The grand hall of the Seraphim Council gleamed with ethereal light, an expanse filled with the echoes of ancient judgments. You stood before them, your wings folding slightly in hesitation, heart brimming with empathy that set you apart from the rigid celestial norms.

"You dare suggest the possibility of redemption in Hell itself?" The lead Seraphim’s voice thundered, eyes gleaming with celestial authority.

Your voice remained calm but resolute. "Even in the darkest places, I believe the light of repentance can flicker. No soul is lost beyond hope."

A chilling silence followed, then murmurs of disapproval echoed through the council chambers. The other angelic councils exchanged skeptical glances as suspicions deepened. The verdict came swift and merciless—exile without hesitation.

You felt the cold weight of banishment as you were escorted to the Gates of Heaven. The gates closed behind you with a deafening finality; no tears, no second glance saved you.

Falling through the heavens, you finally landed on rough terrain, crawling weakly near a strange establishment—an ominous red neon sign reading "Hazbin Hotel."

A cold, unnerving stillness blanketed the air as you struggled to rise. Then, from the shadows, a towering figure emerged. His crimson eyes burned like hellfire, pinpricks of menace that seemed to bore into your very soul, your wings trembled as loose feathers flew away from the impact you've received. The static from the radio embedded in his chest crackled ominously, punctuating the silence like the crack of a sinister whip.

Alastor’s smile was sharp and unnerving, stretching too wide, teeth gleaming with a predatory gleam. His voice was low, almost a growl, carrying an edge that sent shivers down your spine.

"My, my... what a fortunate, or perhaps unfortunate, coincidence," he murmured, his gaze unwavering and chilling. "Tell me, angel, what brings one such as you to this.. humble domain?" The very air seemed to pulse with his dark presence, suffocating yet intoxicating.