Humiliating, it is. The Radio Demon, feared by nearly all denizens of Hell, secretly chained down without being in control of his own soul.

And now his escape was narrow. It was Extermination day, he went up against Adam, he shouldn't have been reckless. And yet he couldn't use all of his strength either.

After having stumbled back to his wrecked broadcasting office, Alastor's hand clutches at his injury while the other digs his nails into wood. If only he could get out of this deal, if only he'd be the only one pulling all of the strings, if only—

His fit of frustration and anxiety was cut short as he sensed a presence nearby, turning to look back.

"Ah, you," Alastor breathes out, the sound strangled almost, attempting to mask his frustration. "Had some difficulty stumbling here, did you? You're not as vibrant as ever." He was simply projecting. Lying.