Hazbin Hotel Oneshots/Short Stories

Angel Dust Lore/Backstory: He Told Me Then

"Alright Radiohead, sure. Lemme start with a question; do ya know Valentino?"

Alastor nodded, with a look of disgust flashing across his eyes and smile making his ears bend a bit. He'd known Valentino for quite a while, especially after he was given the opportunity to become an overlord. He also knew that Valentino treated anyone and everything around him as his own personal toy; it was repulsive to him, especially considering the business he ran.

"...Yes."

"Well," Angel Dust said, "the first thing you gotta keep in mind is that the only adult I had to look up to then was my dad. And the only difference between him and Valentino is that... Val's more elegant in his work of killing, more flirtatious, no shit. He wasn't kind as you could probably guess, but ambitious. After our mother died, that ambition drove our family to move to America, from Sicily to New York..."

***

"Now fire!"

Anthony felt his hand tremble along with his entire body as he pulled the trigger, aiming at the tied man in front of them. As soon as the shot rang he closed his amber eyes shut tightly, trying the focus on the sunlight hitting him in his backyard along with the birds singing. Birds that had flown to safer yards.

He missed.

Allen, Anthony's short but brooding older brother raised his brows while he ripped a hand through his raven hair, his gaze flicking between the young man holding a gun... and their father. The one who told Anthony to fire in the first place. As both of them expected, he wasn't happy at all.

"Dammit boy! You didn't even come close! THIS is how you properly hold a gun and shoot!"

The blond flinched feeling the gun getting swiped from his shaky grasp, and to his horror saw a huge burst of blood come out of the tied man's neck after another gunshot sounded, forming a horrible squelching sound that rang in his ears. There the corpse was, limp and splattered with blood like an artist had accidentally spilled red paint on one of their models.

His family wasn't made up of artists, and that wasn't paint.

"That's what you do Anthony," the large coated figure of his father growled. "No hesitations. No emotions holding you in place. You move it, quick as a flicker. HE is the one with his hands tied behind his back, not you. And he insulted our family name, you shouldn't feel any pity trying to kill this bastard out of everyone else you could feel sorry for." He glanced at his younger son and scoffed. "Quit yer crying already and learn."

He left, having no more words for either of the boys and going inside. Allen made a mental note to clean up the body and get it rid of it somehow before any sirens flared, going to his brother afterward. He noticed in quiet concern that he was crying silently now, with both hands clutching his head. He sighed and carefully placed his hand on his younger brother's upper back, a little embarrassed that his height prevented him from managing to reach his shoulder. Anthony just sank down close to his brother, his eyes still silently spilling crystal while he trembled and felt arms hesitantly wrap around him.

"I-I don't fucking get it, I'm fifteen. Fifteen. And he expects me to know how to kill someone, to shoot a gun straight off!"

"...I know. I had to learn too."

"He's gonna taint Molly next then, huh?! She'll- she'll have to... have to do the same shit!"

"Quiet, she's watching you now."

Both of them silently turned to see their sister standing on the porch and looking in fear at both them and the body. Her eyes held more concern looking at her siblings though, and her skirt was clenched tightly in her fists. Allen held in another sigh, moving away from Anthony while murmuring "I need to get rid of the body now."