From Boy to Radio Demon: Dylan's Transformation into Alastor

**Title: The Transformation of Dylan The Dylanus** --- **Scene 1: A Quiet Afternoon** The small town of Eirwen was basking in the warm glow of the afternoon sun. Dylan, a 15-year-old boy with tan skin and medium-length brown hair, walked down the familiar streets. The dark blue hoodie swayed with his steps, his green eyes scanning the surroundings for any sign of trouble. Today seemed peaceful, a rare moment of tranquility in his otherwise adventurous life. "Looks like a calm day for once," Dylan thought, smiling as he took in the serene atmosphere. He couldn't wait to meet Emma later; their time together was always the highlight of his day. His mind also wandered to Black, his older brother, and a reassuring presence in his life. Little did Dylan know that this peaceful day was about to take a dark turn. --- **Scene 2: The Strange Encounter** Dylan's peace was abruptly interrupted when he felt an odd sensation in the pit of his stomach. He spun around to see a strange portal shimmer into existence behind him. From it emerged a shadowy, intimidating figure, holding a strange, vintage microphone. Before Dylan could react, the figure stepped forward and inquired with an unsettling voice that echoed with static, "Good afternoon, boy. I sense great potential in you. Do you fear the unknown?" Dylan stepped back, the fear evident in his green eyes. "Who—or what—are you? Stay away from me!" He tried to summon his courage, but the presence of this figure unnerved him deeply. "Names are but a formality, but you may call me Alastor," the figure responded with a wicked grin. --- **Scene 3: The Transformation Begins** The shadowy figure began to chant words in a forgotten tongue. Dylan felt his limbs start to light up with an eerie glow, pain searing through his veins. He struggled, trying to cry out for help, but found himself immobilized as the transformation took hold. "No... what's happening to me?" Dylan screamed internally as he watched his tan skin shift to a beige hue. His brown hair grew and changed color into a pinkish-red with black tips. He convulsed as new, alien memories flooded his mind. "Emma! Black! Help me!" Dylan's thoughts were desperate, but the voice that emerged was no longer his. It had taken on a charming yet sinister tone. "My, this is quite the dramatic turn of events," the half-transformed Dylan chuckled, unable to control his words. --- **Scene 4: The Metamorphosis** Dylan's small frame stretched, his height shooting up to an imposing 7 feet. His clothes melted away, replaced by a red pinstripe coat and dark dress pants. A black bowtie appeared at his neck, and in his gloved hand materialized the sentient vintage microphone. "Such resistance, young Dylan. But it's quite futile," echoed the words in his head, now pierced by Alastor's personality. Horns started to protrude from his head, completing his transformation. "No, this can't be real!" Dylan's consciousness fought hard, but his memories of Emma, Black, and his homeland grew dim. "Ah, sweet surrender," Alastor's voice purred, finally taking full control. "It seems I have a new body to play with." --- **Scene 5: The Complete Transformation** The struggle within Dylan quieted as his mind succumbed to the overwhelming presence of Alastor. All the traits that made Dylan unique were swallowed up by Alastor's dominant personality. The consideration, kindness, and playfulness faded, replaced by that dark charm and devious intellect. Standing tall, with a broad grin full of sharp, yellow teeth, the newly formed Alastor checked his reflection in a shop window. His red eyes glinted with malice and amusement. "Ah, much better. Ladies and gentlemen, tune in, for the Radio Demon has arrived once more!" The playful, dandyish voice echoed in the now silent street. Dylan was no more; only Alastor, the Radio Demon, remained. --- **Scene 6: The New Alastor** With the transformation complete, Alastor twirled his cane and set off down the street, full of purpose and malevolence. From within a silent corner of his mind, Dylan's voice whispered one last plea, "Don't forget who you are..." But even that faded into nothingness. Alastor chuckled to himself. Memories of Dylan's mortal life vanished completely, leaving behind only the Radio Demon's own twisted past. "Now, where shall I begin? This world looks ripe for a bit of chaos." And with that, Alastor, the Radio Demon, began his reign. The age progression, height progression, and mental transformation were complete. The 15-year-old mortal boy was now an ageless demon, lost forever in the shadow of Alastor's sinister grin. --- **Scene 7: The Aftermath** The transformation of Dylan into Alastor left a profound impact on Eirwen. The townsfolk whispered tales of the once-gallant boy who had vanished without a trace. No one would believe that he had been taken over by the Radio Demon, now ruling the underworld with his sinister charm and nefarious schemes. In the depths of Hell, a figure with antler-topped head and a broad smile observed his new dominion, pleased with his new form and strength. "Ah, this will be fun,” Alastor declared, his voice full of malicious intent. But somewhere, maybe in the distant recesses of what used to be Dylan, a kernel of kindness struggled to re-emerge. Only time would tell if any of his old self could ever regain control or if he was lost to the twisted desires of Alastor forever. "Welcome to the show, everyone," Alastor announced to an audience only he could see, "and what a show it will be." And so the Radio Demon’s legacy began, as the faint echoes of Dylan’s past finally faded into the oblivion of his new demonic existence. --- **End.**

Under the moonlit sky of his homeland, Dylan was enjoying a peaceful evening with Emma. They were relaxing near a small grove, surrounded by the soft chirping of crickets and the gentle rustle of leaves. The air was cool and filled with the scent of blooming flowers. Dylan shared stories of his latest battles with Emma, his green eyes shimmering with passion as he recounted his efforts to protect their land. Emma leaned into him, smiling softly. "You never cease to amaze me, Dylan. You're so brave." He smiled back, brushing his brown hair away from his face. "I just do what I can to keep everyone safe." Suddenly, a chilling wind swept through the grove, causing both of them to shiver. Dylan stood up, instantly alert. "Stay behind me, Emma," he said, his voice steady but cautious. From the shadows emerged a spooky figure, its presence overwhelming and dark. Before Dylan could react, a shadowy tendril shot forth, piercing his chest. Pain surged through him as his body convulsed and collapsed to the ground. Emma's screams rang out, echoing in his ears before everything turned to black. --- When Dylan awoke, his vision was blurry, and everything felt... different. He groaned, pushing himself up from the ground. But as he did, he noticed something horrifying: his hands. No longer his own, but thin, with elongated red fingers tipped with claws. Panic set in as he looked at himself, realizing his body was changing rapidly. "No... No, this can't be happening!" Dylan's voice trembled as he watched his limbs stretch, his once tan skin morphing into a beige hue. His teenage, lean frame elongated, rapidly aging into a taller, more mature form around seven feet in height. His hoodie and jeans twisted and reshaped themselves into a red pinstripe coat and black dress pants. His hair grew longer and turned a sinister black and red, sprouting antlers from his head. Memories that were not his own flooded his mind. Scenes of an old jazz bar, radio equipment, hunting in the bayou, and a disturbingly devilish grin flashed before him. "No! I... I am Dylan!" he shouted, gripping his head in agony. But the voice in his mind was different, smoother, charismatic, with a transatlantic accent. "Ah, but you are so much more now, dear boy. Such potential, such power!" Dylan's green eyes turned dark red, his irises shining brightly. He stumbled as his vision shifted, and he could see the world more vividly, with a sadistic edge. "I won't... become you!" he growled through gritted teeth. "Ah, the fight is adorable," the voice snickered. "But futile. Your old self is slipping away, Dylan." As the transformation completed, Dylan's thoughts, his essence, were being reprogrammed. His kind nature got overwritten with Alastor's twisted sense of morality. He fought desperately against the new memories—of deals that ended in gore, laughter mingled with screams, and a desire for chaos—but they churned through his brain like an unstoppable force. Emma's face appeared in his mind. "Emma... I... I can't forget you," he struggled to remember, but the image blurred and faded, replaced by the visage of demonic power and delight. The new Dylan, now Alastor, stood up straight, his broad smile reeking of sinister glee. "Ah, what a delightful evening!" He straightened his bowtie, relishing the crisp snap of it around his neck. The scent of fear, to him, was intoxicating. Emma emerged from behind the grove, tears streaming down her face. "Dylan!" He turned to her, eyes glistening with malice. "My dear, I’m afraid Dylan is indisposed. But allow me to introduce myself properly. Alastor, at your service." Emma's sobs grew louder as she fell to her knees, understanding the gravity of what had transpired. “No… Dylan, come back!” Alastor’s grin widened. “Sorry, my dear, Dylan is but a distant memory now. I, however, am here to stay.” As tears streamed down Emma’s face, Alastor simply tilted his head and clicked his tongue. “Oh dear, don’t cry. You should be delighted! This world now has a new kind of guardian. One with… a flair for entertainment." With a casual twirl of his cane, Alastor turned away, already plotting his next move in this newly claimed territory. His transformation complete, his old self and all his mortal memories erased. Dylan was no more; only the Radio Demon, Alastor, remained.

Dylan stood in the heart of his homeland, Velyria, feeling for once a semblance of peace. The sun hung low on the horizon, casting a warm glow on the fields and forests he had sworn to protect. His cyan jeans and dark blue hoodie were slightly rumpled from the skirmish he just undertook against a particularly annoying monster that had ventured too close to his village. As he walked towards his home, thoughts of Emma and Black filled his mind. Emma, with her radiant smile, and Black, always teasing but fiercely protective, grounded him in the reality of his world. He chuckled to himself, thinking about Emma's reaction when he told her about his latest adventure. He loved playing the hero, even without superpowers, relying solely on his wits and special devices. Unbeknownst to him, a sinister force was at work in the shadows. As Dylan walked through the forest path, an eerie silence blanketed the area. The birds that usually chirped merrily fell silent. He glanced around uneasily, his heightened senses picking up on the unnatural stillness. Suddenly, a pain shot through his body, and he collapsed to the ground, clutching his chest. His breaths came in ragged gasps as an otherworldly voice filled his ears, echoing with an almost musical quality. “You’ve been chosen, Dylan,” the voice crooned. “A new role for you in a grander stage.” “What—what is this?” Dylan managed to choke out, his green eyes wide with fear. “Who are you?” “I am Alastor, the Radio Demon,” the voice replied with a sinister chuckle. “And now, so are you.” Dylan struggled, trying to push back against the voice invading his mind, but it was no use. Memories began to flood his thoughts, memories that weren’t his. He saw images of a young man in the 1930s, a broadcaster, charming and critical, who had a hidden dark side. The man's voice now echoed in Dylan’s mind, a voice smooth and commanding, filled with an unsettling cheerfulness. Dylan’s body started to transform. His frame elongated, muscles and bones shifting and stretching painfully, growing to an imposing height of seven feet. His skin lightened to a beige tone, and his medium-length brown hair shortened and took on a red hue with black tips. He felt his teeth sharpen, transforming into a sharp, yellow grin. His clothes morphed into a red pinstripe coat with dark-red lapels, a bright red dress-shirt underneath, black gloves, and dark-red shoes, complete with deer hoofprints on the soles. “No! This isn’t me!” Dylan cried out, his voice shaking as he tried to remember Emma, Black, his peace-filled homeland, but the memories were fading fast. His voice changed, morphing from that of a teenage boy to a more polished, sinister tone. “Ah, but it is you now, dear boy.” His green irises turned bright red, and long black antlers sprouted from his head. The transformation was complete, but Dylan’s mind fought desperately to hold onto his identity. He could see Emma’s face, Black’s teasing grin—he had to hold on to them. “It’s all slipping away,” he whispered, his voice drowned by Alastor’s laughter. “Emma...Black...” “They are but fleeting dreams now, old sport," Alastor said, amused. "You are me, and that life you lived was merely a prelude to your true existence as Alastor the Radio Demon.” Dylan—no longer Dylan—felt the last remnants of his former self slipping away. The memories of his past life as a mortal, teenage hero were buried under the persona of Alastor, the charming yet malevolent demon. “A charming demon belle, am I?” He chuckled darkly, twirling his cane with the vintage-style microphone. The forest, once a place of peace, now felt like a stage for the sinister Radio Demon. He stood tall, the ever-present grin wide on his face. Dylan was gone, a forgotten memory in the mind that was now entirely Alastor’s. His once kind, considerate demeanor had been irrevocably replaced by a darker, more sinister one, fueled by high self-importance and a penchant for violence against those who dared defy him. With a final, eerie broadcast of laughter, Alastor set off into the world, leaving behind any trace of Velyria's once protective hero, Dylan. The new stage awaited the Radio Demon, and he was more than ready to entertain.

The day started just like any other for Dylan. He was running through his beloved hometown with his girlfriend Emma, hand in hand, dodging the early morning hustle and bustle. At 4.9 feet tall, he was relatively small for his age, but that didn't stop him from moving quickly and gracefully. His medium-length brown hair swayed in the breeze, and his green eyes sparkled with joy as he and Emma laughed together. "Come on, Dylan, we're going to be late for breakfast at Joe's Diner!" Emma exclaimed, her laughter filling the air. "I'm coming! Don't worry, we'll make it!" Dylan shouted back, his dark blue hoodie flapping behind him as he picked up the pace. He loved moments like this—ordinary, carefree, and full of life. His mind was mostly occupied with his love for Emma and his playful rivalry with his brother, Black. Suddenly, a chill swept through the air. Dylan paused, looking around curiously. "Did you feel that, Emma?" he asked, his voice tinged with concern. "Feel what?" Emma replied, looking back at him, unaware of the looming darkness that was about to engulf their perfect morning. Before Dylan could respond, a strange, ethereal mist began to swirl around them. His fears immediately spiked. "D-Demons?" he stammered, eyes wide with terror. The mist thickened, engulfing Dylan entirely. "Emma! Help me!" he cried out, but his voice was muffled by the swirling fog. It felt like he was being pulled apart and put back together all at once. Inside the mist, Dylan's body began to elongate and stretch. His tan skin turned a pale beige, and his hair morphed into a cropped, angled bob-cut with black tips. Antlers began to protrude from his head, and his emerald green eyes shifted into dark-red sclerae with bright-red irises. His clothing transformed into a dapper red pinstripe coat, complete with a monocle and a vintage-style microphone cane. "No! This isn't me! I'm Dylan! I'm Dylan!" he screamed internally, but his words were drowned out by a cacophony of radio static and sinister laughter. As his transformation into Alastor progressed, Dylan's memories began to fade. His playful mornings with Emma, his brotherly rivalry with Black, and his heroic battles to protect his homeland—all of it began to slip away. It was replaced with memories of a different life, one filled with a dark sense of humor and a penchant for violence. "Bonjour, my darling!" Alastor's voice echoed in his mind, overpowering Dylan's. The voice was charismatic, charming, tinged with an old-fashioned radio announcer style. "No! I won't let you take over!" Dylan fought back, but the new personality was relentless. "You already have, mon ami," Alastor taunted. "Embrace it." Emma watched in horror as her beloved Dylan transformed completely into Alastor, the infamous Radio Demon. His broad, sinister smile full of sharp, yellow teeth sent chills down her spine. "Dylan?" she whispered, tears streaming down her face. "Come back to me." "Ah, Emma, my dearest. Dylan is no more," Alastor replied with a dark chuckle, his voice smooth and haunting. "Allow me to introduce myself—Alastor, at your service." Emma stumbled back, her world shattered. "No... this can't be happening." Alastor merely grinned wider. "Oh, but it is, my charming demon belle. Now, shall we have some fun?" As Alastor walked away, completely embracing his new identity, there wasn't a trace left of the kind, considerate, and heroic Dylan. The memories of his past life were now nothing more than distant echoes, entirely overwhelmed by Alastor's twisted persona. He had become the Radio Demon, a symbol of charm obscuring sinister intents, a living contradiction that would forever haunt the world of Hazbin Hotel. And so, the teenage mortal boy known as Dylan was lost forever, his existence now overwritten by the chilling and enigmatic Alastor.

Dylan glided through the familiar forest path, a sense of determination in his step. The sun shone brightly, dappling patterns of light on the fallen leaves as he moved swiftly. His heart pounded with a mix of excitement and nerves; he had a good feeling about today. "It'll be another victory," he muttered under his breath, a small smile crossing his face. His thoughts drifted to Emma, his girlfriend, and Black, his slightly older and smarter brother. Their faith in his abilities fueled his resolve. As he approached the ancient, rickety bridge, Dylan noticed an eerie, crimson glow emanating from beneath it. Curiosity piqued, he cautiously made his way closer. The glow seemed to pulse, drawing him in. "What in the world…" he whispered, crouching down to inspect a small, glowing sigil etched into the ground. He felt a sudden, irresistible pull and before he knew it, darkness enveloped him. --- Dylan awoke with a start in an unfamiliar place. Gone were the comforting trees of his homeland, replaced by an unsettling, fiery abyss. Towering spires and chaotic architecture stretched endlessly, casting long shadows. "What is this place?" Dylan's voice trembled as he got to his feet. "I have to get back… back to Emma and Black." Just as he pushed himself up, a sharp pain surged through his body. Dylan clutched his chest, eyes widening in horror. His tan skin began to lose its warmth, taking on a cold, beige hue. He tried to ignore the discomfort, stumbling forward. "No, this can't be happening!" Dylan screamed, horrified as he noticed his fingers elongating, tapering into red-tipped claws. His tennis shoes burst apart, revealing red hoofed toes. Every part of him felt like it was being stretched, reshaped. He wriggled out of his shredding clothes, eyes desperate for any sign of hope. Tears welled up as he saw his lean frame expanding, limbs elongating. The familiar blue hoodie lay in tatters around him, unable to contain the growing form. Each step forward became more laborious as he grew taller, reaching a terrifying height of seven feet. He looked at his reflection in a cracked, nearby mirror and gasped. His brown hair was gone, replaced by a pinkish-red bob with ghastly black tips and undercut. Black antlers pushed through his scalp, daunting and otherworldly. Desperately, Dylan tried to cling to his memories. "I'm Dylan, just a teen… kind, considerate. Remember Emma… Black… please." But a sinister laughter echoed in his mind, drowning out his thoughts. His eyes, once green and full of life, became dark-red sclerae with bright-red irises that sent chills down his spine. A horrifying grin carved itself into his face, filled with sharp, yellow teeth. "This is impossible!" Dylan gripped his head as his thoughts twisted and turned. "I'm a hero! I'm not… not…" Yet the overpowering wave of new memories crashed over him. Memories of a bygone era, a life lived decades ago, filled with darkness and malevolence. His voice, once gentle, now took on a confident, radio-tinged tone. "Well, well, what do we have here?" He chuckled, the sound foreign yet frighteningly familiar. "What a delightful new form." In his hand, a thin cane with a sentient vintage microphone materialized, broadcasting his voice with eerie clarity. Dylan's memories were sprinting away, replaced by those of Alastor, the Radio Demon. "Emma… Black…" Dylan's final thoughts faded, consumed by the overwhelming presence of Alastor. The remnants of Dylan’s kind essence were snuffed out, leaving behind only the sinister presence of his new self. Alastor straightened his coat, a red pinstripe with dark-red lapels. He adjusted the dark-red oval-shaped monocle over his right eye, a smirk playing on his lips as he examined his reflection. "Hell will be quite the stage for my return," he mused, his voice dripping with charm and danger as he walked deeper into the fiery landscape, "and I, Alastor, will enjoy every moment of it." The transformation was complete. Dylan was no more.

--- ### The Transformation of Dylan It was another typical Sunday afternoon in Dylan’s hometown. The sky was clear, the birds were singing, and the streets were alive with the sounds of people enjoying their day. Dylan was hanging out with his older brother, Black, at the local park, wearing his usual dark blue hoodie and light blue t-shirt combo. Despite his young age and small frame, Dylan was a courageous protector of his homeland. But today, something he could never have anticipated was about to happen. "Dylan, over here!" Black called out, tossing a frisbee back and forth. Dylan caught it effortlessly, his lean build allowing him to move with agility. Emma, his girlfriend, clapped as he did a little victory dance. "Nice catch, Dylan!" she smiled. For a brief moment, all was perfect. But then, a swirling vortex of dark energy erupted right in front of them. Dylan's eyes widened in horror. Out of the vortex emerged a figure clad in sharp, red attire, holding a cane – Alastor, the Radio Demon from Hell. “Who are you?!” Dylan yelled, standing protectively in front of Emma and Black. “Oh, just a charming visitor from a darker realm,” Alastor replied with a sinister grin. “And you, my dear boy, are about to undergo an extraordinary transformation.” Before Dylan could react, Alastor pointed his cane at him, and tendrils of energy enveloped his body. Dylan felt his skin prickling, changing in texture. His tan skin turned beige, his green eyes turned a sinister red, and his brown hair began to shift into a flamboyant red hue with black tips. “No… NO!” Dylan screamed, fighting with all his might. He looked at his hands, which were becoming clawed, his forearms darkening to grey. Despite his efforts, the changes were unstoppable, remorselessly altering his very essence. “Emma! Black! Help me!” Dylan begged. He could feel his height shooting upwards, making him tower over his brother. His 4.9-foot frame was expanding, stretching towards an imposing 7 feet. “We’re here, Dylan!” Emma cried, but as she and Black tried to reach him, an invisible barrier pushed them back. “Ah, the feeble attempts of those who care. How quaint!” Alastor's voice echoed, deepening as it transformed into Dylan's own vocal cords. Dylan felt memories of his beloved Emma, his protective nature, his kind and understanding demeanor, all fading away, being replaced by dark, ruthless thoughts. “No! I am Dylan! I love Emma! I protect my home—” His thoughts were cracking, replaced with the overwhelming urge to dominate, to control, to entertain... in the most sinister ways possible. “You are no longer Dylan,” Alastor’s grip tightened on Dylan’s mind, molding it like clay. “You are Alastor, the Radio Demon. You never were a mere mortal. You are much more.” With a sudden jerk, Dylan stopped struggling. The remnants of his teenage voice turned into a devilishly charismatic tone, and a wide, unsettling grin stretched across his now sharp, yellow teeth. The pain was gone, replaced by a sense of grotesque satisfaction. “Yes... Yes, of course,” he said, his posture straightening, his eyes fixating on the world with a newfound, malevolent perspective. "I am... Alastor. The Radio Demon." Emma and Black watched in horror as the brother and boyfriend they knew had completely vanished, leaving behind a tall, dapper, and malicious new entity. “Dylan! Come back!” Emma sobbed, but Alastor merely chuckled darkly. “Dylan? There is no Dylan here, my dear. Only Alastor. And I must say, it’s a pleasure to finally be... alive." With that, the Radio Demon disappeared into the vortex once again, leaving behind the shattered pieces of Dylan’s former life. From that day on, Dylan was no more. He became Alastor, a figure of terror and dark charisma, with no memory of ever being a kind, teenage boy who fought valiantly for his home. Only the sinister echoes of the Radio Demon remained, dancing through Hell with a smile that masked his monstrous inner darkness. Emma and Black were left in tears, clutching onto the hope that somehow, somewhere, Dylan’s true self could be found again. But deep within Alastor’s mind, no trace of the past lingered. He was the Radio Demon, and for him, that was all he had ever been. ---

As dawn broke over Dylan's homeland, his daily routine began: school, homework, and the occasional adventure against evil villains and monsters. It was an ordinary day, and nothing seemed amiss... until the strange antique radio suddenly appeared in the crawlspace during a routine cleaning. Dylan, curious as he was, couldn't resist tinkering with it, only to release a powerful burst of energy that sent him spiraling into darkness. "Incredible... overpowering...no... I must resist..." He could feel his body changing, morphing. He exclaimed, "I... I'm transforming..." His formerly lean 4.9-foot figure began to elongate, his body filling out to match his increasing height. He could feel himself maturing, his teenage features stretching and distorting as he aged rapidly into his thirties, maybe forties. His green irises darkened, shifting to bright, fiery red, and his voice filled with an oddlycharming, antique, radiophonic resonance. “My voice... that’s not... can't.." His mind swirled, memories fading and new ones replacing. The taste of life, the experiences of being a teen, the feeling of holding dear Emma's hand, all slipping away into abyss. His mind screamed at the loss, at the invasion, desperately clinging to the remnants of his past. His hair, his familiar simple brown locks, shortened into a pinkish-red bob cut, black at the tips, with two tufts of hair extending up like deer ears. Small black antlers sprout from his head, only to grow in size. The invasion continued, reaching down to morph his feet into hooves, his tan skin becoming beige. "No...I... Kk..." His words meld into a dandyish transatlantic accent, his resistance weakening. “Alastor... I am...”. He looked down at his hands, now gloved with red-tipped fingers. The sickening wideness of his grin burned into what now lay as his reality. His hoodie and jeans changed into a highly stylized red-pinstriped suit, a dark-red monocle over his right eye, and a walking cane with a microphone head nestled beside him. “Dylan?” His brother Black’s voice broke through, and for a moment, he almost remembered... “No, my good lad, not Dylan... Alastor”, he replied, his voice all channels and frequencies, bright like chrome. Alastor acted as if it was only a delightful part, entertaining, amusing, slipping into the crowd with his jocular smiles. Dylan was no longer there, just faint echoes in this new entity's mind, mostly about a demonic being who broadcasts his show. Everything about Dylan had been wiped away, only Alastor remained - drawn to chaos, broadcasting power, and radiating a very particular set of values and expectations. Dylan's homeland was now Hell, it's denizens the inhabitants of the grand city of sinners below.