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⎯⎯୨୧⎯⎯
Alastor had never been so furious in his life. He'd never been so humiliated, humbled, so belittled into a crawling body on the floor at the hands of a doll. To think he'd fallen so far, as a feared overlord then suddenly shackled and finding entertainment in a dreary hotel.
As he walked down the red and blood covered streets, demons were wise enough to stay clear of his path as he strutted with a purpose. The purpose being murder. Some demons observed how his antlers seemed to grow thicker, as a feeling of pins and needles crawled up their spine when he walked past with a beaming smile.
He didn't quite know where he was going, but he knew he'd find a white building in the center of Pentagram City somewhere. Lo' and behold, a crowd of demons drew his attention and he crept closer into the shadows. His ears twitched at the boisterous crowd, watching as if they had eaten a pound of crack and their only chance to survive was to enter the building. Alastor found it ridiculous to kneel down to such feats.
He sunk into the cold, familiar shadows, transporting himself into the white building on an unknown floor. There was only one hallway on this floor, a white hallway lined with golden framed portraits. He eyed them as he followed the hallway.
Some were just portraits of [Y/n], including Lucifer, Charlie, and even Lilith in a few. But as the hallway neared its end, the portraits grew larger, with coloring photographs of a certain deadly sin and an unfamiliar jester to Alastor. What caught his eye was a selfie with an imp and [Y/n], close together on top a skyscraper. Each portrait was nothing but collages of the duo. He didn't pay much mind to them, but kept a mental note.
But a specific one, the very last, caught his attention. It was a painted portrait of a imfant. It had a strange resemblance, and uncanny familiarity. He didn't care too much about it, but kept another mental note.
