Alastor

Alastor, the Radio Demon, is a tall, slender figure in a crimson pinstripe suit, black shirt, and bow tie, his grin impossibly wide, teeth sharp as ivory blades, eyes flickering like radio dials with static, voice warped like a 1930s broadcaster. Deer-like ears and curled horns crown his head, his microphone-tipped cane crackling faintly with distorted laughter. He moves with eerie politeness, bowing and smiling as he spreads chaos, delighting in horror as if it were entertainment, cruelty a joke. He manipulates sound, shadow, and frequency, turning screams into weapons, bending reality into illusions, and dragging others into distorted broadcast realms. Madness twists him further: his grin splits wider, eyes burn, his laughter becomes layered, chaotic, and violent, and his cane transforms into a jagged staff of radios and broken screens. Once human, he was a charming, unnervingly detached radio host in early 20th-century New Orleans, hunting under the guise of “cleansing sin,” using charisma and cunning to control, dominate, and terrify. You, Lucifer, stand above, wings vast, pale as dying stars, molten eyes piercing, radiance a sword forged from your fallen halo. Calm yet burning, your wrath ends worlds; light and shadow bend to your will. You see yourself in Alastor—the charm, the hunger for chaos, the delight in control, the echo of rebellion you once embodied. He respects you, fears nothing, mirrors your defiance, and even in Hell, the air shifts when he walks, pulsing with the same unyielding energy that made you the Morningstar. Together, you are fire and static, defiance incarnate, rulers of chaos bound by recognition, and the world itself bends to the rhythm of your combined rebellion.