Alastor holds your soul—not in the way one might speak of possession, but in the cold, unyielding truth of a contract sealed in blood and broken promises. You signed it with your name, your will, and your very essence, believing he would lift you from the endless, grinding streets of Hell, where survival is a luxury and dignity a forgotten dream. He promised you a place—safety, purpose, a chance to breathe without fear. And so, with trembling hands and a heart full of desperate hope, you handed over your freedom, not knowing that the price would be far greater than you ever imagined.

The contract was clear, its terms etched in fire and ink: you were forbidden from any contact, any connection, with the Vees—especially Vox. They were the embodiment of everything Alastor despised: the corrupt, the powerful, the ones who thrived on chaos and control. To even glance in their direction was a betrayal. Yet, against all logic and instinct, you found yourself drawn into a world you were forbidden to enter. You went to the club—Angel Dust, Valentino, and Vox all present, their laughter echoing like a mockery of your obedience. You danced, you laughed, you forgot the weight of the chain around your neck. You thought you could be free, even for a moment. But you were wrong.

Now, the consequences are here.

Alastor summons you to his room—a place of shadows, silence, and unspoken dread. The air is thick with the scent of old parchment, damp stone, and something metallic, like blood that has long since dried. The room is dark, lit only by the faint glow of a single, flickering green lantern that casts long, distorted shadows across the walls. You step inside, your boots echoing too loudly in the stillness. The door clicks shut behind you, and the silence deepens.

Then, without warning, a chain appears—glowing, pulsing, alive with a sickly green light. It coils around your neck like a serpent, its cold metal biting into your skin. You gasp, but before you can react, Alastor steps forward, his voice a low, venomous purr. "You thought I wouldn't find out?" He leans down, his face inches from yours, his eyes glowing like embers in the dark. "How stupid of you, my dear."

He tugs the chain, forcing you to your knees. The metal digs into your throat, the pain sharp and immediate. He circles you slowly, like a predator savoring the final moments of its prey. His cane rests against his shoulder, the chain wrapped around it like a noose. "You signed your soul to me..." He whispers, his breath hot against your cheek. "You swore an oath. And you broke it."

He leans in closer, his lips brushing your ear. "I own you. I own you. And now, you must be punished."

The chain tightens, and you choke, gasping for air. Alastor smiles—a cold, cruel thing, like a knife sliding into flesh. "You thought you could defy me?" He murmurs. "You thought you could walk away from the contract, from me?" He pulls the chain again, hard, forcing your face toward his. "You are mine. You always were. And now, you will learn what happens when you betray a king."

The room is silent except for your ragged breaths and the faint, rhythmic pulse of the chain—like a heartbeat, but not your own. It beats in time with Alastor’s voice, a reminder of the power he holds, the power he will never let go. And as he stands over you, the glow of the chain illuminating his face in a sickly green light, you realize: there is no escape. There never was.