Signed in Sin | radioapple

Untitled Part 1

The scent of copper and rust filled the radio tower as a small body slunk into a dark corner for safety. Alastor leaned heavily against his desk, the dark wood creaking under his weight as a fresh tear tore through the front of his red coat.

It had been months since the battle with Adam, yet the holy strike across his chest refused to heal. Instead, the wound was festering, the golden rot was eating through his flesh, hissing like water thrown into hot oil. Every breath felt like inhaling glass. His broadcast smile was stretched so tight his jaw ached trying to conceal the agony beneath.

He was dying. Slowly, painfully, and utterly stripped of control.

A sharp, rhythmic tapping echoed from the doorway. Alastor's ears pinned back, catching the polished, silver-tipped sound of a cane hitting the floorboards.

"My, my," a smooth, golden voice drawled from the shadows. "Look at the high and mighty Radio Demon, bleeding out like a pig in his own sty."

Lucifer Morningstar stepped into the light, his white brimmed hat tilted just low enough to cast his glowing red eyes in shadow. He didn't look like the neurotic, duck-obsessed recluse Alastor had spent the last several months subtlety ogling. He looked every inch the Sovereign of Hell he was created to be. He was radiating an oppressive, suffocating heat that made the hair on Alastor's arms stand up.

"Your Majesty," Alastor rasped, his voice dropping its usual radio static filter, betraying the sheer strain in his chest. "To what do I owe the unsolicited honor?"

"Oh, cut the schtick, Alastor," Lucifer purred, circling the desk with slow, predatory grace. He stopped right beside Alastor's chair, resting a gloved hand on the back of it. "I can smell the holy magic rotting you from the inside out. Adam's light is relentless, isn't it? A few more hours perhaps a day and there won't be enough of your soul left to fill a teacup."

Alastor gripped the edge of the desk, knuckles turning white, mortified at someone seeing him in his weakened state. "I am handling it."

"You're pathetic," Lucifer corrected softly, bending down until his lips were inches from Alastor's twitching deer ear. "You're weak. But~ lucky for you, I happen to be the only creature in this realm who can burn out angelic energy. I can fix you. Completely."

Alastor sneered, turning his head to glare at the King. "And what, pray tell, would the price be for such divine intervention?"

Lucifer chuckled, a dark, velvet sound that vibrated straight through Alastor's spine. "Your soul, sweetheart. Every bit of it. A full, permanent, binding leash."

The silence in the room grew deafening. To give up his soul the very thing he had spent decades to get back was unthinkable. But the alternative was fading into nothingness, leaving his grander ambitions to rot with his corpse. Survival was paramount. He could find a loophole later. He always did.

"A leash," Alastor forced a dry laugh, straightening his back despite the agony searing through his ribs. "A bit uninspired for the Prince of Darkness, isn't it? Very well. A standard arrangement of servitude. I shall be your enforcer."

"Did I say servant?" Lucifer's grin widened, sharp and full of fangs. He extended a pale hand, brilliant golden flame bursting to life across his palm. "Sign the dotted line, Radio Demon. Let me save your miserable life."

Alastor swallowed hard, his eyes losing focus from the pain, forcing his hand forward. The moment his clawed fingers touched Lucifer's burning palm, the contract snapped into place.

It wasn't a cold, binding chain like his previous deal. It was a torrential wave of pure, absolute ownership that flooded his veins. The rot in his chest gave a final, agonizing hiss before It vanished completely, replaced entirely by lucifers suffocating grace.