Angel or Demon

(Prologue) Purgatory and Heaven

The trail of the forest continues to become thinner and thinner, as the Radio Host continues to move along down the path with no actual means of stopping. He just wanted to continue walking until he could find a spot that would be perfect for his next victim. Yes, he was a killer, but a killer with a deep vision that many could neither agree or disagree with.

He stood at the center of what would be morally correct. He killed to save. He killed to protect. He killed to make sure that the number of victims would lessen. Every name marked on his list carried traits similar to the other. Abusers, predators, other murderers, thieves, and even cult leaders looking to use human sacrifice in their rituals. You name them, he'd take care of them. And while many in the surrounding communities were grateful for his deeds, there were always those who questioned if his methods were truly something to praise. Becoming a killer, meant that he was no different from the people he had killed. Perhaps, that is why he never carried himself with high confidence like others would believe. Oh no, not him. In fact, he would fight with himself everyday over his moral cues. Should he or should he not?

Is it right?

Is it wrong?

Am I doing good?

Am I doing bad?

Am I delivering justice?

Over and over again he would question himself, and whenever he would look to the picture of his mother he would find himself wondering, if he had only killed that man on the night she died, then maybe just maybe he could have saved her. Unfortunately, that could never happen as his father was taken away before he could do any more damage to the corpse or to his son.

He could never forget that day. The day he saw the face of his mother covered in blood, and surrounded by nothing but glass. A gut-wrenching scene that would forever torment his dreams. Ever since that day, he took a vow to never let someone end up like they did. He would rid the world of the filthiest of people no matter what.

Little did he know that this simple walk through the forest trail would end his reign of uncertainty for good.

As he walked, he made no vocal sounds and made sure that his breathing was lax. Then all of a sudden it hits him.

A single shot is all it takes.

Barely able to form any kind of response his eyes cross up to the bullet hole in his head, as his body fell forward. It was as if time had stopped, and he was viewing the world with what little bit of life he had left. By the time his body hits the ground, he's still able to see what is infront of him. His body isn't able to feel anything, but his head was feeling everything.

And just like that in just a few moments later, the sounds of canines arrive as their sharp eyes and large fangs tear through his flesh, gnawing on him to the bone.

In this moment, he's gone. His soul has passed, but he doesn't appear to go anywhere just yet. Instead he is able to observe the hunter as he discovers his body.

'Ah, well ol'chap you really were always bad at hunting during the season I'm afraid. Look at what you've done now. But I suppose it's fine.'

He waits and waits by his own corpse that was barely recognizable anymore and just appeared to be a pile of mush. He watches as the authorities arrive to check the scene and identify him based on the contents in his wallet. They found his little notebook for his radio show, and his own little assortment of notes. With this they are able to identify him as the famous radio show host, Alastor.

'Yes, it is me. Although I'm unable to be recognized anymore which is honestly fairly sad. Either way, I've left quite the legacy behind hm?'

But before he could finish another thought, his soul is suddenly pulled away from the earthly realm. Believing that he could be making his way to Hell, he prepares to smell the ash and smoke, the grime and brimstone, the burning of the flesh and rustic colors of blood—he was ready for it all to him him. And yet it doesn't.