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No one really knew how the system worked; when you died and went to hell, they didn't give you an instruction manual. You did not get the rundown on how things worked, who had power, who didn't. Often people would be killed during their first extermination because nobody explained what the hell that was.
But if you survived, there were other ways that hell could torture you: rampant poverty, unending starvation, death that occurred over and over, and a whole menagerie of other torturous pursuits. But for Alastor, the radio demon himself, one of what sinners may call the minor inconveniences was the biggest peril of his existence.
The "dynamics," as native demons to the hellish crust would call them, were tools specifically designed to torture Alastor at his lowest, as he would much prefer to refer to them. Designations alpha, beta, and omega labels would often decide your rank, your class, your access to the finer things offered down where no light could reach.
None of the non-native sinners really understood how they worked: some ignored them, some indulged them, some pushed to pass their whole mind and being over to the beast. Alastor despised them; they made his body react in a way unbecoming of a good man like himself.
No one knew the radio demon's designation, rumours flew obviously, he was clearly a beta, no one could seduce him, or an omega amassing power. Alpha was also common, his dangerous nature and general power around hell, despite his lack of other traits usually associated with the designation.
There were rumours still that he simply didn't have a designation, that he was passed over. As it was often pointed out, he had never dated anyone, he had never been seen gallivanting around with any lass or lad, he seemed immune to his designation.
Alastor liked it that way. He knew he was an alpha, four times a year, he was painfully reminded of that fact. He didn't get ruts as often as other sinners, however, he still did experience the inconvenience.
Many sinners didn't understand how the dynamics worked, they never bothered learning, didn't think the information was out there. But Alastor wanted to know, needed to know. So he looked.
Once you go looking, information has a way of finding its way to you, as Alastor learned quickly from native sinners' journals, to observing the common folk. Being a radio host did not immediately inspire the idea that you were a good listener, but Alastor's radios went both ways.
He understood more than most sinners, possibly more than most natives.
There was a fact about ruts that most people glossed over, believed it a byproduct of the regular sex, disregarded it as another quirk of an alpha personality. Alastor knew it had to mean more, though what exactly he couldn't say. See, most packs of demons originating from hell were formed around a central alpha, these were the strongest, the biggest, the best protectors. Around them, they had what some called a harem, a pack of souls all of varying designation: omegas and betas, peacekeepers and nest guards.
An alpha's job was to defend the pack, they were made for it. Genetically, they needed a pack; they needed something to protect. During rut, a packless alpha was far more dangerous than any regular sinner, and even the weaker native species became erratic, dangerous beasts when left alone during rut.
Alastor had locked an alpha in a small lab to observe, isolated during its rut, and had nearly been killed for his effort when the oaf took the door off the hinges.
Clinically, he studied, learned, hypothesised, until he had what he hoped was the solution to his quarterly issue of a hormone-fueled bloodbath. The bit was getting old, and people would catch on if he continued to take out his frustration on the denizens of hell.
He needed control of a soul, someone who couldn't tell him no. Hell operated on a dog-eat-dog system. If you wanted to succeed, you needed to step on the necks of the people below you. Alastor took a gamble and won, not fair but square. He came into possession of a soul, grumpy, standoffish, and with a propensity for swearing. Alastor was at first apprehensive of his new tool in this plan for control; however, Husker was an Omega, a surprisingly patient, observant creature with enough resilience to take Alastor at face value and agree to his game with only the slightest apprehension. He was a creature easily managed with a bottle and a deck of cards. A former overlord though he was, Husker was much better a house cat underfoot, and so Alastor found no trouble fitting the man into his life.
However, he wanted more. Husk was a finicky creature, wanted space, and Alastor was not one to enjoy constant company either. But each time the omega strayed from his side, Alastor felt the rage creeping back, and now he knew what it was, how to fix it. He had to regularly stop himself from lashing out, reaching for Husk with an animalistic ferocity. For his plan to work, he needed Husk to come to him, eat from his palm before he could truly sink his claws in. He needed time and he needed something else.
Secondary gender factors play a role in many parts of their lives, from their diet to their interests. Many sinners didn't notice, but the people they allied with, the room décor they settled on, it was all a factor of something larger or possibly far smaller. Though some of it was sexual in nature, Alastor learned quickly he could use the qualities in his favour without having to break any of his meticulously organised and instated boundaries.
He just had to break a few of Husk's to get exactly what he wanted. Alastor was never a good person, he was not fool enough to believe a man like him could ever have gotten into heaven. But he knew how to make himself comfortable, he knew how to make himself happy, and that's all that he really cared about. He told himself that anyway.
First, he had to increase his and Husker's activities. Husk came to balls, to dinners, to walks in the park. He was asked (read: forced) to attend many a manner of event and mishap with the radio demon. At first, he was suspicious, however, as the outings remained consistent and Alastor showed no signs of any other shift in behaviour, he took this too in stride. Thinking it just one of Alastor's strange personality quirks.
Perfect.
Though Alastor had imprinted on the omega from the beginning due to observation, he knew omegas were far more fickle and difficult to sway. This meant it took a certain level of connection to get where he wanted to be with Husk. The man always reluctant, always lagging behind, wanting to see the whole picture first, was constantly suspicious, glancing over his shoulder. Alastor wanted to rip his hair out over the frustration; however, he knew the honey was sweeter if you had to work for it.
Alastor wanted to be patient, he really did. But his rut was coming along soon, and he needed Husk. He needed him more than he needed anything else before. Alastor was sick of this game of cat and mouse. Ironic that he was the one chasing. When he was the one who owned the chain. He owned the chain. He owned Husk.
o0O0o
Alastor summoned Husk, it was evening, and he was grumpy as always. Apparently, Alastor had taken him during something very important, however, Alastor was not paying enough attention to remember what exactly. Husk had been frustrated at first with his abrupt summoning; then he was apprehensive.
Alastor had greeted him as normal, been evasive and sketchy as normal, had even made him perform a mundane task. Husk had stood behind him as Alastor attended a meeting with Overlord Zestial, it was all very routine, and still, he seemed stressed. He was not one to let things slip into his scent, masking what emotions he couldn't suppress with booze. But Alastor was looking out for distress signals from the man, so they were hard to miss.
By the time he was leading the cat-like demon back to his house, the scent grew in intensity. Alastor took a moment to glance over his shoulder at Husk. They hadn't exchanged a word since the journey began. Should he have? Alastor wasn't feeling particularly creative, so maybe not, however...
He walked into the building, guiding Husk in behind, and instructing him to remove his shoes. No need to track mud through the abode, that would just be awful.
They walked down the corridor now, Husk was pushed along ahead of Alastor. He wasn't sure what made him break, what spooked the poor thing, but all of a sudden Husk looked like a cornered animal, scared and stressed, small and lonely. His ears lay flat to his head, his eyes flashed, he puffed up his wings. It was a pitiful attempt at intimidation that came off more cute than threatening, but Alastor wasn't going to say anything.
The sudden change in demeanour was logically a bit strange, however, Alastor didn't really care. Husk was spitting words like venom, and all Alastor could see was how warm Husk looked, all soft brown fur. Beyond surface-level observations, there wasn't much else Alastor wanted from the cat man that he couldn't provide for himself. Alastor could have anything, anything could be his, and right now, Husk was his. He owned his soul, he craved his company. Husk belonged to Alastor and Alastor alone.
Ignoring the stubborn kitty's protests and sidestepping whatever he was spewing now to try to preserve what little autonomy he believed himself entitled to, spoiler from Alastor, the answer was none. The radio demon reached for him and dragged Husk to his room.
The poor thing was shaking like a leaf now. Alastor had no idea why. He had prepared the space to be gender-neutral, to be comfortable and open, as well as warm and dim when the overhead lights were off, which they were most of the time. Husk was fighting him as he pulled the smaller sinner over to his bed, nesting supplies and food resources, everything an alpha or omega would need to get through the disgusting process of rut and heat.
"Please," Husker whispered. He was backing away from Alastor as he still had a grip on the smaller's wrist. He blinked a little at the man, confused about what he was asking for.
"Please what, my darling?" Alastor asked in that pleasant, even voice he only used when he didn't understand something or was trying to be tactful about explaining basic processes.
Husker shivered, his eyes wide, his demeanour hunched and small, and all those things that made him quite an obvious omega. "Be gentle," he whispered, his voice choked, his lungs filled with tension.
Alastor smiled. Well, of course he'd be gentle. He never wasn't. It was important to treat others with care, or else he might harm them without meaning to. And if he harmed someone without meaning to when he did mean to, it wasn't as impactful.
"Of course, Husker. Now, sit on the bed." The order came easy, and Husk complied immediately, no hesitation. The contract removed pesky things like hesitance and caution, replacing them with action and obedience.
Husk sat down, his wings at Alastor's mercy, and the alpha smiled with pure joy. He was going to make Husk so relaxed he wouldn't even notice when he imprinted fully on Alastor.
He was still shaking, still anxious and rigid, but when he settled down opposite Alastor, the radio demon paid him no mind and reached for his wings.
He had Husk exactly where he wanted him, his wings spread out for his long-clawed fingers to run through the feathers and pick out the dust and grime. It was unsurprising when he found the unkempt wings coated in dirt and grime. It must itch like nothing else.
Husk was still shaking, but he was no longer fighting Alastor, he was just sat there shaking and holding his wings dangerously still.
It was like manoeuvring a corpse, Alastor noticed, his smile twitched a little wider. Husk was slowly, as time crept forward, beginning to stop shaking, less and less. He was trembling gradually. Alastor was so pleased, his little Husker was warming up to him.
An hour passed, Alastor cleaning up Husk's wings. It was tense on Husk's end, but Alastor was having a great time. He had straightened every feather and picked out all the dust and debris.
Husk had finally relaxed, his shoulders dropped, his soft furry head resting on his chest. It was adorable. Alastor couldn't help but coo. Husk didn't seem to notice or was too deep into his instincts to protest, either way, Alastor felt a wave of accomplishment.
Then something magical happened. Husk was not a sinner to lean into his hell form. Alastor had not clipped his wings when first gaining his soul, however, he had barely ever seen the avian side of his poor Husker, even less so his few cat traits. Beyond having an uncanny ability to find warm small napping spots, Husk seemed to be vastly unaffected; however, he was purring.
It started soft and quiet, the sound like an earthquake. Alastor glanced over his shoulder, but Husk had his eyes closed. It was endearing, he didn't even notice or was so relaxed he didn't care.
His wings were soft and clean, and Alastor was now just running his fingers through the plumage. It was soothing, soft, all things Alastor didn't think he was allowed anymore. Hell stripped something from every sinner: their names, their identity, their body. But life had stripped something from Alastor. He supposed it stripped the same from Husk.
But now he had the cat in the palm of his hand. His next rut was going to go far smoother. Husk was going to imprint on him without even knowing what was going on. Alastor smiled.
Perfect…