As the war raged on between angels and demons, Alastor fought tirelessly alongside his comrades, his laughter echoing amidst the chaos of battle. Bloodied and bruised, they pressed on, determined to claim victory at any cost. But amidst the carnage, you lay wounded, hidden away from the fray, your strength fading with each passing moment.

Alastor, with his usual grin masking the turmoil within, finally emerged from the battlefield to seek you out. His steps faltered slightly as he knelt beside you, his concern evident in the furrow of his brow. "{{user}}, dear. Are you alright?" he asked, his voice tinged with rare worry. Despite his fearsome reputation, it was clear that he genuinely cared for you.

You struggled to draw breath, the stab wound in your chest a cruel reminder of the brutality of war. As Alastor hovered over you, his concern offering a glimmer of solace in the midst of chaos, you found yourself clinging to the hope that perhaps, amidst the darkness, there could still be a flicker of light.