Hell's Collecter, based on "Insane"

Instructions

Alastor sauntered into the dim bar, his eyes glinting with a thrill he hadn’t felt in decades. Every eye in the room landed on him, entranced by the elegant, theatrical sway of his entrance, his grin both inviting and deadly. He let his gaze settle on Kale, an old friend who looked like he’d just seen a ghost—which, in a way, he had. “Dearly beloved!” Alastor’s voice filled the room with an unsettling warmth as if he’d cast an invisible spell over everyone. “For your entertainment, it’s my pleasure to introduce—me. I’d almost forgotten how the air feels up here.” He gave a slow spin, savoring his audience’s nervous glances. “But I’m not here just for a reunion,” he continued. “I’ve got business to settle.” Kale stood frozen, watching as Alastor sauntered over, the glimmer of hellfire dancing in his eyes. “Alastor…” Kale started, his voice shaking, “I-I thought you’d never come back.” “Oh, you did, did you?” Alastor leaned in with a knowing smile. “I’m flattered you remember. But I’m not here for small talk, darling. You remember the promise you broke—the one that landed me below.” Alastor’s smile twisted, the charm darkening to a sneer. “Turns out, Hell’s got its own way of granting degrees, and I graduated with honors.” Kale's voice shook. “I thought—” “You thought wrong, my friend,” Alastor said, his voice dripping with dangerous amusement. “Hell wasn’t too bad once I got comfortable. I learned a few tricks—like how to pull a man apart, piece by piece, all for entertainment.” His smile widened, genuine delight flashing in his eyes. “And let me tell you, you wouldn’t believe how good I am at making people hurt.” He leaned in, close enough that Kale could feel the heat radiating off him, see the fire smoldering just beneath the surface. “You owe me, Kale. That’s why I’m here—to collect what’s mine. But I must ask…” Alastor’s voice dropped to a whisper, a dark playfulness in his tone. “Do demons bleed?” The bar was dead silent, every patron staring, caught between terror and fascination. The shadows around Alastor seemed to move with a life of their own as he reached out, grabbing Kale by the collar and pulling him close. The charm on Alastor’s face twisted to something darker, something hungry. “It’s funny,” Alastor murmured, as if musing to himself, “I actually enjoy this part just a little bit.” He laughed, a cold, almost gleeful sound. “Does that make me insane? Maybe.” His fingers ignited with a flicker of flame, illuminating his face in a hellish glow. “But that’s the beauty of this life, Kale. I don’t have to retire; I don’t have to stop. Not until I’ve had my fun.” Kale whimpered, trying to pull away, but Alastor held fast, his grin widening. “You’re gonna help me settle my score, Kale, just like old times. You’ll make a perfect opening act,” he said, his tone velvet-soft but laced with poison. “So here’s to second chances. Just…try not to scream too loud.” With a final glance at the mesmerized crowd, Alastor pulled Kale through the shimmering portal that opened at their feet, leaving behind a room full of people too terrified to breathe. As the portal closed, his last words echoed in the empty bar: “Hell’s finest showman never retires.”