Chapter Text
Aisi and Husk left the corridor and moved to an empty stairwell in the hotel, resting on top of the steps, where Husk told her the story of how he had been an Overlord in Hell until he lost his soul to the Radio Demon.
Husk downed another glass of his neat whisky, letting a frustrated groan escape his lips as he placed the empty glass aside, lining it up with the other empty glasses on the counter of the bar. He had turned to gambling in hopes to settle the debts he had accumulated with the same vice that had gotten him to this point in his afterlife. But he had been cursed with a losing streak, which was sending him into a downward spiral and putting him into a depressive state that couldn’t be remedied with alcohol. And despite how his secondary vice was currently failing to sooth his growing nerves, it didn’t exactly curb his addiction; in fact, it had the opposite effect and increased his alcohol consumption, drinking himself into a drunken stupor even if it only provided him with a temporary relief from his wallowing self-pity.
When he was a human, Husk had fond memories of attending magic shows with his parents as a child. He had been marveled with the shows of magicians and their magic–enthralled in the way that children often are with performances–and it was when he had decided he wanted to be a magician himself. How he had begged and pleaded with his parents–in the way that children often do–for a deck of playing cards, so that he may begin to practice and hone his craft for his own act. How he had set his sights on his childhood dream, determined to make it a reality, but the world–as it often turned out–had different plans for his future and his fate had been predetermined for him.
He had managed to outlive his parents and the numerous tragedies that had marked his generation, surviving through an epidemic, witnessing the crash of the stock market, struggling through an economic crisis, and outlasting his infantry in the Second World War. But he had been no closer to achieving his childhood dream, and all the while he continued to grapple with scraps and sought to spend the remainder of his days indulging in alcohol beverages and engaging in risky gambles just to feel alive–like there was life inside in this husk of a man. And there was a small part of him–a part that was perhaps buried deeply in the recesses of his mind–that hoped his gambling would turn to profit, blessing him with a fortune great enough to finally turn his dream into a reality. And, oh, how the countless hours he had spent practicing his sleight-of-hand as a child had paid off greatly in his adult life, fooling the local patrons of the casinos. It had also made him a target of scrutiny as his growing track record caught the unwanted attention of some questionable individuals who felt cheated out of their money.
When he had finally awakened, he had found himself underneath the red skies of Hell, lying amongst the discarded trash in a forgotten alleyway. And while he wasn’t entirely sure about what had caused his death–his memory had been hazy after he fell–he had managed to make a name for himself in this god forsaken realm, quickly gaining notoriety amongst the other demon gamblers in the casinos until he had racked up enough funds to open his own casino. His casino–as it turned out–was a huge success, providing him with a stable efflux of Sinners who sank themselves into debt, and eventually traded their souls away to him, and with a steady supply of souls under his influence, he was invited to join the ranks of the Overlords, a title that gave him status and power inside of Hell.
But as time continued to pass, he had grown arrogant and the hubris of pride would become his greatest downfall. He began to sink further into debt and his owings fell deeper into the negative. The growing pressure to free himself from debt turned into anxiety, overcoming his thoughts of fear that the empire he had worked to build would fall into ruin and the power he had gained would be lost in the blink of an eye. He had sought to pull himself out with his own vices, which naturally only added fuel to the fire, but he was very much willing to burn if it meant he could save himself.
He had convinced himself that he could solve all his problems with a jackpot. Yes, a single jackpot would pull him out of his debt and this cursed slump–and then everything would return to normal. It had to return to normal. And he could maintain his influence, status, and pwoer. He could continue to expand his empire.
“Care to try your hand against me, my good man?”
Husk turned his head in the direction of the voice, his eyes widened in recognition of the transatlantic accent rolling off the demon’s tongue. He stared at the demon as he approached him, casually twirling his cane at his side, sauntering toward him. A sinister grin spread across his lips as he placed a deck of weathered cards on top of the counter.
The Radio Demon was an enigmatic demon whose reputation was as sharp as his claws and as bloody as the red pinstripe suit he donned himself. “Just a few innocent games,” he purred, his voice laced with honeyed deception.
Husk bit his lip, temptation gnawing at his resolve. His eyes flickered with a small glimmer of hope at the potential winnings, and with a trembling hand, he agreed to the games.
Husk watched anxiously as Alastor dealt the deck, his heart pounding against his chest as the cards fluttered across the table. He won a few games against the demon, feeling his fortune shifting as they continued to play, and the embers of hope filling him with warmth. Maybe the curse had been lifted, he thought, maybe his losing streak was over.
Alastor remained calm and collected throughout the games, his eyes glinting with amusement. And as they neared the final round, Alastor expressed a desire to raise the stakes of the game. “Now, a man cannot experience the thrill of the gamble without assuming a little risk, wouldn’t you agree, chum?” The demon carried himself with the savoir faire of a well-seasoned politician canvassing from door-to-door.
Husk hesitated for a moment, but nodded.
“Ah, I am glad to see that you agree.” There was a mischievous glint in his eyes as he continued, his voice assuming a haunting tone. “Let’s make this interesting. Your soul against mine in one final hand.”
Husk’s breath caught in his throat, feeling the weight of the decision pressing onto him. He glanced briefly at the collection of chips stacked at his side, a manifestation of his winnings in the previous rounds. He was a gambler; he knew the risks involved with biting off more than he could chew. But he only needed one win–one large win–to save himself, and perhaps it had been the fault of his own desperation or the temptation that drowned out his better judgment.
Husk extended his hand to the demon, agreeing to the deal.
“Excellent,” Alastor said in a low tone, “may luck be a lady tonight.”
And with a trembling hand, Husk drew his card.
When the spread of cards were laid out on the table, Husk felt his heart sink inside of his chest, his face contorted into an expression of disbelief and shock.
A royal flush.
His voice was caught in his throat as he raised a shaky hand, weakly pointing out his claw, and his eyes shifted between the display of cards to the demon who sat before with a twisted smile that spoke volumes against the silence.
Alastor had won.
Husk had lost.
As a chilling wind swept through the room, the sound of clanking chains echoed in Husk’s ears and the shackles clasped around his neck, capturing it in the glowing green links.
His soul belonged to the Radio Demon.
His momentary lapse in judgment had cost him greatly. If he had noticed the mischievous glint in the demon’s red eyes; if he had noticed the twitch of the demon’s mouth; if he had noticed, perhaps he would have turned down the deal. But he didn’t notice. And he sealed his fate with a handshake for a fleeting moment of false hope.