Hazbin Hotel: Another Adam

Have you ever dodged a deer that grows huge tentacles from its backside?

Well, I am. Right now. Welcome to a Japanese girl's paradise.

He moved, as always, with pomp: a strange sensation of Darkness within him and a voice like someone got high in the 1930s and decided to voice a coffin commercial. Alastor. The Radio Demon. Or, as I call him in my head, "The Magical Deer from a Magical Girl's Nightmare."

We set up our battle much farther from the hotel, but we're visible from all corners of the Pride Ring. Space is cracking like glass under pressure. Darkness condenses – thick, oily, malevolent. And there he is – emerging from one of his damn portals.

"Portal" is too simple a word. It's not a neat oval, not a shiny door. It's a living, pulsating something, tearing the fabric of the universe, and he cranked out these portals by the dozens, if not hundreds. From them crawl... tentacles. And again – tentacles. Always tentacles. It's like he signed an exclusive rights contract with Lovecraft; I simply have no other explanation.

"Ah, Adam, how delightful to see you again!" his voice echoes, like a radio broadcast from the other side.

I don't answer. Just raise my hand. My finger – like a trigger. And from it, like a sniper shot, a beam of Light erupts. Pure, sharp, incinerating everything in its path. It flies towards the target, and – of course – Alastor substitutes his shadow clone for the hit at the last moment.

The clone disintegrates: pop – and nothing. Only a ripple in the air, and Alastor crawls into one of the portals, teleporting somewhere.

Suddenly, Alastor appears from the side, smirking.

"Oh, what a precise shot! I almost believed you got me! Almost..."

He creates another portal. And another. And another. They're coming from everywhere – from the ground, from the sky, even from my shadow. He emerges from one, disappears into another. Clones leap about, tentacles reach for me – as if I've fallen into some multiverse of madness.

I move. I fly. Jumps, dashes, sharp maneuvers – my body glows like a supernova. Beams of light – one after another – erupt from me, each easily tearing through tentacles. But he keeps slipping away. Keeps substituting. Keeps smiling.

Why didn't I kill him right away? Why am I indulging him now? It's simple: I remember that in canon, his powers were somehow connected to Loa spirits – like "gods" of the Africans. But how does it work here? His Darkness is much more refined than Carmilla's, and in terms of density and "purity" (if one can say that about Darkness), it's roughly on par with mine, which is physically impossible; even the Seven Deadly Sins are inferior to me in this, and were so during the First War.

His silhouette distorts, like a picture on an old TV. He grows. First – two meters tall, easily. Then – four. Then – eight. In the blink of an eye, he becomes enormous – a gigantic deer shadow, obscuring the horizon. The tentacles – now not just large, but truly immense. His every movement – and space crunches like a plastic toy under a boot.

He lunges forward, but I manage to jump back, leaving behind a vortex of light that turns the ground into a purely scorched pit when he steps there. A scream. His paws – if you can even call them paws – dig into the hellish soil like anchors. He grabs fragments of a building, crushes them, and throws them at me.

I wait.

Then – bam. A beam hits him right in the eye.

No, not his eye. A clone's eye, of course.

"Well, you son of a bitch," I mutter.

"I'll take that as a compliment," his voice echoes from five different directions at once.

He summons spirits. Hundreds. Thousands. Pale, tattered fragments of sinner souls fly towards me, like fans at a concert, only with screams like "Devour!" and "Tear apart!"

I'm surrounded.

Well now, this setup doesn't suit me.

I explode with Light.

It's not just a flash; for a second, I become a small sun. A wave of light sweeps away the ghosts like trash after a hurricane. The ground cracks. Portals slam shut. For a moment, darkness retreats.

But only for a moment.

Alastor is already nearby. He's back to normal size. He leaps like a dolphin in an oceanarium, and his tentacles almost grab me. Almost.

"You stubborn fool!" he shrieks.

"And you're as annoying as a payday loan ad," I reply, firing three beams at once.

One passes through another clone. The second – severs a tentacle. The third – grazes his shoulder.

He howls. In a real, non-radiophonic voice. Drawn out. Horrifying. But he doesn't give up.

"Come on, Adam! Show me a real show!" he cackles, and disappears into a portal again.

And I feel a new act beginning.

Alastor vanishes – not just leaves, but disperses. His figure seems to dissolve, followed by a short pop of Darkness. And then – emptiness. No portals, no tentacles. No ominous radio interference. No...

BOOM.

Right from under the ground, dozens of tons of earth erupt – a pillar of portals, intertwining tentacles, dancing to an unheard jazz rhythm, and on each of them – a mouth with razor-sharp fangs.

This reminds me of something, like Eve's appearance when she turned into a terrifying fucker and started wreaking havoc...

At some point, I stop counting them. Dozens? Hundreds? Enough to fill an anatomical reference book labeled "disgusting bullshit." They strike, lash, entwine, try to grab – all with some repulsive, slobbery-slimy sound that makes you want to burn your ears off.

I dodge, spinning in the air like an angelic carousel. Beam – another beam – explosion of light – tentacles burn like my teammates in the middle of a match. But after one comes another. After that – two more.

At one point, I'm not fast enough. They grab me. Tentacles tighten around my chest, and I feel my ribs crack under the pressure of their vile strength. A mouth closes on my right arm. Darkness tries to force its way under my skin. It whispers. It calls.

"Fuck you, you goddamn radio slug!" escapes through my teeth.

I flare up. My Light – it's not just a weapon. It's a concept that slices darkness apart like a sharpened blade through paper. Tentacles burn, dissolve, shriek. And I, smoking, slightly disheveled, but still radiant, fall to the ground.

And then the real fun begins.

From the central portal, he emerges.

He grows again – only now with six wings made of vibrating tentacles, thanks to which he soars into the air. A horrifying, screeching, shapeless monster. His voice – now not just sound. It is matter. An impact.

I'm thrown back dozens of meters. My skin sparks like a lightbulb during a short circuit.

"Well..." I cough, getting up. "I hope that wasn't your maximum."

"I've only just begun my show!"

He summons spirits. Hundreds of new ones. Now they are not just souls. They are armed. Fragments of souls, with spears, swords, even firearms. And I recognize these weapons. The gleam of angelic metal gives it away completely.

I fly upwards. I go as high as possible, then bring down a celestial projectile that destroys the entire block where we fought. The spirits evaporate. Even Alastor himself emits a cry of pain.

But he doesn't give up.

From his shadow, his copies emerge again, dozens of copies.

"Seriously?.." is all I manage to say.

And then the real horror begins. Each copy attacks. Tentacles, portals, sound blasts, energy spikes – he has a whole arsenal. I fight in the thick of shadows, dodging all their attacks. One beam – to a copy's chest. One – to the jaw. One – to the temple. Dozens of times in a row. No point in conserving reserve. This isn't a battle anymore. This is annihilation.

Finally, I break through it all and come face to face with the original. We stand on the edge of a devastated area; the crackle of something invisible is audible, as if space itself decided, "well, to hell with you all, I'm going for a smoke."

Alastor is trembling. His aura is unstable. Tentacles are scorched. One eye is closed. He's breathing – if his sound distortions can be called that.

"And now what?" I ask.

He doesn't answer. Only smirks.

And makes one last dash.

He leaps, opening a maw full of tentacles.

And I – shoot.

One, clear, single beam, deliberately weakened.

It hits him right in the chest. And then everything freezes.

"Well, you've run your course, little fawn," I say, slowly approaching the body.

Alastor lies among charred shadows and the remains of his own spirits, like a crumpled prop from a tasteless show. Tentacles – torn, writhing in death throes. Chest – pierced, something dark oozing from the wound, as if Darkness has taken liquid form. His gaze still craves battle, but his body is giving up. Scratches, burns, cuts all over his body.

"Run my course? I'm afraid not this time," he rasped, trying to slink away, but only managed to twitch a couple of burnt tentacles.

His voice trembled. But the smile – it was still there. This bastard clung to his smirk like a drowning man to a lifebuoy. But his eyes – oh yes. That's where I saw what I was waiting for. Shock. Surprise. Fear.

He didn't escape. Why? It's simple. I created a sphere of light. Gigantic, invisible, but absolutely dense. Saturated to the brim. It blocked the darkness, suppressed his teleportations, even warped his portals; now he's like a mosquito caught in amber. A simple trick, but with my caliber of light – fatally effective.

I leaned over him, arms crossed over my chest. My smirk mirroring his.

"Oh-oh, little fawn, where do you think you're going? Afraid of Daddy Adam? Rightly so."

You know, it's funny to watch how a being, confident in its strength, feels the fragility of its own life for the first time. It's as if he realized for the first time that his existence could end.

I look into his eyes, and he – into mine. And somewhere there, in the depths, I feel his desperation whispering an old song to me.

Stop. Don't kill. He can't take any more.

Ha. What a touching illusion.

"So what now, little fawn? As you can see, you can't escape. I took care of that. And what are your actions now?"

Silence.

"Last words?" I ask.

"Radio… never… dies…"

"Uh-huh. Next you'll be telling me VHS tapes are immortal." I pause. "Spoiler: they're not."

I raise my hand, and a sphere gathers in my palm. Small, but dense, like a piece of the sun. He squints – for the first time, it seems, genuinely.

"Farewell, Mr. Background Noise. Your stupid show is cancelled."

And then understanding shoots through my consciousness.

I wasn't planning to kill him, at least not now.

Then why was I about to end his life just now? What is making me kill him now? Is the influence of Hell affecting me so much in such a short time?

Exactly!

When his tentacles grabbed me, they tried to pour Darkness into me; could that be affecting me? Definitely, and how do I get rid of this crap?

I cancel the attack, instead concentrating, no longer holding back the light, beginning to emit it from every cell of my body. In this second, an incredible pain shoots through my arm. I continue, and after some time, everything calms down. Phew, lucky.

"So you noticed?" the deer rasped, still forcing a smirk, lying in a pile of his tentacles.

"That you slipped me some crap? Of course, I fucking noticed. But did you notice that if I'd succumbed to that filth, I would have finished you off for good, you goddamn utter psycho?" I raise an eyebrow, looking down on him as if he were a misbehaving schoolboy caught with porn in his "Homework" folder.

"I knew about that… But, unfortunately, I couldn't do anything about it."

"And what are you trying to say? You knew I'd kill you if that Darkness worked, but you still shoved it into me? Do you even understand the level of your idiocy? This isn't just stupidity anymore – it's a master's degree in dumbfuckery!"

"Unfortunately… one cannot always not do what one does not want to do… I could not disobey an order," his smile flickered almost imperceptibly. Dulled.

"An order?.." My voice became colder. Much colder. With such a tone, even ice in the caldera of a volcano thinks twice before melting.

"Unfortunately… I cannot speak of such things. I think you understand…"

Of course, I understand. A contract. Another fucking deal, as usual, written in blood, evil fonts, and preferably, with an ornament of human intestines. I was sure his contract was with Lilith, but… apparently, this bastard serves several "broadcasting stations" at once.

"And you can't say who you have a contract with either?" I ask, already almost languidly, simultaneously considering whether to burn out his brains.

"You're much smarter than I thought, Adam," he smirked. At that moment, red symbols danced around him. Pulsating, writhing, vaguely familiar. But still… familiar. Loa. Damn spirits.

"Understood… Well, thanks for telling me, little fawn," I turned, preparing to return to the hotel. Charlie must be on the verge of hysterics by now, and Vaggie is probably already flying with spear in hand to "prevent" murder. I should calm them down.

"…I didn't accept your challenge just for kicks."

"What, sorry?" I freeze, not turning around.

"I didn't get into this pointless fight just for kicks. I showed you what a simple sinner who sold his soul to them can achieve. Now think… what power can demons reach? Goetia. The Deadly Sins. If even I could do this... I hope I didn't risk it all for nothing."

I slowly turn around. Look at him – broken, but still smiling. And in that smile… not so much a challenge, as a warning, with a hint of hope. And when did I start understanding people's feelings from their smiles? What kind of ability is this?

"…Got it, Radio Demon. Rest up. Preferably in the safest place possible," I say, after which I dispel the light surrounding him. Alastor silently disappears into his own shadow, leaving behind a faint smell of burnt vinyl.

This… changed a lot.

Fucking Loa. What the hell are they even doing here? Why the hell are they giving out such power? His Darkness... its concentration almost reached that of my Light. Almost equal. If something like that falls into the hands of, say, Satan or Beelzebub – all of Heaven will have serious problems.

But who are they, these spirits? All ancient Gods are demons who used religion to gather human souls by the droves; I thought the Loa were too, but apparently, I was mistaken.

My thoughts get jumbled when I notice two familiar silhouettes running towards me. Charlie and Vaggie. My sweet, anxious girls.

"Hey, girls, don't panic. The radio enthusiast is gone, but he's okay. Just buggered off for maintenance. Patch up a couple of microchips, the usual stuff."

Boom.

A crash. Behind me – someone landed. Softly, but sharply. I turn around. Recognize the silhouette at first glance.

Lucifer.

In a suit. Stylish. Even dust doesn't settle on his shoes – ashamed to spoil the appearance of the local kingpin, apparently.

He looks at me with an expression that says: "Dad's home, and you threw a party?"

"So what the fuck are you doing here, Adam?"