Alastor
Radio demon, serial killer. Secret boyfriend of an angel. An overlord of hell feared by everyone. Host of the Hazbin Hotel.
Killed in an ambush.
It was all too similar to his death as a human. Mistaken for a deer and shot in the head. Of course, the scar had to follow him into hell, marked by a red X on his forehead. A forever reminder of his embarrassment.
He was on his way to a hidden meet-up spot with Emily. Attacked from behind and tackled before he could react. He remembered the face of that pathetic lieutenant of the exorcist, Lute. The way her mask smiled as she threw the spear. Alastor knew that Emily hadn't set him up. The girl was too innocent; she believed that he could change. For years, he thought that he never would, but he was happy torturing the souls he collected and gaining new ones.
But Emily?
She had saved him more than once. She made him believe, even in a fleeting thought, that maybe he could be better. Maybe he didn't need to kill the sinners of hell. He had never felt any remorse for them. They had lived vile and cruel lives and deserved to be killed. But Emily changed that.
And he would never get to say what he actually felt. The anticipation of her appearance. The warm feeling in his chest is separate from the warmth of her healing.
Because he was dead
'Fate is a cruel bitch.'
He had experienced death before, and it was a painful fall as his mind plummeted what felt like forever as it burned from the inside out. Then he had landed, and he woke up to the pride ring.
And here he was again, fall-
Wait, He wasn't falling. He was moving.
'What in the Santa fae?'
His mind felt like he was traveling faster than he could see. His body had long been left on that dusty road of hell, as his head was ripped open by angelic weapons to make sure he died. But now lights began appearing in the air around him. Not that he could see, of course, but…
He could feel it. Souls.
The thousands of souls he had collected over the years. All converging on his mind, wanting to tear him apart. He could feel their disgust and hatred. But they hesitated; it was only after a moment that then did he then felt it. A faint pulsing golden light protected him. One so familiar that it surprised Alastor how much it hurt to know that he wouldn't ever be able to see her again.
'Emily… I don't know if you can hear me… but I want you to know. I wished dearly to be the man you thought I could be. If I ever had a second chance, I would.'
Those words, although mental and spoken so softly, Alastor himself wasn't sure if it was him who had thought those words. They triggered something, and the golden glow around him pulsed with newfound strength, and it somehow blinded him. Then he collided with something. And everything went dark.
Alastor gasped as he sprang up. He inhaled sharp and ragged breaths as he looked around. His body felt frail as he swiped his head side to side. He felt hair matted down by something flop on his head. He then took a moment to actually look around and found himself in a place so alien but somehow familiar.
He was in a bathroom, in a tub. With a gun.
'Wait. A gun?'
He stared in confusion at the object lying in the tub at his side. He had never seen the make of it before, but he somehow knew what it was.
'A pistol? How do I know that? And why am I wearing a school uniform in a tub?… How do I know that this is a uniform?'
Suddenly, he froze, and his right hand, once covered in claws and turned, looked normal but frail. They rushed to his forehead and felt for an old scar. Only to find a new one, a circular ring of flesh, a bullet hole. Alastor slowly looked behind him. A spray of brain and blood littered the wall, along with a single bullet resting at the floor of his feet. The sight was normal for him; blood in the pride ring was as common as sex and death there.
Stumbling to his feet, he forced the curtain to the side and froze. He had looked into the mirror and saw something that just wasn't right.
It was a child, a child with green eyes and blood matting his hair down.
Izuku Midoriya
The name hit him like a train wreck, and he stumbled to his knees, knocking his shins against the edge of the tub as he fell to the floor.
'A name? What is going on? Who did this to me? The angels? The sins? No… I died; they may have been able to claim my soul, but I died a second again. My soul was bound by no chain since that farce with Vox, the misguided, pompous TV head he was.'
Suddenly, he clutched his head in agony as memories flooded in, not of his own but of this Child's. A child who had killed himself.
Years of pain, bullying. The threats, the discrimination. The abuse, the pain of watching his mother worry over him every time he came home in self-wrapped bandages.
'What is going on?!'
He mentally screamed in agony as he tried to piece together what was going on. This wasn't supposed to happen. He was just supposed to simply disappear from existence. Maybe judged by god before his soul is destroyed or reborn. But not this.
A woman's face flashed through his mind.
Inko.
A mother who cared too much, about a mother who only wanted to see him smile. Too familiar.
The woman had once been fair, but time and stress had taken their toll.
Everything felt too familiar as Alastor shook.
He saw connections like he did when he schemed. The boy felt like an abuser, his uncontrollable fate of being quirkiness forced his mother to lose friends and her beauty. The boy felt vile watching his mother worry over him; he felt that she should hate him for doing this to her. But the boy tried to smile, damn it, the boy tried to smile for his mom. Just like Alastor had done. How he was scorned and dismissed, Alastair had turned those frowns into smiles by weaponizing his charm. The boy simply endured it.
'What the hell is a quirk? What hocus pocus is this?'
"You should just do the world a favor and kill yourself. Save the oxygen for the people who actually matter."
The words are remembered so starkly apart from the numerous ones similar to it. Because of who It was from.
Kachann, Bakugo. Katsuki.
'A friend? An idol? Who is this guy?'
The memories felt tainted, feelings of adoration and care matched them as he remembered beatings and explosions on skin.
'What was wrong with this kid? This boy is so clearly the problem that even the idiots in New Orleans could see it.'
But Alastor could feel it. Those words were the reason the boy had done it. Years of hating himself for what he had done to his mother. The words of a so-called hero telling him his dreams were worthless. And the words of a childhood "Friend" had just been too much. The boy had killed himself.
'This doesn't explain how I am here.'
Alastor realized he was staring at the mirror and realized something. His eyes were the same as when he was in hell, bright red with notches like the ones in old radios.
'Of course, this world moved on with the idiotic prattle boxes.'
He mentally scoffed as he tried to think this through.
'I died, again. And then I woke up here. What's the point? What am I supposed to do?'
Then he remembered the faint glow as his soul was about to be torn apart by others. The words he had thought before he had run into something.
Be better.
He suddenly realized he wanted to be better. He wanted to actually try and be the person Emily wanted him to be.
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A boy broken by the world and made to do something no child should be compelled to do.
A demon who had lived life how he wanted, killing all those whom he deemed.
One Body influenced by the dream to be a hero.
One soul who only wants to be better for the girl he loves.
A world full of false heroes and villains.
Who is ready for whom? And who will crumble before the other?