Adult-FanFiction.org : Cartoons

The Contract	By : Turkaholic Category: -Misc Cartoons > Slash - Male/Male Views: 262 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Hazbin Hotel or Helluva Boss. I do not make any money from this story

Chapter List
- 12
- 13
- 14
Note: Second longest chapter so far incoming.
Corah was just meant to be handy, but I actually think her design is kind of cool, so she may be back at some point.
It took me ages to work my way through this one. Fingers crossed it's not terrible.
Comments are always appreciated, so thanks for continuing to feed my inbox <3

Chapter 12

Dempsey’s and the area surrounding it hadn’t changed in the past seven years. It had been quite a shock to the system when Alastor had arrived on that morning seven days ago, to see things as perfectly preserved as if nothing had changed; as if he’d never been away at all.
He had expected such a long time under the Vees to have drained the area of all its charm; expected Vox in his infinite stupidity to have ripped it all down and built something tacky, tasteless and unbearably modern in its place, but actually the only signs that time had passed at all were the presence of a few cameras, a few Voxtek billboards, and a walled off warehouse that stood half a block down Main Street from the red curtained, pink-painted walls of Dempsey’s restaurant.
Under other circumstances Alastor would have been more curious about Vox’s lack of development, but for eight days he had made a concentrated effort not to even let the pathetic little picture box enter his mind. It seemed safer that way.
It had been eight days since he’d signed the deal with Vox; an entire week since he’d sent Husker out on his errand. Husk had come back late that evening, tired and irritable as ever, and bearing a message that Corah would meet him here today. The wait had been almost intolerable. He’d spent the week falling into an ever more volatile mood, avoiding the other inhabitants of the hotel and contemplating in his radio tower. He’d even stopped taking his traditional nightcap, and so hadn’t been sleeping as well as he normally did. Whenever he had needed to leave, he found he’d become even more aware and irritated by every camera and drone that passed by.That gnawing desire to seek out some kind of relief; to have everything taken away from him – if even just for a moment – seemed to pull at him harder every time a camera twitched in his direction.
The Radio Demon sat in the private booth on the mezzanine floor above the main restaurant, idly examining one of the now slightly stale sandwiches as he listened to the soft clink of Rosie stirring sugar into her tea. Rosie, he knew, could handle his irritable mood, but actually her presence had at least temporarily brought him out of his brooding. She had a charm that Alastor had always found impossible to ignore.
Below them a jazz quartet were setting up for the evening rush of customers on the same old corner stage; tuning up the same slightly shabby upright piano that Alastor had once enjoyed playing after a few drinks. But that had been nearly a decade ago, before he’d been away; before his existence had become so horrendously complicated.
“You know, I still can’t believe Vox really gave you this place back!” Rosie gently raised the teacup, holding it in between her bony fingers as her face broke into an excited smile. “This side of town just ain’t been the same without a little of your chutzpah to liven things up.”
Alastor raised his eyes from the plate of sandwiches and forced a contented smile onto his face, ignoring the unwelcome name drop.
“Well, I must admit this place does still hold it’s charm.” He agreed with a sigh, taking a look around at the slightly peeling wallpaper. “Much like yourself, my dear Rosie. It’s a welcome bonus to be a stone’s throw away from the most delightful Overlord in Hell again.”
Rosie beamed, her pointed teeth shining in the low light of the restaurant. She put down the teacup quickly and raised her hands to cover the pink spots appearing on her white cheeks.
“Alastor, you always were such a charmer! Oh now, look at me, you got me blushin’”
The smile on the Radio Demon’s face grew more sincere at the look of pleasure on the other Overlord’s face.
“I’m so glad that meetin’ worked out so well for you! Yaknow at first, I was a little worried leavin’ you two boys alone, but…”
Alastor’s ear twitched subconsciously and turned to gaze down over the railings at the Jazz band. Rosie trailed off, the excited light in her eyes dimming.
“...I guess things still haven’t changed in that department, huh?” she said softly as Alastor resolutely continued watching the stage. Her face melted into a sympathetic frown.
“You seem to forget, I wasn’t the one who ruined it.” he said quickly, his tone almost a little too casual. “And I have far better things to occupy my time with.”
Rosie watched the side of his face, contemplating. “...I know... I just wish you two could-”
The Radio Demon suddenly swivelled back towards her. He leaned over, picked up a sandwich and smiled at her, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
“Do you remember the last night we were here?”
Rosie blinked, completely nonplussed by the change of topic. She took a second to register his expression, then slowly brought her features back up into a smile and leaned conspiratorially across the table.
“Oh, how could I forget? That band -”
“And that truly appalling trumpeter who completely butchered the Dippermouth Blues?”
“And you and Mimzy went to town on the poor guy after the show?” she chuckled, “That was quite the sight! You know, it took ‘em a week to redecorate this place after that?”
Alastor allowed himself a small throaty laugh and propped his legs casually up on the railing beside him, tilting his head in mock innocence. He took a bite of the sandwich and waved it in the air as he spoke. “Well one simply doesn’t trifle with Jazz, my dear. Mimzy and I have at least always agreed on that.”
“She talkin’ to you yet?”
“No, not at all. For some strange reason she took deep offence when I told her to get out of my hotel!”
Rosie raised an eyebrow. “Gee, I wonder why anyone would take offence at that?”
“I know! Dear Mimzy… so unreasonable.”
“Oh she’ll come around. You know she can’t stay mad at you for long!”
Dusk was beginning to settle on the Pride Ring. The sky outside had slipped from bright bloody red to a sickly maroon, and customers were starting to waft in from the street. Occasionally one or two would take a brief glance up at the two cannibal Overlords looming over them and immediately spin back towards the exit. Rosie sighed wistfully.
“What swell days those were though, huh? You, me, and Mim, cuttin’ a rug -”
“And quite a few other things, too.” purred Alastor, then broke into slightly manic laughter. Some of the demons seated below stopped talking and shot nervous glances up towards the booted feet kicking gleefully over the railings. Rosie watched him fondly and waited for the laughter to run its course.
“Hard to believe it’s been over seven years… but now -” She smiled widely, her voice constricting with excitement. “Yaknow, one of my regulars died in the fight at the hotel? Wonderful man, so sweet, but he had just the most adorable little bachelor pad a block or two into my territory. It’d be perfect for a certain other bachelor lookin’ for a place of his own. You know you’re always welcome in Cannibal Town my darling.”
Alastor stared into the glinting black, smiling eyes of the other Overlord for a moment. “I’m afraid I’ll have to pass.” he said eventually, almost reluctantly, “My main interest at the moment lies with the Hotel, and our dear Charlie is so very good at drawing… unwanted attention.”
“Such a sweetie pie though.”
“She has her moments.” he said with a slow incline of his head.
Rosie leaned on the table, her chin in the palm of her hand and a wistful smile on her face. “In any case, you know the offer’s always open.”
Alastor’s smile warmed, tilting upwards at the edges. He rested his cane across his dangling legs and stretched out until he was sitting lengthwise across the booth. “Duly noted, and deeply appreciated Rosie, my dear. One can always rely on you to make a demon feel at home.”
The band began to play in earnest as they sat together in silence. The noise level in the restaurant was rising swiftly, more and more demons pouring through the double doors as the light outside fell. Rosie’s face glimmered bloody red from the dying light seeping through the thick red drapes. Alastor began to tap his fingers across the top of his cane to the syncopated beat of the music, eyes closed, trying to empty his mind of the agitation now beginning to rise in spite of Rosie’s presence. If Corah wasn’t coming after making him wait this long; if she’d lied to him, there would be severe consequences.
It was another three songs from the band below before Alastor’s ears swivelled like satellite dishes towards the entrance. He felt himself tense, his stomach tightening just a fraction. He’d been half listening for a particular sound all afternoon, and now he’d finally heard it.
The rustle of Rosie’s long bustled dress indicated that she’d noticed something, too. She sat up and leaned over the railing.
“Sweetie…”
“I know.” He replied in his sing-song voice, eyes still closed. There was a shift in energy from the floor below. The general chatter had shifted into disapproving mutters, and through all of it Alastor could hear the soft, steady drip of water moving through the restaurant. In spite of his agitation, he couldn’t help but let his lip twitch up in a cold smirk at the effect.
Rosie grimaced, still leaning over the railing and following the source of the disturbance with her coal-like eyes. “Really, ya had to have a meetin’ with her in a place like this?” Alastor let out a low chuckle and slowly rose back up in his seat, finally opening his eyes with a wicked smile.
“Why Rosie, don’t tell me you have something against the poor woman?”
Rosie swatted a hand in front of her defensively. “Oh of course not! it’s just… well…”
“...entertaining?” suggested the Radio Demon.
“Eh... I was gonna go with messy.”
The sound of dripping water was growing closer now. There was the soft thud of footsteps ascending the spiral staircase up to the booth and a steadily growing tang of salt in the air. Rosie bit her lip, taking a slow examination of Alastor’s expression; his physicality.
“Want me to stick around?” she asked tentatively. Alastor’s smile faltered a little but he picked up his cane, twirled it and slid his legs back down from the railing with an air of supreme confidence.
“Oh no dear! I wouldn’t want to intrude upon your ever busy schedule. I and Corah have always had an excellent working relationship. I’ll be perfectly fine!”
“… OK hun.” she conceded as the Radio Demon continued to smile, wide-eyed and determined into her face. She retrieved her hat and umbrella from the seat next to her and stood up. “But you know where I am if ya need me, and-”
“Ahem.”
Both demons turned their heads towards the figure that had paused at the entrance to the booth. Rosie mustered a polite - if slightly strained - smile.
A slowly widening pool of water was seeping into the exposed floorboards of the mezzanine, droplets breaking the surface continuously as they dripped from a mane of rotted seaweed that tumbled around Corah’s blue-grey, barnacle-encrusted face. She rested a wrinkled and webbed hand on the edge of the table and more water began to bleed very slowly from her pores, forming a perfect, shining handprint on the varnished wood.
“Apologies. Looks like I’ve intruded upon quite the heady meeting.” Her voice was soft and low; barely audible above the once again rising talk below. Despite her time in Hell it still held strongly to its Irish lilt. “I could wait below if you have business?”
Rosie lifted her skirt from the floor as the pool of seawater spread about her feet.
“Oh don’t worry about me, darling, I was about to head out anyway.” she said, and fixed the wide brimmed hat back atop her head. Corah inclined her head solemnly as Rosie bustled past, giving the bounty hunter as wide a berth as was polite in order to avoid the constantly dripping water, and rounded the table towards the Radio Demon. Alastor reached up a hand regally and she took it between both of hers. “Now you come see your old pal Rosie soon, huh? Cannibal Town never shines as bright without that dazzlin’ smile of yours.”
Alastor flashed her a brilliant, yellow smile as a farewell, patted his other hand delicately on top of hers, and then she slipped away, once more holding her skirt off the ground as she tiptoed gracefully around the trail of water left behind in Corah’s wake.
Alastor watched her until the very tip of the feathers in her hat disappeared down the stairs. He knew that Corah’s one good eye was trained on him, waiting for an invitation to sit, but the further Rosie’s energy drifted away from him, the more the agitation of the last week was settling back onto him. His face darkened slowly, the fingers curling, eyes narrowing at the empty staircase as below them the band played on.
Corah shifted her weight. Beneath the tattered, tooth-torn flesh of her torso, within the exposed ribcage something spectral white and transparent slithered. A withered, suckered tentacle oozed between two strips of bone and curled agitatedly up her waistcoat.
Eventually Alastor heard her sigh.
“Mind if I-”
“You’re late.” He hissed darkly, exposing his teeth. Corah removed her hand from the table and peeled the creeping tentacle from her chest, shoving it back between her ribs.
“That’s untrue. I said today. I told your fella.”
Alastor picked up the teacup in front of him and slowly swirled the now tepid dregs around the bottom of the cup. Eventually he looked up, red eyes locking with the single dull green. “You should know better than to keep me waiting, Corah. Even my... immense patience has its limits.”
“...I’ve no doubt of that, Alastor. But we’ve been dancing this dance for a long time. I thought I’d save us a few steps in the jig and do the job before we took the meeting.”
Alastor’s eyes flickered across her sombre face as though looking for some silent answer, then tilted his head towards the seat Rosie had vacated moments before. Corah slid into the booth and sat herself carefully on the edge of the seat.
“Can I get the waiters to fetch you anything?” Alastor said in a dangerously soft voice. “Food, drink… a towel?”
The bounty hunter’s eye twitched. “Funny. Glad to know your mysterious time away hasn’t dulled your sense of humour.”
There was a strange squelching sound from inside Corah’s ribcage and another ghastly white tentacle flopped out onto the table, reaching for the plate of sandwiches. Alastor stared at it, distracted, and then used the tip of his cane to slide the sandwiches slowly away from the reaching arm, examining it as it tried to follow.
“Oh, one doesn’t reach the dizzying heights of celebrity that I have without knowing the value of a little comedy.” He said after a moment. “So. I trust you’re here with good news at last?”
“Alastor…” The Radio Demon raised his eyes from the writhing mass on the table at the sudden use of his name, eyes narrowing again. “Every few years you send me out on this job, and every time the answer’s always the same. I’ve spent the last week scouring the whole of Pride for any sign of what you’re after, but there’s just… nothing.”
There was a brief pause in which the only noises in the booth were the slow drip of water and the soft, sticky sound of the slowly writhing tentacle. Alastor felt his insides freeze. He dug his fingernails into the wood.
“...What. Precisely. Do you mean ‘nothing'?” He growled through gritted teeth. He had waited a week for this meeting, all the while feeling the frustration building like a maelstrom. The fire in his eyes gave a small flicker, any semblance of amusement in his smile fading away.
Corah spread her hands out on the table, placating. “I mean nothing. No records, no witnesses, no sign that this lad ever even set foot in Hell.”
Alastor stood up, pushing the booth back with an ear-splitting screech and slamming his hands onto the table. The tentacle recoiled.
“That’s impossible.” He growled. All this time waiting, for this. His ears had descended into a wide, angry V as the light around him started to dim. “He would have been sent here. The alternative is preposterous.”
Corah shrugged, though she, too, was digging her hands into the edge of the table, the eye a little wary at the Radio Demon’s loss of composure. “I can only tell you what I know – or rather don’t know. He might have changed his name – folk do down here.” She sighed and looked up at him beseechingly. “If you even had a photograph-”
“We couldn’t aff- I mean - there aren’t any photographs.” Alastor snapped, the snarl deepening at the slip of his tongue. The jazz band abruptly stopped playing as the lights in the restaurant flickered. “Aren’t you meant to be a bounty hunter? Isn’t tracking people down meant to be your speciality?”
Corah bristled at the professional slight. “An artist can’t work without paints, Alastor. You know I’ve tried – for nigh on fifty years I’ve tried. Calm down.”
“I’m perfectly calm.” The static was building in the Radio Demon’s voice now, the black antlers beginning to grow upwards. His burning eyes had flickered into radio dials. “When I’m upset, I can assure you my dear, you’ll know about it.”
Corah’s one working eye widened as the Radio Demon loomed over her, sensing the danger. She slid back on the chair, pressing herself against the booth.
“Ok, I understand. Look... as long as you’re paying, I’ll – I’ll keep looking.” She said swiftly, voice quaking. “But I can’t promise anything. You have to understand it’s possible this fella never came here, or met the sharp end of an Exterminator’s blade long ago.”
Alastor froze in place for a moment. The antlers slowly eased their ascent and the lights around the restaurant stabilised. His fingers dug harder into the surface of the table, but the shadow growing around him subsided as he stared into Corah’s face. He sat back down with a thud and dug his sharp teeth into his lip. Corah let out a long breath, her grey face relaxing.
“Then I suppose you should get out there and look.” His voice was constricted, forced into a would-be calm tone. “I don’t believe I pay you for dawdling.”
Taking the words as the dismissal they were, the bounty hunter stood up. There was a wet, slow sucking sound as the white tentacle tore away from the table. Alastor continued to snarl deeply at the empty space she left behind, lost in thought.
Corah was a few steps away from the stairs before she finally hesitated. She looked back over her shoulder frowning as though willing herself to speak, then finally thought better of it and merely sighed.
“I thank you for your continued patronage.” she said matter-of-factly. Alastor continued to stare hatefully into the empty booth, hunched forward. The band struck up again, the sounds of customers downstairs rose once more, and Corah’s wet, dripping footsteps descended the spiral staircase, and then were gone.
The Radio Demon sat alone in his private booth, hardly registering any noise except the angry rush of blood thundering through his ears. He raised a hand to his forehead. A week. He’d waited a week for absolutely nothing.
He couldn’t explain to himself why hearing those words out of Corah’s mouth this particular time had brought him so close to losing control. That wasn’t true, of course. In the back of his mind he had an explanation. One very good explanation.
He suddenly stood up, eyes wide and mouth fixed into a very slightly twitching smile. A moment later he was moving, faster than his normal slow and easy gait. He could feel a sudden, painful tightness rising in his chest, his heart still pounding desperately in his head as he descended the spiral staircase. The black tipped ears were slowly flattening back now and he was clutching tight to his cane, trying to hold on to the quickly fraying strands of self-composure, aware of the eyes of the diners following him. He slid through the kitchen door as quickly as he could, ignoring the looks of fear and shock on the faces of the staff and strode towards the back exit.
The alleyway at the back of Dempsey’s was empty. Night had begun to descend in earnest on the Pride Ring, the glowing pentagram hanging in the sky above casting long shadows across the crumbling brickwork, the spatters of old blood, the forgotten trash.
There was a crash as Alastor slammed the rear door of the kitchen behind him. A few unidentifiable creatures skittered away into shadow as the Radio Demon pressed his back into the door, spreading his palms across the cool, smooth metal surface. The sound echoed momentarily, and then silence fell crushingly back onto the abandoned alley.
The redheaded demon stayed there for a moment, almost hidden in the maroon shadow cast by the two storey building at his back. The only indication that he was even there were the two wide red eyes, staring straight ahead at the blank brick wall.
He leaned forward slowly, performed the usual perfunctory check for cameras in the alleyway, then rested his head back, raising both hands to his temples and digging his fingers in hard.
...How?
How could a man who had been dead for over a century still cause him to feel this – to feel anything?
How was it possible that the feared and powerful Radio Demon – a creature that had spent nearly his entire existence striving to maintain a polished veneer of control – could feel this way? Could feel so…
Powerless.
The red fingertips dug into flesh. Thin tendrils of crimson slid down Alastor’s face, melting into the shadows under his angular chin. His thoughts were spiralling into madness again.
He had been one of the most feared Overlords in Hell; souls at his command, the entire Pride Ring a playground for whatever whims took him.
Now he was shackled, chained. Bound to a puppeteer in a deal of his own making that he could see no way out of.
He had signed a deal with Vox, too, not aware of the door it might open in his mind; the maddening temptation it could present.
And now - he was being haunted by the memories of a man he’d tried to repress for a century, with no foreseeable resolution, no answers, just this… feeling.
Dealing with just the first one had been quite enough for Alastor, but the weight of all three…
This entire scenario was absurd.
It was ridiculous.
The dangerously wide smile at Alastor’s lips gave a twitch. A noise rose up unbidden in his throat.
And then another.
And then he began to laugh.
One of the Radio Demon’s hands slid down over his face as the laughter began to shake his chest, his entire body arching forwards as the noise grew louder, and louder, until the echoes in the alleyway formed a wailing, screeching cacophony of madness.
And he continued to laugh, until his throat felt bloody and his ribs burned, until tears began to run down his cheeks from his tightly closed eyes. A door squeaked open from a little further down the alleyway and a pair of red eyes peered curiously out onto the scene. Without even looking, one of Alastor’s tendrils lashed out from his back towards the disturbance. The eyes blinked back into darkness, and the door snapped shut just in time before the sinister black mass reached its target, slamming into the wood.
And still, Alastor laughed. His mouth so wide, teeth so furiously bared that it hurt. It seemed to last an eternity.
And then, as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped. The Radio Demon opened his eyes, staring down at the filthy pavement between his fingers, the tears of laughter still rolling down the backs of his hands.
He swallowed hard. His throat burned. From beyond the steel door back into Dempsey’s, he could hear the faintest resonance of the band still playing on. Alastor forced himself to stand upright, wiping the blood from his face.
Almost against his will he found his eyes travelling along the upper walls of the alleyway once more, searching out the telltale electronic twitch. But the walls were bare. No cameras, no drones.
Just Alastor. Alone.
The Radio Demon’s expression folded into a strange, set glare. He brought the cane to attention between his fingertips, and with the tiniest flicker of something behind his eyes – something that resembled doubt or fear – he left the alleyway far behind, melting once more into shadow.
Across the Pentagram, in an office inside a high rising tower, a dark mass suddenly appeared from nothing and began to coalesce into a humanoid shape.
- 12
- 13
- 14
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

The Contract