Greetings and hello this is the first chapter of my new story I hope you all enjoy it and know I'm working hard on the next chapter. Please enjoy.

Prologue

The bible discribes hell as eternal darkness, gnashing teeth, fire and complete separation from god. A prison of everlasting chains with no hope of release, a place of agonizing thirst that can never be quenched of constant torment where the fire never goes out.

The silver twin bell clock once resting silently on a dark reddish brown nightstand suddenly sprang to life, the bells that sat atop its head gave a sharp shrill ring demanding to be noticed. If it was to be ignored it would never cease its endless shrieking, the owner of said clock pulled the thin sheet tighter around his body. His back turned to the clock in a stubborn attempt to ignore it and gave a quiet groan, a set of red and black deer-like ears folded down tight to his head in an attempt to block out the one scream that did not bring any amount of pleasure to him.

Clinging desperately to those last few moments of fleeting sleep where the chance of slipping back under was its greatest, the red deer finally let out a defeated sigh. Last night was a rare one. He was not plagued by hellish nightmares of his last moments on earth, the barking of the hounds, the echoing bang of a rifle, something hitting his head knockin him to the ground. The view of the scattered stars above the moon cloaked in clouds offered little light until they moved over just in time for the hounds to be upon him. He remembered how it felt as the teeth ripping into his arms and legs his nerves felt like they were on fire, registering everything 10X more than they should. Nothing hell could give or has given him will ever compare to the agony of six bloodhounds ripping him apart down to the bone. He wondered if he tasted good, he didn't have much meat on his bones to begin with so he would have not made a meal worth having but he would lie if he said he himself didn't like the feel of bone between his teeth, did they get the same pleasure as he did from it? He had often wondered if he was to cut into himself peel away the epidermis, the adipose tissue, muscles and look at the bone of his arm or leg would the teeth marks still be there, branded upon him along with the scars that marked his flesh.

Forcing his sleep heavy body to move the man on the bed threw his left arm up pulling the sheet down and away from him, sitting up crimson eyes squinted over at the twin bell. Eyes still hazy with sleep he watched it wiggle and jump in place a shrill ring echoing throughout the room. If you never have found yourself in a battle of wills with your own alarm clock then count yourself quite fortunate as this is one battle not even the most powerful of overlords could win. The soon to be loser of the clock verse man was a deer sinner named Alastor, he was a very prideful man who would never readily admit that he himself would stoop so low as to try his hand against such a powerful adversary. But today like yesterday and the day before that and so on and so forth all the way back to his still very human days when his mind transitioned from innocent child wonder to conscious thought and reason had been a sore loser of this very underwhelming battle of will.

He was, if you have not been able to guess, not a morning person..

His shadow creeped or more like shot across the room projecting itself onto the wall just behind the nightstand which houses the clock. The soft blue light that glowed from its empty eyes sockets and mouth stared down at the twin bell with pure disdain, the light it projected flashing between blue and red, it was the only witness to this unnecessary moment which was taking place. Looking from clock to master it waved and pointed down at the jumping screamer. Its soft chitters adding to the already overwhelming amount of noise in the room for this early in the morning. Though master and shadow could not talk to one another they did share a deep rooted bound one that offered small fragments of images to allude to what the less than soild of the two was trying to communicate.

"Enough is enough! Bonk it" a image of the red deer crushing the clock flashed within his mind's eye.

The shadow watched on as a minute passed by it knew this because the clock said so, being an extension of its master did not mean it did not have thoughts and feelings of its own. Spend enough time down here and anything can and will develop its own form of conscious self awareness. It does not have a name only ever referred to as Alastor's shadow and it does not think like you and me with the echoes of our own consciousness narrating our every move. How its mind works would best be described as emotions or colors, maybe one of those paintings where you're supposed to squint just the right way then argue with one another about what you see. Because god forbid one of you interpret it differently than the other. Sometimes those swirling figures of it's thoughts moved fast as light other times slow and sluggish this was not a hindrance to it all, as a matter of fact it could react to most situations faster then it's master at times before it's master even know or understand there was a situation to be had at all.

It's understanding of things was a slow and steady process much like putting together a puzzle with far too much blue sky and not enough clouds but eventually it would settle and it could have what we would call an opinion on something. After 50+ years it had a very strong opinion of the twin bell clock, the shadow had destroyed this clock many times coming out on top as a righteous victor silencing its blood curdling scream for all of time. Or so it thought. For every single time it struck that little bouncing thing down it would appear once more the very next day not a scratch on it shrieking as if taunting the shadow and his master.

So the shadow knew that the clock was a powerful immortal creature that could not be killed only knocked out for a time. They should make a deal with the twin bell not only would they gain a powerful ally but the power boost would be nothing short of amazing. And a powerful ally they needed it could help them out of the unfortunate deal its master was forced into, but how would it help them? Maybe they could have it follow around the owner of the chain that bound them until they couldn;t stand it anymore and begged for it to stop then they could break the deal and the pair could break their neck. The weakness of the bonk would have to be kept under close guard. It would do no good for their enemy to find out such a ridiculous weakness, if it was found out the shadow guessed they would enter into what you would call the long game or plan..action? None of those sounded right, scheme maybe?Its master scheme alot planned lots of things so many steps ahead left and right branch out like the antler atop their head always planning for the unexpected.

The shadow would have to think more on this. The first step was to figure out how to communicate with the clock; it didn't seem to respond to its soft chitters; maybe it would react if the shadow learned to shrill like the clock did. Its master wouldn't like him screeching around him. It should find some place with no one around to practice then step two was make a deal. So lost in what we call thoughts the shadow missed its master admitting defeat, right hand bonking the clock upon its head silencing it for the moment, rising from the bed to begin the day.

The brown hickory floor boards made a soft tapping sound as Alastor made his way across the room, the wood was worn in such a way that it had a nice give to it. Not as soft as carpet but it felt nice on his hooves nonetheless. His room was cut down the middle one half being a living/bedroom with his sleeping area and a nice lounge with a fireplace and comfortable chair that he would sink into at the end of the day to enjoy one of the many books neatly organized on the bookcase that would need to be expanded soon as his collection continued to grow. The other half was a spiraling bayou he had explored the one back on earth so much in his youth that reproducing it here in his after life took barely a thought. The two pieces blended seamlessly.

Making his way across the room he paused at an out of place icebox four feet high and 4 feet wide half on wood half on thick grass. A thin black tendrils sprout from his back flipping open the ice box lid bending at the waist he peered inside hand on his chin, a thoughtful expression on his face. The pickings were getting slime he would need to go hunting soon or maybe he could pay a visit to Rosie and pick up something in Cannibal town. He had been so busy with the hotel he had yet to venture over to see his dear friend. Reaching inside he grabbed a blood soaked white sack he believed this one used to be called Jerry, a horribly fat sinner he himself didn't partake but he so hated being wasteful.

Pursing his lip he made a sharp whistle, eyes tracing the still waters of the murky bayou. Growing up Alastor was unfortunately a very awkward child; he was different from the light brown on his skin to the way he talked and held an air of old about him. Other children didn't like that about him thought he thought himself better then them even though he was nothing but poor bayou trash with a drunker daddy and freak of a mama. He remembered how happy his mama was when he told her he had made a friend Bartholomew was his name and him being a gator that young Alastor hatched from an egg was not something he told his poor mama. But her face would light up when he would tell her how he and Bartholomew had caught 2 fish today. He would go into details about all the adventures the two would have all while his mama prepared one of her legendary meals. He never lied to his mama. That was one of his hard rules. The poor woman had enough of that from his daddy; he just never told her the truth about his friend and she had never asked. Oh what a friendship it had been Alastor liked to think of himself as a solo act, no co-host for him, but not even he could deny that Bartholomew had played a role in his less than gentlemanly acts when he was alive.

When he had first arrived in hell he would come across a sinner or two who died by getting attacked by a gator. He would wonder if old Bart was still up there having a grand old time without him. Maybe that was why when he created this slice of heaven for himself he couldn't leave out his dear friend, it wasn't hard to track down the soul of that beast who knew all gators go to hell. It was after that thought that bubbles began popping onto the surface of the water soon followed by a large snout breaking the tension gold eyes stared at him from across the way. Bag in hand the red deer gave it a gentle shack Bart replied with a snapping of its maws slowly sinking back into the water to wait for its meal.

With that out of the way Alastor moved on to the second half of his morning, the time was now 0515 which gave him less than 2 hours to get ready and enjoy his breakfast in peace before the other residents of the hotel awakened for the day. Bending his head to the slide, ears flicking around the radio demon flipped through his internal radio trying to settle on something that would go along nicely with the morning he was having. Finally he stopped on Whispering by Red nicholas it had just the right amount of peppiness to get his body and mind working for another entertaining day of failures.

His bathroom was nothing special. The light inside was not harsh like in most but rather gave just the right amount of light to see what one was doing. The tile was a deep red and without said light turned on it appeared black, the walls painted a cream colored white the tube on the far wall was deep enough for even someone of his height to sink into with only his knees poking out of the water. Hand towels rested on the bar next to the sink never to be used simply for decoration white in color with black details woven throughout to look like flowers.

An itching started in the back of his mind much like white noise, letting out a deep sigh that caused his shoulders to slump forward. The deer knew it was once again that time. Summoning his staff he placed it into a stand on the wall a few inches from the sink. It was made of two soft rubber claws that when he pushed the staff against it it would give way before closing once more, holding the item safely in place. The bathroom floor was no place for his precious staff. Red Nicholas whispering died out and a more soft soothing jazz took it 's place acting as more background noise then anything else.

"Side A Morning instructions" the voice said. The voice was deep yet soothing every word was clear and to the point leaving out room for misinterpretation.

"The first thing I want you to do is wash your face," the voice said.

"Yes Sir" Alastor answered. Turning on the tap his claws passed through the water trying to find the perfect temperature.

"Cold water only helps keep the pores tight. I don't want to see any unsightly blemishes." The red deer made a face he didn't like to wash with cold water. It was unpleasant. He preferred lukewarm water. But he yield and did as told washing away the sleep and grog that still clung to him, grabbing one of the clothes on shelves next to the sink and applying a little soup taking his time to scrub gently being mindful of the stitching on his cheeks and the painful X that appeared on his forehead.

"Doesn't that feel better?"

"Yes sir"

"Now brush those teeth 2 minutes top to bottom and make sure you scrub your tongue" Alasor followed these instructions as well.

Now my dear friends this must be terribly confusing for you. Why was our red deer following instructions from a strange voice even doing things that he did not even want to do? The answer is simple really Alasor is what we call a submissive and unfortunate if you choose to see it that way thing to be. It's an instinctual thing hard wired into the brain. Lots of messy chemical and emotional things go into it, and calling it just being a sub isn't right at all. The list it would appear is never ending in how many different subclasses there were. As we stumble upon more types we will go into more detail but lets focus on what infront of us shall we. Alastor was a slave sub and wasn't that a kick in the teeth for someone who desired control more than anything else in their life. LEt's make one thing clear: just because your secondary class says something does not mean you have to be that something. Take for example the fact that our deer friend has fought tooth and nail against those pesky brain chemicals.

There was also the added bonus of compatibility without it secondary classes could not and would not rear its ugly head. A safeguard of nature perhaps? Who really knows for sure, the point being that not once in either of his lives had another person ever managed to trigger Alastors secondary class and he planned to keep it that way. For who in this rotting hell scap could possibly be even remotely compatible with the radio demon of all people. Might you know someone?Don't tell me keep your secrets, it's more fun.

Now just ignoring them all together was not an option the body needed to allow those secondary needs to be met or else risk physical mental emotional illness. So that's what bring us to the strange voice playing in the room, it was a stop gap at most gave just enough of a taste to subdue those annoying instincts that tried to claw their way from the deepest recess of Alastors mind demanding he go out and find himself a master to quench the fire inside of him to allow him the pure peace that came with given yourself over to another to be cared for and protected to be control hurt beaten used and tossed aside like his mama…

Just because they had never been triggered by another did not mean that those needs did not demand to be met.

"Brush your hair now" picking up the comb he did just that, working it slowly through his red black tipped locks, being careful around his ear, taking his time and enjoying the simple act that brought a calm to his usually chaotic mind. Once finished brushing his hair he set the comb down and picked up a club brush with it he gently brushed the fur on his ears bringing the unruly strains together afterwards he turned his body cracking his neck at an unnatural angle to get a better view. Pulling down his pajama pants slightly he started with disdain as his tail. Red at the base fading into black it was wagging slowly. His mind did not like the idea of having to tend to the damned thing but his body was overjoyed. Bringing the club brush around he worked from tip to root untangling fur that had managed to get locked together in his sleep, even with such disdain he couldn't deny the pleasure such an act brought. He might even have brushed through only once or five times after everything was brought back to its proper place. The final event of his morning grooming was his legs starting just below the knee was a soft furthay covered said legs. It was black only shifting to red at the start of his hooves where it flowed over slightly he figured he had maybe another week or so before he would need to trim it.

"You look positively radiant now I'm so proud of you" even though he had heard those words every morning for a unknown amount of years a light blush colored Alastors cheeks and a soft static buzz could be heard echoing through the bathroom a almost lazy smile pulled at the deer sinners mouth.

In the other room blocked by the closed bathroom door our shadow friend was also getting ready for the day. The difference between himself and his master was it had no issue brushing the furry tail. He had such fun trying to get a grip on the thing as it wagged excitedly back and forth and when he finally grabbed it he brushed it with the enthusiasm as one would pet the fat cat down the street who came by for a visit. It chittered happily to itself every now and again sparing a glance at the clock on the table chittering to it as well "If you make a deal with us you can brush my tail to" it chittered but the clock remained silent the shadow glided over to it turning at an angle that was only possible for a shadow to do waving its tail back and forth hiking it up in what was maybe an enticing manor.

"A gentleman does not hike his tail up at just anyone" it's master words echoed in its mind the last time the shadow had gotten caught trying to entice the clock.

But the silver bell paid him no mind. The long hand slowly moved to the seven, the second hand ticking onward and if shadows could pout that was what this one was doing he had failed again in trying to tempt the clock to his master's side. It would not dwell on this; no one could resist it or its master so the only thing that made sense was it was still unconscious it would try again another day before the clock was knocked out.

When its master exited the bathroom dressed in his smart red suit the shadow darted to the floor below him taking its place as a silent guardian following in his footsteps as the pair departed from their room for the day.