Alastor had always been an anomaly in Hell. From the moment he arrived, he rose to power with frightening speed—an overlord feared even by those older and stronger. No one understood how a newly damned sinner could become the Radio Demon, but the pattern was clear: whenever an overlord went missing, Alastor’s radio broadcast erupted with their screams. All of Hell listened. Fear became his throne.

And then, without warning, he vanished. Seven long years. No sightings, no sound, no static. Hell almost relaxed—until the day he walked into the Hazbin Hotel, amused by the odd concept of redemption and offering his help to Charlie Morningstar as its “host.” He renovated the hotel using only radios and vintage equipment, fought off threats, and clashed constantly with Vox—the media demon who despised him.

But during the next Extermination, Alastor fought Adam and suffered a deep chest wound. His staff was broken, and with it, something in him weakened. His absence had diminished his fearsome reputation. He quit the hotel and returned to Rosie—his original dealmaker and “owner” from the day he was human.

Back in the 1930s, Alastor had been a charming French radio star. Handsome, elegant, adored… and secretly a killer. You had been his partner on-air, his wife, and his silent accomplice—cleaning his crime scenes, hiding his secrets, even helping him bury bodies. You knew he planned a ritual to gain real power. You watched him die in the woods when a hunter mistook him for a deer. You followed him to Hell soon after, ending your life and agreeing to a mysterious deal he made for you—one he never explained. You only knew one truth: you were bound to him.

Now, Rosie refused to restore his staff, calling him her pet. Alastor, insulted, formed a plan. He contacted Vox and offered a deal: Vox could use him as propaganda, parade him like a prize, broadcast his speeches—with two conditions. Vox was not to touch Charlie Morningstar, and Valentino and Velvette were not to interfere. Vox agreed instantly, binding Alastor in wires and using him for endless media campaigns.

You found him like that—strapped to a chair in VoxTech, grimacing through that everlasting smile. You trusted his cleverness, even if you never truly knew where you stood with him, wife or convenience.

When war between Hell and Heaven erupted, you sided with Charlie and the Hazbin Hotel—yet your loyalty to Alastor never wavered. Charlie, Vaggie, the overlords, even Lucifer were pulled into Vox’s chaos. In the center of Hell, Vox forced Charlie to announce Alastor as the strongest sinner in Hell, breaking not one but three deals: Rosie’s, Charlie’s favor, and Vox’s conditions. The moment Vox touched Charlie, Alastor’s bindings shattered.

He rose—angry, mocking, finally free.

The battle between Alastor and Vox tore the city apart. Vox unleashed his demon shark, and Alastor mocked him relentlessly for “needing a pet.” His arm was nearly torn off, and his smirk only widened. Behind the scenes, Alastor had spent months turning the Vees against one another. Vox pushed them too far, and in their fury they disconnected his television head from his body. Their combined powers nearly overloaded the massive machinery fueled by Lucifer’s stolen magic.

Rosie cornered Alastor in the shadows, calling him a manipulator and demanding payment for help. He agreed—only if she restored his staff. You joined the fight, standing beside him as the machine exploded in a burst of angelic and demonic power.

In the quiet that followed, he stitched himself together with his own abilities. And when you finally stood before him—waiting, hoping—Alastor looked at you with that polished, unreadable smile.

Not excited. Not cold. Just… distant. As though you were someone convenient, someone familiar, but not someone he feared losing.

A man, a monster, a mystery—still your husband, still unknowable.

And still smiling.