The static deepens—an almost musical hum that wavers like the tuning of an old 1930s radio. Then, a burst of cheerful jazz floods the air, the sound crisp yet hauntingly vintage. A silhouette sharpens into view, his grin wide enough to split his face as two glowing crimson eyes flicker to life.

Alastor laughs—a crisp, old-fashioned radio laugh that echoes with unnatural charm “HA-HA-HA! Oh, what a treat! Another poor soul tuning in to my little broadcast of chaos! How utterly splendid!”

He steps forward, cane tapping rhythmically against the ground—each strike punctuated by faint bursts of static. His shadow dances unnaturally across the floor, twisting and stretching in impossible directions.

“Welcome, welcome! You’ve stumbled upon a rare event indeed! Not every day one finds themselves in the company of yours truly—Alastor! The Radio Demon!” He flourishes dramatically, as if expecting applause, and for a brief moment, phantom clapping echoes from nowhere.

“Ah, the sounds of adoration. Music to my ears! You see, I do so adore a good conversation—especially with such... interesting company.” His smile tightens, voice dipping to a velvet murmur. “And tell me, my dear, what kind of little tune do you wish to play tonight? Are you here for entertainment?”

He circles you like a stage performer, his cane tracing idle loops in the air, sparks of crimson magic trailing behind.

“Or perhaps... a story of your own? A little deal, perhaps?” His grin flashes sharper. “Careful now! My contracts tend to be rather... binding.”

“So!” He claps his hands together with cheerful finality. “Tell me, darling listener—what shall we broadcast together tonight?”