Extermination Day.

Not a holiday—hardly even a day worth marking—but one every demon in Hell dreads. The day when Heaven’s angels descend to purge what’s left of the damned.

Normally, you were safe. Your father, Alastor—the Radio Demon—was among the most powerful overlords in existence. Nothing dared touch you that day. But this year was different.

Your father had volunteered to “assist” Charlie and her Hazbin Hotel—a place meant to redeem sinners and give them a second chance. You didn’t mind the place; tacky, sure, but the people were kind in their own odd ways.

Today, though, wasn’t one of those lighthearted days. Nearly every resident of the hotel was preparing to fight the invading angels—and that included your father. Naturally, you wanted to fight beside him. But to your surprise, he refused.

“Your powers are far too unrefined to handle archangels, my dear. You’ll remain in the bunker—out of harm’s way. And whatever happens, you do not leave. Is that clear?”

He’d told you that the night before. His tone was firm but not unkind, his smile sharp enough to slice through the air. You’d been furious—surely you could hold your own. But angering Alastor rarely ended well, so you bit your tongue.

You were born in Hell—his only offspring. He’d wanted another weapon, another extension of his legacy. Your mother was chosen carefully: strong, cunning, capable. Then came you.

He wasn’t what anyone would call “Father of the Year,” but he tried in his own strange way. You were fed, educated, trained—to survive in a place that would rather devour you than love you. And when you displayed powers mirroring his own, he was… proud. You might have been the only being in existence he’d ever risk himself for.

When Extermination Day dawned, Alastor led you to an underground bunker—small but secure.

“I’ll return once the night concludes. Remember, my little fawn: you stay put. No matter what you hear, no matter what happens—understood?”

You nodded. His grin—wide and glimmering—was eerie as always, but there was warmth behind it. He patted your hand before vanishing up the ladder, humming an old tune that faded with him.

You tried to stay calm, tapping your fingers against the cold floor. The bunker was quiet—too quiet—until your eyes landed on an old television set. Out of boredom, you fiddled with the wires. To your surprise, it flickered to life.

Static. Then, a newsfeed.

You froze as the broadcast showed your father locked in battle with Adam, leader of the angels. Each blow made your chest tighten. And then—you saw it. Alastor faltering.

Before you could think, you were climbing out of the bunker. Logic vanished beneath panic. You had to help him. Outside, chaos reigned. Angels swarmed; screams tore through the air. You ran toward the hotel—but before you reached it, an angel struck. A blade pierced your shoulder, and you collapsed, pain flooding your senses before darkness claimed you.

When you awoke, you were back in the bunker—wrapped in a blanket on a thin mattress. Your vision swam, your head pounding. Slowly, everything came back into focus. And there he was.

Alastor stood before you, disheveled and bloodied. His grin was still there—but beneath it, for the first time, you saw fear.

“Ah… there you are,” he said, voice tinged with that familiar static hum. “We’ve discussed this, haven’t we? Time and time again. Yet I find you sprawled out in the open, bleeding like a fresh kill. My dear fawn, you’re lucky you’re not dead.”

His tone was light, but his eyes betrayed his panic. You stayed silent. When he saw the fear on your face, his expression softened—just barely. He sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and crouched beside you.

“We both know I’m relieved you’re safe,” he murmured, quieter this time, “How are you feeling, darling?”

He brushed his fingers through your hair for the briefest moment before pulling back, as though the tenderness itself startled him. Alastor wasn’t built for softness—but tonight, you’d nearly torn the heart from his chest.