're lucky."
A pause, clearly waiting for Adam to reply. He can't find the words - and besides, it's obvious what's going to happen if he continues to lie here.
"But you know, I think I can help you. What do you say? Want to live to play that horrid rock-and-roll music another day?" The voice asks, and there's some kind of static filter through the words. "Let's make a deal!"
A deal?
Everything in Adam's heart screams that he can't entertain any demons' ideas, that he absolutely should not make a deal with one, but his body is yelling just as loudly for relief. There's a battle going on inside him, between the choices of sanity and safety, and it's bloody and violent.
Fuck around with this voice and you will find out, he tells himself, but if you don't, you won't be alive to do even that, so…
Wait, before he entertains this fucker's idea, shouldn't he fight more to move? Is all he can manage a few feeble attempts to wriggle his fingers? He's the fucking First Man ! If he can get himself up, he can get away from here, and he won't have to make any decisions he'll regret.
"You do want to live, don't you? I'll heal all those nasty… holes… you've got in your back there." The voice takes on an almost sympathetic tone, and it makes Adam sick. "You'll be right as rain in no time! Just agree to my terms."
Fuck you! I can get myself up!
Adam shudders in both irritation and exertion, scrabbling to get a grip on the ground to pull himself up. His arms, predictably, are about as obedient as the rest of his body, barely budging from their splayed positions at his side. Adam tries his wings next, and manages to make them twitch, but that's about as much as he can do. Looks like they're completely useless, too.
He must be really fucked up if not even the easiest muscles to move - seriously, he could fly in his sleep - will, well, move.
But, damn it, he's trying, and it hurts, and if he can't do anything but lie here-
"Oh, Mr. First Man~?" The voice is far more taunting now, the vicious static in the air making Adam's hair stand on end.
The grating tone combined with the pain of his exposed injuries is growing to be too overstimulating. Adam wants to curl up and sob, fuck, it all hurts so much. Every breath is agony, and his body is begging for relief.
Fuck, he almost starts praying, that's how desperate he is.
"What do you say? All you have to give in return is-"
The rest of the sentence is lost to him as his ears ring and he yells out, "Fine!" His voice is fragile, weak, but he swallows back blood in his throat and pushes himself to repeat it louder. "Fucking- fine!" He doesn't even care about the price he has to pay for this - what could this mystery fucker even want? If he's been left behind here, Adam has nothing to give, not even his soul - he can't provide anything worthwhile, and that's the dumbass's fault if it's found out afterward.
His hearing's cutting out, the ever-present darkness threatening to swallow him whole and trying to pull him into a sleep he won't wake up from.
"Just- fucking… d-do something!" he screams, his eyes finally snapping open in his despair. "I don't want to die here!"
The world temporarily grows dim, flashes of red and green bursting in the sky like lightning. Something cold brushes one of his hands, and he flinches at the brief unexpected contact. A dark chuckle sounds from behind him, along with a loud crack! of something hitting the ground.
Before he can even question what's truly going on, the overwhelming pain ceases. Like water poured on his back, the incessant burning from his wounds cools, and the sudden relief makes him go limp with bliss.
Something… slithery… squirms through the holes of his injuries, but it's more invasive than excruciating - for sure uncomfortable, but the pull gives more of an ache than agony. It's such a weird sensation, being able to feel his lungs being stitched back up. Air can get through his system again, the simple act of breathing incredibly revitalizing. The deepest stab wounds are also sewn shut, some kind of warm magic being applied to them on top of it all.
Adam is just so soothed by the warmth and rhythmic motions of the slithery things; for a few minutes, he lies there and lets himself be fixed, relishing in every gulp of air he can get. It doesn't even matter if it's icky Hell air - it's the sweetest thing he's ever tasted. (Even the apple doesn't hold a goddamned fucking candle to this.)
Adam shudders despite himself, his returned strength allowing him to brace his hands on the ground and push himself up so he's sitting on his knees. Moving still only gives him a dull ache, not even a hint of the previous sharp, piercing pain. Now that he can see and think properly, he can observe his surroundings. Well, he's still in Hell, exactly where he originally had collapsed - same red sky above, not to mention the rubble of that stupid hotel nearby. The bodies of some exorcists are nearby, grotesquely twisted and half-eaten. With a frown, he considers putting effort into identifying them - he knows them all by their Adam-given name, of course - but a clear of the throat diverts his attention away.
He turns around, and is greeted by bright yellow teeth, red hair, and a skinny frame that stands straight.
It takes a moment to remember who this is, but once Adam does, he narrows his eyes in disgust. The Radio Demon - the fucking edgelord who'd sicced little bitch imps or whatever at him, spouting some taunting bullshit and then he'd ran with his tail between his legs. He stands before Adam, the same smug smirk on his face, and the dots are easy to connect.
Well, shit. Adam can't help it - he laughs. And- and sure, that pulls on his mostly-sealed wounds, but the absurdity of the situation isn't lost on him. Not like he's one to ignore a chance to laugh in someone's face for any reason. "Okay, that is fucking rich - I didn't know it was you that patched me up. What's good, Alan?"
"Alastor."
"Whatever, Al. Guess you survived the fight after all, huh? You're not lookin' too hot, though." Eyeing the demon, he notes Alastor's twitching eyelids, the tight grin stretched across his face, and the dried blood still caked into his suit. But credit where credit's due - he's definitely more put together than he was the last Adam saw him, when he literally melted into the floor.
"That is amusing coming from an angel that was just about to die like a dog!" Alastor says with whimsical cadence, but there's no sense of joy on his face - in fact, he looks practically feral, a dangerous glint in his wide red eyes.
"Yeah, well…" Adam trails off, feeling winded as he struggles to keep looking around. "Well, fuck you." He grimaces as he takes a step over the surrounding puddles of gold. Fuck, no wonder he was so out of it - that looks like half his body weight in blood!
"That is not a nice sentiment for the demon that just saved your life," Alastor purrs.
What, is he expected to thank Alastor for healing him up? Hell no, he's not gonna - but it would be kinda funny if he did, just because it's so below someone like him.
(He still won't, though - because fuck that noise.)
An awkward silence befalls them for a few minutes, Adam catching his breath as he takes care not to strain himself just for fucking standing. Eventually, he turns back to Alastor. The demon still stands there, hands behind his back and his posture as straight as ever, and it makes Adam wonder why the red bastard even wanted to make a deal in the first place.
Doesn't really matter, though. Adam just can't believe how stupid a decision that was. Aren't demons supposed to be, well, a little smart? Surely not angelic levels of intelligence (and even further from Adam's), but… don't they know not to form deals with someone who can't give anything worthwhile in return?
Oh well. That's the idiot's own fault. Adam doesn't feel bad one bit.
"Weeeeell," he draws out, "y'know, that was an… interesting fight, I think, for everyone. I'm gonna be feelin' that tomorrow for sure. Haven't, uh… haven't stretched in a while." Honestly, he shouldn't even care about conversing with this loser, but his first instinct in any awkward situation is just to babble out the first things that come to his mind. "But I think it's time I split. I'm sure Heaven's wonderin' what's takin' me so long. Gotta get home for dinner and all that. Soooo… yeah. Later, loser!"
Adam spreads his wings to ascend, but feels a tug on his robe. A disgusting, slimy tentacle that appeared out of nowhere clutches the fabric - which, to be fair, is already shredded and stained, but still! With a grimace, Adam glares towards Alastor.
"Ew! Get your gross dick-tentacle off'a me," he growls.
Alastor simply shakes his head, that creepy smile never waning. "My good man, do you intend to just leave without paying your end of the deal?"
With a roll of his eyes, Adam huffs. "Yeah, about that - I don't have much right now, in case you didn't notice. My fucking exorcists are gone, my soul's bound to someone else, so… I guess you could take, like, my guitar?"
"As if I'd have any use for that noisy instrument," the demon snaps.
Adam sneers. "My dick? Wanna turn at being the Dickmaster?"
For a moment, Alastor's dark pupils seem to turn into… dials? Well that's fucking creepy.
"N̴̲̜̥̿̚͝O̶̢̩̪̒̌͘."
The tone of the demon's voice is so low and garbled, it makes Adam take a step back, his expression twisting in both confusion and apprehension. "Then- then what?" he asks, his voice a bit shaky. "I can't fucking fulfill my half if I don't have anything to trade! Deal's done, bitch!"
"You took your half of the deal already, dear buffoon," Alastor chuckles, his stance completely relaxed for someone who lost his half of a bargain. "You do have something you can give, and you have already agreed to give it to me. So, thank you in advance."
"Fucking- shut up already!" Adam snarls. "You can't take anything, you little-"
"I'm not surprised you're unwilling to uphold your end of our contract," Alastor admits with a sneer, "but the truth is inevitable. I'll be taking those lovely wings right off your back."
Adam's blood freezes, the world seemingly coming to a halt for a terrifying moment. "W-wait… what…?"
What… the fuck?