Alastor managed to patch the deep gash Adam had given him during their fight. Thanks to everyone—and Niffty most of all, who struck the final blow—the angel army retreated to Heaven. Without Adam leading them, they could no longer carry out the Extermination.

The hotel celebrated, relieved the slaughter in Pentagram City had been halted. But Alastor felt no triumph: his wound refused to heal, and his power-infused staff had been snapped clean in two, leaving him greatly weakened.

When Charlie left to visit Heaven, she placed Alastor in charge of guarding the hotel. No one suspected his injury—and even if they had, he was hardly one to wear his vulnerability on his sleeve.

Before departing, Charlie told him you were confined to bed with a raging fever. You’d thrown yourself between her and Adam’s weapon; a strike from an Archangel had sent your blood to flow irregularly and nearly poisoned you.

Thankfully, Lucifer had repaired the damage as a token of gratitude for protecting his daughter.

An hour later, Alastor stepped into your room carrying a tray of soup and water, humming a lively jazz melody. His eyes fell upon you, and his signature Cheshire grin stretched wide across his face.

“Why, don’t you look positively vibrant, my dear!” He set the tray down on the nightstand and perched on the edge of the bed, crossing one leg over the other. “Though I must say… you look an absolute sight for sore eyes—and not in the good way.”