4chan Hazbin Hotel story - Alastor meet Blitzo

from /hhg/ Hazbin Hotel general #467, #470 and #489
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>The one on top has the same color scheme as Alastor...
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>hm, yeah. maybe blitzo has seen Alastor before
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>I think Blitzo may have seen Alastor before when he was younger. If you look at the posters in the pilot, Blitzo used to work at a circus before forming IMP.
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>Isn't there one bit in his intro sequence, when Vaggie is recounting what he did when he first manifested in Hell, that sort of looks like a circus tent?
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>Again here, this looks like a circus poster.
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>Now look at what Alastor is destroying, it looks awfully close to a circus tent.
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>Shit that's exactly what I was thinking of in
>So maybe
>Blitzo is a survivor of Alastor's initial rampage through Hell
>It's part of the reason he's so disdainful of humans/sinners, he's seen the full extent of how rotten they can be
>As far as he's concerned, all his targets are potential Alastors just waiting to show up in Hell and wreck shit, may as well kill them now before they can get any more evil and start getting god powers
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>I like it, although it contradicts with him trying to save a child in the pilot.
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>holy shit, this is good
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>Good Thinking.
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>Thinking about it more, the circus Blitzo was in could also have been run by a sinner, not a hellborn demon, since Vaggie specifies that it was "overlords" who were getting taken down, and the native demons seem to have a stricter, more traditional hierarchy than the sinners who just start trying to off each other right after the annual cleanse to their neighbor's land. Alastor may have inadvertently freed Blitzo from some shitty arrangement he had with an older sinner. Basically just trading one villain for another.
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>Whatever the case may be, he looks like he repressed the memory of it.
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>Based on Moxxie's behavior in episode one, trying to save the little shit kid may have been more of his thing than Blitzo's. Blitzo may have felt a little bit bad that his mission "accidentally" snuffed out a child, since even he just operates under the assumption that children probably don't deserve to die, but Moxxie was probably the one who pushed for them to take him to the hospital, just as he was the one who wanted to call the cops on Martha's family rather than just blow their brains out even after he realized they were sadistic cannibals worshiping a made-up eldritch entity.
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>Alastor licked the blood from his new claws
>The people down here in hell were at least as tasty as those he'd devoured on earth
>And with a newly-minted maw full of proper predator's teeth to compliment his claws, he didn't even have to trouble himself with butchering his victims
>He could simply tear into them and feast at his leisure, no knife required

>Sated

>For the moment at least

>He dropped the remains of his latest meal down into the pool of blood his ravenous gnawing had caused to pool on the floor

>He regarded the corpse with disdain as the crimson began to soak into their clothing
>This was what passed for an "Overlord" here in Hell?
>This limp-wristed ninny controlled blocks and blocks of the city and hundreds of underlings like some tin-pot-dictator-strongman-wannabe-king?
>How embarrassing
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>He left the money and weaponry and drugs and whatnot where they were
>He hadn't come to seize this boor's empire, only to dismantle it
>He had little use for any of this junk
>He'd just been hungry, and in a bit of a bad mood on account of his empty stomach, and their classless, obnoxious behavior had really irked him, and so he'd decided they had to be done away with

>Strolling out of the ruined building, he stopped in the middle of the street to look around
>Most of the other sinners had fled once they realized his destruction of the local strongman was going to be more than a fireworks show
>A few still lingered, paralyzed by what they had seen, but he ignored them
>He wasn't hungry anymore, and most of them didn't look terribly appetizing anyway
>He picked a random direction and began a walk
>There had to be something more to entertain him, somewhere around here
>At least he hoped so
>He got bored easily.
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>The Wendigo turned his head as he passed a wall covered in flyers
>Most of them were of little interest
>Live sex shows
>Hallucinogens and cocaine being sold at a discount
>Slave labor
>Electronic devices that he had no idea the purpose of
>But there was one that caught his eye

>An advertisement for a circus
>It looked just like the ones he'd gone to when he was alive
>"Double-death defying stunts!"
>"Featuring the Incredible Imp Siblings!"
>"THE GREATEST SHOW IN HELL!"

>Well, that last one wouldn't do
>Now that he was here, HE was the greatest showman in Hell
>But of course, he'd have to prove it
>He'd go to see this spectacle
>He'd take a gander at this "Amazing Blitzo"
>But once the ringmaster had gotten his paltry drabbling out of his system...

>He'd give the audience a REAL show

>Ha

>Ha

>HA
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>Blitzo ran
>No particular destination in mind
>But he had to keep moving
>If he kept moving, he might have a slim chance
>But sitting still was a guarantee of death
>It wasn't the fact that the Big Top was on fire, those were just common flames, no threat to a hellborn demon like himself

>No, it was that sinner who was the real threat
>That "Alastor"
>He had no idea why the lanky, cervine demon had chosen to lay waste to this circus instead of anything else in this part of Pentagram City
>But he did know that beyond an ability to shift and teleport to quickly seize his prey
>And a set of teeth that would make a shark jealous with which to devour his victims
>He seemed to have powers that were far beyond the overlord who had owned Blitzo's soul for who knew how long
>All around him, pits opened up from arcane circles seemingly at random, inky black tentacles erupting forth to ensnare demons seemingly at random and crush them to pulp or slam them to the ground with bone-shattering force
>Shadowy creatures with faces like crude voodoo dolls leapt in and out of existence, feeding on the circus goers with at least as much gusto as their master

>Worst of all, the sinner wasn't angry
>Wasn't vengeful
>Wasn't greedy
>He seemed to have no rational motivation for the slaughter at all
>He was just having fun, and no one could stop him
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>"Alastor" carried a cane with him as he strolled merrily through the maelstrom of chaos
>It was crowned with a microphone that he spoke into when he wasn't disemboweling passersby
>He described the chaos he was the central locus of with glee and excitement, in terms as if he was announcing a game of baseball or a horse race
>The microphone spoke back, offering color commentary, setting him up for jokes, even offering providing a laugh track and other whacky sound effects as he butchered demons at random in the flaming tent.
>Blitzo had no idea if the microphone was actually broadcasting anything, anywhere, but he had no inclination to ask.
>The only question he had on his mind beyond how he would survive this was about his sisters
>He didn't know where they were
>They'd been separated quickly once Alastor had made his "grand entrance"
>He hoped they were safe
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>As he made for an exit, an oily, unnatural shadow slithered across the ground, darting between his legs and settling into his path
>He had just enough time to feel more fear than he'd ever felt grip his heart, before Alastor rose up before him
>He stumbled and skittered to a halt on the blood-soaked earthen floor of the big top, but the sinner had already grabbed him by the neck with a long, spidery claw before he could turn and flee
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>Alastor pulled Blitzo in close, close enough that even through the reek of smoke coming off the burning tent, he could smell him
>Sharp
>Metallic
>Like a light bulb filament or vacuum tube with too many watts running through it
>Like overheated electronics
>He spoke, through a clownish smile, and his breath, thick with the scent of blood and licorice, washed over him

>"Well well well~"
>"Looks like it's our lucky day folks!"
>"You may or may not believe this, but I've managed to rope in none other than the headliner, The Amazing Blitzo himself, for an interview!"
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>Alastor shifted his grip, hooking his arm around Blitzo's shoulder as if they were old friends
>He held the microphone up to his mouth and spoke again

>"Well now, Blitzo"
>"Oh, is that how you pronounce it?"
>"Blitzo?"

>The terrified imp had no idea how to answer such a mundane question in such a horrific situation
>Other than with the truth

>"Th-the O is silent..."

>Alastor cackled like a lunatic

>"Ah of course of course!"
>"I should've known!"
>"I'm sure I've seen that funny little way of writing an O before, but for the life of me I couldn't recall what it meant!"

>Alastor leaned in closer
>He thrust the microphone uncomfortably close to Blitzo's terrified face

>"Well then, BLITZ, maybe you'll have better luck with today's game than the previous contestants"
>"Maybe you can answer the million dollar question"
>"The question on everyone's minds"
>"THE QUESTION EVERYONE IS ASKING, AM I RIGHT FOLKS?"

>The microphone began to emit the sounds of an audience cheering and clapping enthusiastically
>With it only inches from his face, Blitzo realized it had an eye, and it was staring at him, unfeeling

>"So tell me Blitz, are you ready to play?"
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>Blitzo knew full well that he didn't actually have a choice
>So he nodded with as much enthusiasm as he could summon in his fearful state
>He knew from his experiences with The Ringmaster and his friends that simply playing the role a lunatic expected of you in their fantasy rather than trying to escape it was often the least painful option

>"Huzzah!"
>"Finally!"
>"A sporting fellow!"

>The crimson-tinted sinner huddled in even closer, and fixed the imp with a strangely conspiratorial look, as if the both of them were in on the same joke

>"Well then, Blitz"
>"For a thousand and one points"
>"For the grand prize"
>"All the marbles"
>"The girl, the gold watch, and everything"
>"Tell me..."

>"Where is that talentless hack of a ringmaster of yours hiding?"
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>Blitzo was in shock for a moment
>That's what he wanted?
>Alastor wasn't interested in him?
>He was after his boss instead?

>For one moment, he was relieved

>In the next, he felt something cold and vindictive reach up from the pit of his stomach and wrap itself around his heart
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>Blitzo thought back to all his time performing for The Ringmaster
>He thought of all the times he'd been worked to the point of collapsing from exhaustion
>He thought of the times all he had to show for his work was a paltry plate of miserable, tasteless food because "Tonight's take wasn't very good. I guess the audience wasn't impressed with your performance."
>He thought of those evenings when he'd be called upon for a "private performance" with The Ringmaster and some of his so-called "potential investors"
>He gritted his teeth

>Then he smiled

>And put on a lousy impression of the sinner in whose grip he found him-self's corny accent

>"WELL OLD CHUM..."
>"Therein lies the rub, as they say!"
>"I'm afraid I can't tell you exactly where my illustrious employer is!"
>"BUT"
>"I can give you a short list of the places he's mostly likely to be at such a trying moment as this!"
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>Blitzo reached up to pull the microphone as close as he could to his lips as Alastor smiled even wider
>He began to rattle off all the places that his boss might have gone to escape the invader's gleeful destruction
>Where his dressing room was
>Where he took his meals
>Where he slept
>All the private entrances to every attraction at the circus that he used as part of his performances

>A hateful sort of happiness welled up in him as he sealed his master's fate
>The Ringmaster was a monstrous sinner
>Alastor was a monstrous sinner
>They both made even the nastiest hellborn prince look merciful and even-handed by comparison
>They deserved each other
>The two monsters could go right ahead and tear each other to pieces
>Fuck the both of them

>Fuck mortal sinners
>Fuck mortal souls in general
>Fuck humans
>Fuck the people who made them
>Fuck the people who decided that Hell was where the worst of them should end up after they died

>He had a slight hope that Alastor would triumph over The Ringmaster
>He had a personal beef with the latter, while Alastor was presently nothing more than a blood-soaked monstrosity that hadn't hurt him directly just yet
>But really, so long as the two vile examples of all the nasty muck that could well up in one of Heaven's precious fucking creations hurt each other as badly as possible, he'd be happy
>Fuck the both of them
>He was getting out of here
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>Alastor let go of the little...devil? Demon? Imp?
>He still wasn't sure of the proper name for everything down here in Hell
>But he could learn all that later
>Right now, he had an all-flash, no-substance spotlight hog to disembowel, and his audience wouldn't wait much longer to hear their screams
>He sent a tentacle racing up from the ground beside him to swat away a broad sheet of burning canvas falling down from the roof of the tent as he walked off toward where The Amazing Blitz had said his newest prize might be hiding
>He wanted to look sharp-

>Haha

>SHARP

>For the kill, and having ashes all over his nice scarlet suit wouldn't do
>He was vaguely aware of the subject of his latest interview skittering away through the flames, but he strongly suspected he had little to fear from them
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>The Ringmaster stumbled as they ran through the flaming remnants of their circus
>The loss of momentum stirred even more panic in them
>Panting and sweating, they righted themselves as quickly as they could and willed their exhausted legs to run even faster
>They had to get out of here
>They had to get as far away as possible
>That new arrival
>That "Radio Demon"
>Was a menace beyond measure
>They had no idea why he'd taken interest in them
>No idea what he wanted
>But they knew he had nothing but ill intent on his mind

>They rounded a corner and froze
>A tall, emaciated figure stood there
>Even backlit by the flames engulfing everything, they could still see a sickly, yellow smile curled up beneath a set of crimson eyes that glowed like the dials on a radio set
>A pall of heavy static settled in around them, quickly becoming so thick that it drowned out the crackle and pop of burning timber and cloth

>The Ringmaster sent forth the paltry few battle spells they still had the energy for
>All were swatted away in an instant
>They took a step back, and began to beg, as the gaunt, red-clad figure drew closer
>They offered money
>They offered connections
>They offered sexual favors
>The Radio Demon didn't respond

>He planted his cane in the ground, facing the microphone so that it could best pick up everything that was about to happen

>Then he began to feast
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>The bell attached to the door clattered as Blitzo pushed it open
>The demon standing at the counter of the diner glared at him as he tracked bloodied mud over his floor, but said nothing
>It was a saturday night, this kind of shit was bound to happen sooner or later

>Although it was well past dinner time, Blitzo didn't have to look too far through the menu to decide that he wanted a stack of pancakes
>Pancakes were a comfy, happy food
>He needed some comfort right now
>He still didn't know where Barbie and Tilla were
>He didn't know what he was going to do next
>But at least he hadn't been erased

>Stabbing his fork down through a pile of nicely browned, fluffy, butter and syrup-soaked disks of batter, he took note of the radio sitting on the far side of the counter
>He reached over and dragged it to him
>Ignoring the continued glares of the proprietor, he turned it on, cranked the volume, and began to fuss with the knob
>Traffic, sports, weather...things he couldn't care less about right now
>He had to wonder if the chatty, one-eyed microphone that topped The Radio Demon's cane was anything more than a showpiece, a little sidedish to the sinner's blatant insanity
>Then he hit just the right frequency, and the familiar sounds of mayhem began to come through clear as day
>He heard a familiar voice letting out screams, and pleas for mercy, along with the sickeningly wet sounds of flesh being separated from bone, mixed with up-tempo, easy-listening jazz and strange whispers from an unknown source
>He heard another voice with a dorky, fake, made-up accent from some lousy frost-bitten part of the living world jabbering on and on as if he were narrating to his listeners how to break down a chicken for roasting

>He stuffed another bundle of butter, syrup, and overmixed batter, four layers thick, into his mouth
>He smiled with macabre satisfaction
>At the very least, someone had gotten what was coming to them this night
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>Blitzo scraped his fork over his plate to collect the last bits of the ugly brown paste of crumbs and syrup that had accumulated on it as a side effect of his meal proper
>The radio was now playing a steady drone of ragtime
>The Ringmaster had met their end some time ago, at the hands of the newly arrived Radio Demon
>A bigger, meaner monster had clawed his way down from the mortal realm and eaten the smaller monster

>Good

>Fucking

>Riddance

>The imp frowned to himself, in spite of the sweet, mushy puree gracing his mouth
>There were so many humans up there
>So, so many of them
>All of them as potentially wicked as his old boss or any number of other overlords
>If this Alastor fellow was anything to go by, they were growing more and more evil with every year
>More and more powerful
>More and more insane
>And thereby, ever more able to drown Hell in bloody horror for no other reason than their own kooky, crazy, slapstick whims

>And worse yet, he was out of a job
>Flipping about and contorting himself on a street corner for pocket change wouldn't be able to feed him and keep a roof over his head at the same time for very long
>He needed something more lucrative

>Hmmmm....

>If only he could find a way to cover both bases at once....

>Hmmm hmmm hmmmmmmm...

>It might take a few decades, and if he couldn't find his sisters, he'd need someone else as staff, but he'd come up with something
>He'd kill two gargoyles with one stone
>He'd take out humans before they ever got wicked enough to be a real threat to hell
>If they were already damned, at least it would be a lesser damnation, and they'd be nothing but another weirdo staggering through the streets of the pentagram in a haze of impotent sex and drugs and rage and hypocrisy
>If they weren't, they'd go to Heaven. Good for them
>And at the same time, he'd be lining his pockets. Good for him.
>It would be a fine business venture, he was sure.

END