Deep Oceans

by Slavek

Summary:

Hell is Hell. Sinners are sinners, deserving of punishment. It is no heavenly punishment that awaits them in the afterlife, but one brought upon by their own hand - or by the hands of others. Which one is worse is up to each one's interpretation, but some know only one thing: They'll repay their own suffering by punishing others a thousandfold. The very few know that it is in the arms of loved ones they can find a taste of Heaven.

[Or: Vox is fucked in the head. Like, very. Angel & Husk romance story. Alastor is involved.]

Chapter 1: Drown

It was a suffocating feeling. Vox could feel the cruel coldness of the net surrounding him. It embraced him, put its arms around him, and soothed him like a mother would its child before forcing its head under the water in the bathtub. The currents caressed him and reached out to him in a way that didn’t make him startle, and so he reached out. They took him deeper, towards the darkest depths. Sure, as deep as the Pacific Ocean. The light from the surface became distant. It yearned for him to return, but through the depths, its calling voice became distorted, and Vox couldn’t make it out. 

He felt well. At peace, drifting through the cold darkness. As cold as it was, he could not tell he was drowning, and felt warmth in his chest. Was it his heart, trying its best to pump blood and keep him from freezing? There was no use for such useless gestures. He was in Hell, and he could not die. In another life, in another place, he would feel scared diving so deep. But as he looked around in the dark, he could see bright red eyes looking back at him. 

Sharks of the size of ships swam around him. He reached out for one with his sharp claws. The sharp winced as the edges cut through its delicate skin, and Vox pulled back with a startle. Sudden claustrophobia overwhelmed his senses. Not from the water, not from the darkness, or the cold. From the anxiety-ridden feeling that he had ruined it all. He had hurt the shark, had he not? See! It was swimming away already, its friends following after it. Vox desperately tried to follow them, fighting back against the currents. But his frozen arms would not move, and he was dropping down like a stone. 

Down, down, down the depths, he sank. He couldn’t see, nothing at all, and he closed his eyes. How comforting would it be  to fall asleep in the cold dark, knowing the sharks would come after him once they’d turned back? 

Then he screamed like a little child, his voice filled with glitches. He tore open his eyes and all he saw was the sharp lights of the monitors surrounding him from all sides, shadowed only by a short figure standing in front of him. Vox blinked and slowly began recognising those curls, that dark-toned face and those red eyes. 

“Velvette?” He mumbled, reaching with his claws for his head. It throbbed and hummed. Vox felt as if he had just drunk a bottle, or two, of something strong and the nausea made him want to throw up. 

“Fucking finally,” Velvette scoffed and took a step back away from him. Her eyes glimmered with an emotion Vox could best describe as anger, although it was confusing to him. What was she angry at? Had Valentino done something again? 

Vox shook his head. “What happened…?” He asked as he tried to stand, but he had to steady himself against his desk as his vision became all blurry for a moment. 

“You’ve been plugged in for three days straight . That’s what happened,” she told him with sharpness to her tone. All despite her harsh tone, her eyes flickered for a moment with a conflicting expression. Vox didn’t dare to think it was concern. It was a silly thought. 

“That can’t be right,” Vox said as he walked by Velvette’s side to the door of his domain. They entered his apartment - a glorified aquarium, more like.

Its walls were glass, behind which were tanks full of sharks of all sizes and shapes. They swam around peacefully, watching them with their red eyes. There was little furniture to speak of in the apartment itself. Just the basic necessities and lots of play items for Vark, the little dog-like shark Vox kept around. The ceiling was covered in cables stretching around like veins. 

The little shark ran up to Vox as soon as the door closed behind them. As it ran, it stuck out its tongue and let it hang in the air. Vox faintly smiled and picked it up into his arms, cradling it as he sat down on the couch. Velvette conjured a glass of water and set it down on the table before him. 

“Drink,” she told him with a tone that didn’t allow for talking back. Shoulders hanging, Vox picked up the glass and gulped it all down. The water felt refreshing, and it only now occurred to him how dehydrated he was. 

It had never quite occurred to him how it worked. He was more machine than man, and yet he kept needing water, food, sleep, and all the downs that accompanied having an organic body like Velvette. Gifted with the strengths of a machine, cursed with the weaknesses of a man. He had skin and flesh, but underneath it all ran fine cables along with the veins and his bones were made of metal, but worst of all was his screen - it was so stupidly fragile. Sometimes he would regard himself in the mirror and found himself plagued with the urge to smash it to pieces when he couldn’t bring himself over the fear of smashing his own face. Valentino took care of the screen enough, and the mirror broke so easily under Vox’s fist, but it always left him with shards stuck in his flesh. 

“I finished the designs for the new phones,” Vox said, and put the glass down. “Applications, programming, manufacturing plans - all of it.” 

Velvette arched her brow. “Wasn’t that due in like, what, three months?” She scoffed.

Vox shrugged. “I figured it would make space for me and Val.” He hadn’t quite done it for that reason, and he knew that Velvette knew he was lying. It was obvious. 

Neither of the two were much about dates or spending time together outside their tower. It wasn’t like they didn’t see each other every day, at the studio downstairs or at their break time upstairs. Vox didn’t know why he had used that lie to cover up the fact that he had just… not thought about it at all. He had just plugged himself in and got consumed by the net. His thoughts became no longer his own, and so he drifted through his work while enjoying some peace. It was never quiet on the net, always buzzing with information, but it felt different from being in a loud and messy place. In the net, he had all the control, and if he wanted to, he could drown in it. The difficulty was swimming back out. 

“Right...” Velvette mumbled, already looking with one eye at her phone. She pocketed it and turned her attention back to Vox, who was now getting angry kisses from his shark. “Look, I’m not going to call you out on your bullshit, but Christ, get your shit together, Vox. You can’t just go under for days and expect me to put out the fires. You have any idea how difficult it is to figure out the type of shit you’d post on your Voxstagram? Shark pictures aren’t exactly my aesthetic.” 

Vox sighed and leaned his back against the couch. “No, I get it. I’ll take a break, sure,” he said, his voice coming out flat and fightless. The ceiling he was looking at was spinning around, and he was quite sure he could see red eyes looking back at him from in-between the gaps of the cables. He squinted to make sure they were there, but the harder he focused, the more blurry his vision became. 

“Then take a fucking break,” Velvette snapped. “I made sure to clear your schedule for today, but I am not your fucking secretary. Go to bed, and tomorrow, make sure to have your shit together. You still have that interview with Valentino’s doll.” 

Vox tilted his head and glanced at Velvette. “Interview?”

Velvette already had her eyes on her phone and was headed for the door. “Yeah? The one with Angel Dust?” She cut back. Vox scowled, and she chuckled in response. “If you have a problem with it, then talk to Valentino. I’m sure he will be so understanding,” she said before she left through the slide-opening door. 

Vark nuzzled up to Vox as silence filled the room. Vox petted it gently on his head before he put him down from his lap. The shark seemed disappointed, but Vox didn’t have the energy to care. He felt like there was something burning in his chest, and shivers ran down his spine. He headed for his bedroom, but the world was swimming around him, and he couldn’t tell whether it was him stumbling from side to side or the walls. 

From the corner of his eyes, he saw something, and he stopped. Vox looked around, feeling his heartbeat pick up. It was so dark in his apartment, he realised. Beside his sharks, there was no other company, but the gnawing feeling of being watched lingered as he slumped down onto his bed, not even bothering to take his suit off except for the jacket. Vark jumped on the bed and sat down beside him. 

Vox’s eyes slowly closed, and he was back in the cold darkness. The oceans were calling him. They cradled his fingers and caressed his screen. Their calling was sweet like summer fruits and warm like the sun on winter days. Vox wished they would leave him alone, or let him drown entirely. Let him drown, drown, drown, all the way down. It would never happen with Velvette around. Valentino would be the one to push him off the cliff into the gaping abyss, if it wasn’t for their cooperation that gave him power. Without Vox, Valentino was little, next to nothing.

He was already drifting to sleep when his receptors picked up on that sweet, sweet cigarette smoke mingled with the sharpness of the love poison. Vox opened one of his eyes, and surely enough, the moth stood in the door, leaning against the frame. 

“Wha-what do you want?” Vox managed, his voice glitchy. 

Valentino scoffed. Cold, unlike his man-child persona. “You look like shit,” the moth mocked as he puffed on his cigarette. Vox shrugged. Oh, how he wished to be held right now. His entire body was shivering, and he wanted to feel the warmth. If the warmth came from that poison leaping in clouds of smoke from Valentino’s cigarette, it was good enough for him. 

“Come over here,” Vox pleaded, his voice weak with exhaustion. To his surprise, the moth complied and walked over to the bed. He sat down at the edge, his sharp red eyes regarding Vox with a mixture of mocking pity and intrigue. 

“You better put yourself together for tomorrow, Voxxy,” Valentino smiled, his golden tooth flashing. Vox let out a sigh. 

“We… we could g-go out before th-the interview,” Vox suggested, his heart beating fast, riddled with flickering hope and expectation. Valentino kept quiet for a moment. Then, one of his hands reached for Vox’s screen, turning it to meet Vox’s gaze. Vox’s hopes turned to ash there and then. He knew that look. Filled with a burning resentment, he himself observed in his own eyes whenever talking to the lowly sinners whose souls he owned. But Valentino didn’t own him, did he? So, what was up with that?

“I doubt I’d want to waste my time on some pointless gestures, Voxxy. Business isn’t going to run itself, you know,” Valentino cooed coldly. “We could have another type o’fun if you’d like…,” he added in a suggestive tone, one of his hands squeezing Vox’s thigh. 

Vox forced a thin smile. “If that’s what you want…,” he said, groggily. He tried to picture it, but it didn’t bring much comfort. Valentino would take what he’d want. It would satisfy Vox, surely enough. Valentino knew how to feed those wants Vox had in the darkest ways possible. To be used, to be desired, to be taken care of in ways that often left him scarred and hurting, but it put a brake on that burning desire he felt aching deep within his chest that made his heart jump at any kind gesture Valentino offered him, no matter how empty they were. As long as the control was taken him from him, even if violently, he felt that fucked-up resemblance of safety and… love. 

He wanted to carve that thought out of his head. It was pointless. Hopeless and delusional. That human imperfection left a mark on his psyche as well, and if he could, he would rip it out and replace it with more mechanical parts. The thought intrigued him, and quickly the burst of anger and frustration turned to determination. He would carve himself until he’d bleed out on the bathroom floor if it meant there was a hope of erasing this feeling. 

Valentino smiled and patted Vox’s screen. Vox shivered, but didn’t pull away. The moth blew a cloud of smoke into Vox’s face before he stood and headed for the door. “Tomorrow then, Voxxy,” Valentino smirked and then left Vox all alone in his bed. 

Vox kept his eyes fixed on the closed door. The longer he stared, the sharper the moth’s outline became. It was as if he was right there, standing in the room with him. And he saw him walk over, gently kiss him on the forehead and wrap his many arms around him. He could hear his voice in the back of his head, soothing him to sleep. The touch was distant and confusing. He wasn’t really there, was he? It didn’t matter to Vox, as long as he managed to convince himself Valentino had never left and was still there with him, he managed to drift into sleep all the same. 

It wouldn’t be until morning that the feeling of his chest growing hollow would return to him. Anchor him back into reality, but that wasn’t now. Now, he lay in Valentino’s arms and imagined the warmth of his loving embrace.

Chapter 2: You Love Him?

Summary:

Angel has an interview with Vox. Things go a little off script…

The neon lights of the entertainment district — The Vees’ territory — were blinding even in the dim sunlight of Hell’s day. Angel had taken a drive to the centre of the district from some down-on-life sinner who happened to be driving by the outskirts of the Hazbin Hotel’s area, and was lustful enough to give Angel a ride for a quick handjob. Valentino’s idea for an ‘interview’ of all things wouldn’t have been so disasteriously stupid and pointless in Angel’s mind if only the stupid moth overlord had taken care of his means of getting to the studio in the first place, but it appeared that after Angel’s hasty decision to move into the hotel Valentino had grown exceptionally cold. 

 

Clutching to his coat, gifted to him by Husk, Angel walked by the long line of buyers standing just outside of the Vees’ tower. The lower half of the place was more like a packed shopping centre for the products the three overlords advertised, but among all of them three stood out: the latest phone model that was only a couple of months old — Vox’s design, the love potion that was sold in liquids and cigarettes — Velvette’s design, and lastly there were numerous booths for ‘special’ entertainment provided by Valentino’s prostitutes. Technology, drugs, and sex, the three staples of modern day life. To say that Angel despised it all would’ve been an understatement. 

 

Two of these things had ruined his life back when he was alive. His drug addiction only continued into his time in the afterlife and sex… what started out as a warm and romantic relationship turned bitter and poisonous once the butterfly shed its colours and revealed to be an ugly moth instead. Angel could feel his fingers dig into his shoulders at the thought. Shaking his head, he entered the elevator and set for the studio. All he had to do was to get the whole thing over and then he could return to the hotel… to Husk. The grumpy but caring bartender who had seen right through his bullshit when no one else could. He softly smiled at the thought of him when the elevator came to a halt and he stepped into the studio.

 

The air was surprisingly clean. While the usual prostitutes could be seen standing about and doing their work as usual, the moth couldn’t be seen anywhere around. Instead of the normal crew that would stand behind the lights, Angel saw that those were Vox’s sinners, marked by their fish-like appearances and blue colour scheme. 

 

“We on time or what?” Angel bit out as one of the crew members opened their mouths to speak to him. He ignored the small shark demon and headed for the set, which appeared so unfamiliar to him now that it wasn’t an oversized bed or anything that would fit a sex scene of any kind, dirty or wholesome.

 

There were two foldable chairs with a round coffee table between them, but neither surface carried that undertone of sexualisation that most of the moth’s props carried. These were odd… sharp. Inhuman almost in their efficient design and simplicity. They lacked any personality or a designer’s touch which seemed to so sharply clash with Valentino’s over-exaggeration of everything, down to his bipolar personality. 

 

Angel sat down on the chair he thought would be his and looked around. A clock hung on the wall just behind the crew, and he could see that he was just on time. But there was no sight of the man himself — Vox. The overlord was known for his crude precision and demand for perfection, a professional and demanding businessman through and through that would milk the most of his employees at any cost, even at the detriment of their own health. Much like Valentino, but not in a sexual way at the very least. 

 

Angel couldn’t say he had ever interacted with Vox. Not really. The few conversations they shared during parties that Valentino hosted and brought Angel to were disjointed and lacking interest. Angel wasn’t excited to get into the dealings of yet another exploitative piece of shit overlord and Vox didn’t seem all too keen to get involved with Valentino’s business. Angel hated Vox by default. Vox was an overlord. An overlord who worked with a known rapist and a piece of shit abuser. Not only that, he dated him, even if their relationship was a hot-‘n’-cold thing. In Angel’s eyes, Vox was as much to blame for Valentino’s actions as the moth himself. He allowed for it to happen and by extension was a supporter of it. 

 

This racing through his head, he was torn out of his thoughts by the cling-sound of the elevator opening. Angel turned his eyes to see the overlord enter the studio, and everybody quietened. The otherwise ever-constant buzz of conversation and faint moans and lewd noises became silent. All eyes were on the overlord standing in the elevator. Something was odd about him. His appearance was slightly dishevelled — his tie a little bit crooked, his clothes not quite straight and his screen wasn’t pristine either, as if something had spilled all over it and someone had just hastily washed it all away. 

 

“Everything prepared?” Vox asked, his voice slightly undertones with hints of glitches as he walked over to the set. The head of the crew nodded and signalled for the others to get into positions. 

 

Angel watched Vox’s movements curiously. Vox comes off energetic and flamboyant in his expressions, but as he sat down into the chair and materialised a script into his hands, there was little trace of that energy. A sense of exhaustion lingered in the air around him that made Angel much uneasier than if the overlord was his natural self— over the top with his expressions and rudely snarky, downright bullying. 

 

“Anythin’ I should know ‘fore we get started?” Angel asked, resting his lower set of arms in his lap. 

 

Vox simply shrugged. “Didn’t read the script,” he answered flatly. 

 

Angel didn’t have time to react when the studio’s lights turned on and the head of the crew announced they were live. 

 

Like the flip of a card, Vox’s screen turned brighter and colour returned to his overall mood. The sharpness of his resolution returned as he turned his screen to address the camera. He was in his element, after all. Angel also had the same amount of confidence while on camera, but he couldn’t help but be astonished at the seamlessness that Vox portrayed in his appearance on screen. He was flawless. 

 

“So, Angel, one of the most asked questions on the internet is what is your favourite performance this far into your career?” Vox began asking, eyeing Angel as he spoke.

 

Angel wanted to scoff at the word ‘career’. It was slavery, that’s what it was. Brought upon him by himself, he thought bitterly, but his feelings didn’t show in his expression. He answered the question and the one after with a straight face, but he could feel himself losing the plot halfway through. Things became blurry and the words were just out of focus even as he spoke them out loud. Too much noise although it was dead silent. Too much going on but it was just him and Vox. He didn’t feel like he was there any longer and the familiarity of the feeling of disassociation made him feel nauseous. 

 

Then it all came crashing down when the fire of questions stopped. Something was wrong. He looked over at Vox and he was definitely right in his intuition: something was wrong. The overlord had frozen on the spot, his eyes looking at the script lying on the table with a frozen expression of an unreadable nature. Angel didn’t miss how he dug his claws into his thigh, slightly tearing the fabric.

 

“Uhm, boss?” The crew leader gently whispered from behind the camera, his voice laden with fear and anxiety. But one minute and thirty seconds had passed — an eternity in television, and Vox hadn’t moved at all. 

 

Vox's eyes tore off the script and met the sinner’s. Angel shivered at that look. Pure, unfiltered rage was seeping through his look. He then turned to look at Angel and the spider; who was two metres tall, suddenly felt so small and vulnerable it made him feel like he would be about to have an anxiety attack. Then Vox asked that question. 

 

“There’s Valentino’s question,” Vox said coldly. “Do you love him?” He asked, his tone dry and downright resentful. 

 

Angel’s heart skipped a beat. Don’t mess this up. Don’t mess this up. Don’t mess this up. Fuck I’m going to mess this aren’t I— No, no, no, I can’t. Val will kill me. 

 

“Pfft, o’course I love Valentino, it’s the reason I started working for ‘im,” Angel scoffed and tried his best to sound as unbothered as he could. He was silently praying Husk wasn’t watching the interview. 

 

Vox’s left eye twitched. A tell-tale sign of his emotions — or his powers, no one could quite tell, were getting the better of him. “How could you love him? How could anyone love him ?” 

 

Angel glared at Vox. Why the fuck would he ask that? Was that in the script or was Vox intentionally trying to give Angel a fucking anxiety attack on live television? 

 

“It’s simple,” he mused. “If you love a good dick you’ll love him. If ya ain’t into that, don’t be a stupid bitch .” 

 

“So, you never expected a shred of warmth or love from him, is that right?” Vox continued asking, his voice imitating the flat sound of an AI speaker found on a translator. There was something so off-putting about it that it made Angel cringe. But the question itself cut deeply and he could feel the tears swelling up. 

 

“Why for the ever lovin’ fuck would I expect that from him ?” Angel cut back with poison in his voice. 

 

Vox shrugged and his gaze became distant. Almost as if he himself wasn’t fully there, either. Angel could tell from his own experience the overlord was… No, he wasn’t. Angel wanted to laugh at that thought. It was just that stupid screen messing up his perception of the overlord’s expression. 

 

“It would feel nice,” Vox mumbled, then pulled himself sharply together. “That is for today’s interview with the famous porn star Angel Dust! Hope you enjoyed today’s show!— And cue for the commercial.” 

 

Just as the camera cut, Angel lost it. 

 

“What the fuck was that?!” Angel bursted out as he abruptly stood up from his chair. Vox regarded him with a cool expression as he had already begun talking to the crew. 

 

“An interview?” Vox simply stated. 

 

Angel fumed. “Did you come up with those questions yourself? Or was it Valentino fucking up my day as always?” 

 

Vox chuckled. “Dangerous thing to be talking that way about your employer ,” he pointed out with a mocking tone. 

 

“Don’t act high and mighty when we both know you were about to have a panic attack half way through!” Angel blurted out before he could think. 

 

The studio went silent. 

 

Vox looked at him, slowly turning his head to face him. Angel could feel his heart stop. Fuck . 

 

“Is having a cock stuffed into your mouth the only way to get you to shut up?” Vox asked in the most indifferent tone imaginable before he took a step forward. Angel took a step back but froze on the spot. Fear blinded him. He could already feel his skin burn from bruises and see Val’s golden tooth flash in the dressing room mirror. 

“Word of advice, whore , mind your own fucking business and do what you’re told to do,” Vox said, stepping closer to Angel. Despite their height differences, it felt like Vox was looking down on him, not the other way around. “Fuck that up, and you might just get a real reason to be a miserable and pathetic slut. Got it?” 

Angel simply nodded, incapable of words. Vox smiled. “Great. Then my business is concluded here. Don’t get too fucked up,” he said before glitching through the cameras to god who knows where. 

 

The moment he was gone Angel stormed off into his dressing room. He collapsed onto the floor, clutching his arms around his legs and breathing heavily, unable to get enough into his lungs. A stray tear trailed down his cheek. .

Chapter 3: Polite Dinner

Summary:

Alastor is enjoying his meal…

There was blood everywhere. 

 

It traced his claws, dripped down his elbows and traces of it ran down his cheeks. Alastor could feel the thick liquid stick to his teeth. He chuckled and dug his claws deeper into the sweet, sweet flesh. The sinner whimpered at that, and Alastor cooed mockingly. 

 

“No one will find you here, you know,” he spoke after he had swallowed. It was, after all, improper manners to speak with one’s mouth full. 

 

The shark-like eyes of the sinner flashed up to him. Normally, the sinner would’ve died hours ago from blood loss or had passed out from the excruciating pain that was expected when one’s innards were pulled piece by piece from the stomach. But Alastor had his ways to savour his meals, not just the taste, but the entertainment, too. It was endlessly entertaining to observe the poor victims try and defend themselves, even with their bodies torn to shreds and being forced to watch themselves being devoured by a superior being. 

 

“Please,” the sinner coughed, blood pouring out of its gaping mouth. 

 

Alastor’s ever-present smile widened. The sinner’s voice was nought but a whisper in the swamp, almost overwhelmed by the constant buzzing of fireflies and quiet groans of the swamp waters’ alligators. The radio demon had put substantial effort into crafting his pocket dimension, and it showed. If it wasn’t for the gaping door in the distance that connected to the rest of the Hazbin Hotel, no one could tell, not even Alastor, that he wasn’t actually back on earth. He had never been much of an artist, but with powers such as his, he could very well go and find Da Vinci and prove to be a better painter than him. 

 

The eyes turning hollow and only filled with pointers wasn’t always intentional, but this time he exceptionally savoured the look of pure terror and defeat on the sinner’s face whose name he never had bothered to learn. All Alastor needed to hear was the faint crying of a woman, and the screaming of a man, and he knew he had dinner reserved. 

 

“Beg better,” Alastor said, his voice riddled with static, and it had become so high-pitched it would make one’s ears bleed. Before the sinner could utter another word and waste their breath, Alastor’s jaw snapped. His teeth grew twice their size and his jaw dropped at the same time as his neck extended, and his bones twisted and grew, his antlers turning into a crown of terror atop his head. 

 

The sinner’s scream turned silent after the pop of his head being smashed like a melon echoed through the swamp. Blood streamed in rivers down the gaps between Alastor’s teeth. 

 

The only regret Alastor had was the bloody mess. He had to use three handkerchiefs to get his face clean again, and with a snap of his fingers he adjusted his clothes. Once he considered himself clean enough, he considered the pool of blood gathered atop the table and on the ground surrounding him. He huffed and turned his head to face the distant door. 

 

“Oh, Niffty!” He called, and sure enough, moments later the door to the domain popped, and the one-eyed maid appeared right before him. She glared at him with her burning eye, holding a sharpened needle in her hand like a knife she could use to stab someone through their guts. 

 

“Ahaha, yes, Alastor?” She panted, her voice ridden with excitement for whatever he had in store for her. 

 

Quite honestly, Alastor couldn’t figure out Niffty, either. She was keen to serve him, but had an underlying insanity not even he could reach. To understand her really held the requirement of being as insane as she was, and it wasn’t worth the cost to try and figure her out, so he had left the mystery behind her behaviour be. It still managed to annoy even him, and he didn’t quite like that. While he was certain she would remain loyal, he would leave it be, but if it took a little seasoning of insanity to figure out how to break even her, he would gladly walk that path. 

 

The only way he could manipulate anybody was to understand them, their motives and fears. The group of the Hazbin Hotel were easy enough for that. Charlie – oh, Charlie! – had to have been the easiest, along with her sorry excuse for a father. ‘Lord’ of Hell. Alastor could feel his blood boil at the thought of him. A sorry excuse for a father and a disgrace for the supposed ruler of Hell. 

 

“Clean this up, will you?” He mused and left her to it. He could catch from the corner of his eye as he was walking off how she threw herself at the puddle and began earnestly cleaning it. 

 

In less than an hour, it would be spotless clean. If only that damned cat, Husker, was the same. There was so much loyalty he could expect from a sore loser alcoholic, Alastor supposed, but it would’ve been nice to have a little more enthusiasm from the old man. If he could not have that, then fear would inspire the doomed sinner just as easily. Fear was, after all, the basis for all. You’d either fear God and go to Heaven, or defy him, and learn fear in Hell. The strong would deny the fear of God and get a taste of His power in Hell, for being feared meant to be akin to God, and by extension, the most powerful sinners in Hell were holier than any angel ever could be. Who feared an angel? Only the sinners, but not all of them, but everyone would fear the overlords, for the angels only visited once a year, but an overlord could enact a massacre every day for the next centuries and none could stop them, only someone more powerful. Fear was being powerful, and by power one became holy, and becoming holy was being God. 

 

Alastor left his domain behind and descended into the hotel’s lobby. Husker stood behind the bar and was currently in a conversation with the prostitute spider, Angel Dust. Alastor frowned at the sight of them two. Both doomed, so powerless and so utterly disgusting. They would rather cry over their sorry situation than take matters into their own hands and defy the sorry odds they have been dealt with. Just like the sinner, he had eaten just now, they would lie still and watch as they’d be devoured, maybe cry, but fight back? Somehow, it was beyond their mental capacity to comprehend the idea. Rightfully so, they were weaker and pathetic, but by extension of this knowledge they should cease feeling sorry for themselves. They had no right. 

 

He knew what it was like. Feeling weak and powerless, feeling sorry for oneself. The past of his human life filled him with a rage that made it difficult to contain his composure, but he could still vividly remember the night when he had let the rage pour free from beneath his skin and he had got a taste of power at last. Ever since, he was not willing to let it go, even if the price had been his own freedom. 

 

“Gentlemen,” he greeted Angel and Husk, who both cringed at his sudden appearance. Alastor leaned against the bar counter and did not fail to notice the smudged make up all over Angel’s face. He narrowed his eyes at the sight and then met Husk’s gaze. “How are we feeling this particular evening, hmm ?” 

 

Angel avoided his gaze. Husk chose to speak on his partner’s behalf. “Angel had an interview with that damned television… and, it did not go well,” Husk explained in his usual monotone voice, but now it was highlighted with a lingering frustration. Alastor saw how Angel clutched to his coat, which had been gifted to him by Husk, and sighed at Husk’s words. 

 

“Vox was bein’ an asshole, ‘s all,” Angel mumbled. He took a sip from his cocktail, sitting on the counter before him. Alastor arched a brow. 

 

“That picture-box had never learned some proper manners, I fear,” Alastor announced, his voice accompanied by the sounds of the approval of an audience which was not present. When Angel’s poisoned look did not falter, Alastor let his voice turn flat. “Nothing that may be done, I am afraid. You are the moth overlord’s property, after all! By extension, the picture-box can do anything it likes with you,” he said, sounding indifferent as ever. 

 

Husk narrowed his eyes and curled his hands into fists. Alastor did not fail to notice it, but he could not care less about the alcoholic’s feelings. It was the bitter truth, and the sooner Angel learned to swallow it as well as he had learned to swallow dicks, the better. The mere idea of selling his soul to be a… prostitute – putting it lightly – made Alastor sick . How could the spider expect pity? Then again, Alastor understood. He understood all too well that desperation. That hopelessness. The helplessness. That anger… that anger that swarmed one’s senses the deal was sealed and finished, and one could truly feel the weight of chains around one’s neck. 

 

Static cut through the air, and Alastor gripped his cane tightly. Both Husker and Angel turned their eyes at him. The glowing red signs that surrounded Alastor reflected in their pupils, widened by fear. 

 

“If that is all,” Alastor then said, the static and symbols disappearing at once. His voice carried a sense of carelessness and easiness that felt superficial given the circumstances, but neither of the two lowly demons had the courage to question it. “I will be taking my leave now,” he announced, and let the shadows take him back into his domain. 

 

The first tree within his reach, he let catch fire. The flames licked up the wood and reached for the non-existent sky. Their glow reflected in Alastor’s eyes, who was panting now to regain his composure. With a shaking hand, he reached for his throat. He could not feel the cold iron beneath his claws now, but it was as if the weight was ever-present. 

 

His cheeks hurt from his smile as he watched the tree turn to ash. 

 

Chapter 4: Weak Spots

Summary:

Vox has a day off. He has a little bit of 'fun'... at the expense of somebody else.

Vox could say, with confidence, that his newest product was yet another success. 

 

The newest re-branding of the phone sold out on the first day of the release, and he had to order the factories to work overnight, having the poor workers doing double shifts as a result of his overwhelming success. Not that he cared. As long as VoxTek was drowning in money, the low-life sinners trapped beneath his boot could suffocate from the workload. Satan only knew that Vox had enough on his plate, too. 

 

But today was a day of celebration, and he was enjoying it with a glass of scotch at his boyfriend’s studio, watching the production behind the scenes. It wasn’t exactly what most people would imagine as ‘relaxing’, and he was of the same opinion, but it was the closest he could get to being in public but being avoided like the plague at the same time. There were no reporters at Valentino’s studio – no people with cameras, obnoxious fans, or lowly sinners who desperately wanted to get a contract with him. The obscene sounds leaking from behind the walls and curtains, Valentino’s angry shouts, and regular crying, were all just background noise to him at this point. 

 

At the start of their collaboration, Vox had found all of it grotesquely disgusting. He much preferred to hide behind a camera or a drone, rather than watching himself in person, but as things stood everyone preferred to just ignore him, especially after the fiasco that was the interview with Angel Dust. He could hear some of the whores whisper to each other as they passed him by, throwing frightful glances at him. But they would leave him alone and in relative peace, and if that’s the best he could get, he could settle. 

 

He sipped his drink and scrolled through his phone, feeling content as the hours rolled by. Quite rarely was he ‘aware’ aware of time. He was precise in his timing and management, but came from planning things weeks ahead and getting things done way before the deadline would call for it. Time was a strange concept to him, in the same way his own biology confused him. The machine part of him was keenly aware of each millisecond clicking by, while the little humanity had left could disassociate for days and never be aware of it ever happening. Vox had given up trying to figure it out as long as it didn’t affect his work, which it didn’t, but in fact helped him a great lot. The sheer anxiety of being overdue for things pushed him to get things finished much earlier than required, which was a good thing– right? 

 

When he lifted the glass again, preoccupied with checking out Valentino’s posts on Voxtagram, he realised his drink was finished. He frowned and stared down at the empty glass. If he had wanted, he could have got himself one of those robotic Fizzarollies, but he couldn’t help but be weirded out by the sheer concept of it. Business-wise it was a great thing, sure, and Mammon earned bank on the clown’s clones alone, yet he could not stand it ever since the demand came up for him producing similar robots of himself . Yeah… no. Although he had shot that suggestion down as soon as it had come up, he could still see the tag trending from time to time on Voxtagram, and it made his circuits heat up. 

 

Lazily, Vox got up and went in search of the bar. It was further away from the rest of the filming section of the studio and was on the bottom floor, right at the lounge, where most of the whores spent their free time. Not all of them had been blessed with their own dressing room to spend their time in, like Angel Dust had been. The thought of that fucking spider made Vox’s skin crawl. The way Valentino was obsessed with him… Vox wanted to fucking kill him sometimes, although not really. It wasn’t Angel’s fault – it was the moth’s – but nonetheless, his feelings had their own fucking will and there was nothing he could do about the underlying jealousy he felt whenever Valentino would rant for hours about him during the particular time that was reserved for just the two of them. 

 

Valentino wasn’t a great boyfriend, nor lover, but he was a great sex partner. Of course, he was, being the overlord of the adult industry and all, but there was that fine line both of them were balancing. Two overlords – how the fuck could they make it work? Vox still couldn’t figure it out. Some days it was Vox who was bossing Valentino around, reprimanding the man-child he liked to pretend to be, and then other days it was Vox’s screen that got cracked into pieces. That dynamic reflected in everything they did intimately, and it never made any sense at all. 

 

They were both poison. 

 

Poison to others. 

 

Poison to one another. 

 

Addictive and destructive, they could not get away from each other. There was no escape for either one of them, unless they would cross that fine line and go beg Camilla for blessed weapons to try and off one another. 

 

Vox could picture it quite well, and he knew that the thought must’ve crossed the moth’s mind more times than once. 

 

Whom was he kidding? They weren’t in love – fuck, no. 

 

The desire was there, anchored somewhere deep within Vox’s chest, and it resurfaced whenever he went deep, deep down into the depths of the net, his home . Trapped beneath the waters, the truth hit him in the face like waves crushing rocks at a cliffside. But now he was out at Valentino’s studio, looking for a drink, and the thoughts were just an unimportant and quite obnoxious background static in his mind that was always swarming with information. 

 

Just as he walked up to the bar, he could see Valentino through his cameras back-handing an underperforming whore upstairs, yelling obscenities, and he chuckled at the sight. The bartender immediately turned to him as Vox slipped onto the stool. 

 

“What can I get ‘ya?” The bartender asked, already reaching with his hand for the bottles stored beneath the desk. 

 

Vox lifted his glass, “Scotch.” 

 

The bartender nodded and filled up his glass. Just as Vox was taking a sip, thinking about taking out his phone, he noticed that the damn fucking spider was walking up to the bar. He watched the pornstar sit down just two seats away from him. Without asking a thing, the bartender poured him a drink. Vox did not miss the love potion among the ingredients. 

 

“I knew ya were into voyeurism an’ all, but why the fuck ya gotta stare when someone’s sittin’ next to ya?” Angel mumbled as he eyed the drink in his hand. Vox tilted his head, chuckling. 

 

“You must have some form of fucking amnesia to be forgetting who I am this fucking often,” he answered, his tone sharp and mocking. Angel scoffed dryly. 

 

“Last I checked, there’s only one box-headed demon runnin’ about Val’s studio,” he said, eyeing Vox with murder in his expression. Vox would’ve found it a tad too daring for some whore, just like back then during the interview, but he had all the time in the world and nothing was more entertaining than bullying some sore loser. Especially when that particular loser was Valentino’s toy, who happened to have an impressive mouth, in more ways than just sexual. 

 

“You’re so hooked up on my boyfriend’s shit that you’re hitting it up during working hours?” Vox asked, gesturing to the spiked drink. 

 

Angel’s expression remained solid for a short moment, but even that was enough for Vox to pick up on. Definitively a touchy subject for the spider, unsettling even. As it was always for the addicts and desperadoes. 

 

“What can I say,” the spider mused, “I know just what Valentino wants, maybe that’s why he prefers to have me fucked all day instead of you.” 

 

“At least he fucks me when I ask him to,” Vox cut back, his frustration bleeding into his voice in the form of an undertone of static. 

 

Angel’s eyes went wide, but he did not answer back. Neither did Vox fire another round of mockery. Even he felt… weird about having said that. So much so for not being a freak, he guessed. Not that it wasn’t deserved on the spider’s behalf, to some extent. Angel had to know about how he was a heavy rock between Vox’s and Valentino’s relationship. There was not a way he wasn’t at least faintly aware of it. He had said it with intent for it to cut deep, and Vox knew about Angel’s sorry situation, too. All too well. He didn’t feel bad for him – Satan, no, not really – but he understood what had got Angel into that sorry situation in the first place. It gave Vox a disgusting insight into what could’ve been if he hadn’t been on the rise to power when he had met Valentino in the first place. 

 

Vox took a long sip from his drink, so did Angel. 

 

They sat in silence, for a moment or two. Vox lost track of time again, reminded only by the melting ice cubes in his glass. The bartender refilled both their drinks. 

 

“Is Valentino’s dick really worth all that love potion?” Vox asked then, breaking the silent truce. 

 

Angel cackled, shaking his head slightly. “Yeah, it is,” he answered in a tone that was anything but convincing. Vox grinned, amused at how much of a poor liar the porn actor was. 

 

“You do realise my speciality is in pretending?” Vox said, looking at Angel, searching for his reaction. Angel didn’t look back at him, instead eyeing his drink thoughtfully. 

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Angel’s tone was dry – tired and a little slurred from the alcohol and the drug. Vox didn’t miss how the spider’s pupils had gradually changed from the drug’s effect. 

 

“I know when you’re lying,” Vox put it simply. 

 

Angel shrugged, took a sip. “And? That meant to change anything? I don’t give a flying fuck what y’know, mi-ster television-freak overlord.” 

 

Vox was a little moved at Angel’s crude defiance. The way he spoke to Vox was… different. He could clearly see that Angel was for the most part unbothered by Vox’s status, unlike all the other Valentino’s whores and the employees under his thumb. They feared him. Angel feared him, too, but he had his own unique way of still managing to be sharp-tongued. Vox couldn’t figure out whether it was because Angel thought that Vox wouldn’t hold true to his promise – which meant that Angel was truly idiotic – or if he assumed that Vox wouldn’t dare damage Valentino’s property. Seeing how Valentino had no trouble meddling with Vox’s and Velvette’s business, Vox didn’t see how Angel’s soul’s ownership would change things, although he knew the moth would give him hell for it. Or, well, double hell. 

 

“All I am saying is that you’re shit at it. Maybe you should down a couple of more doses, hopefully it will help make you look less pathetic,” he laughed, then just in time managed to dodge the glass flying into his direction. He had got too used to things flying at his fucking head – or, sorry, screen, to be precise. 

 

Vox’s left eye twitched as he slowly turned his gaze from the glass shattered all over the floor to Angel. The spider was quivering, his eyes wide with fear and pupils blown from the drugs. The lounge had grown dead silent. All eyes were on them. Vox didn’t move. One glitch through the camera, and he stood right behind Angel. With one good shove, the spider was thrown onto the ground, Vox looming above him. 

 

“Like I said,” Vox sneered, “you must have fucking amnesia to be pulling this sort of shit.” He didn’t even wait for a response. The spider wailed as electricity burned through his veins and had him shaking and stretching all over the pristine, marble floor. 

 

Vox was delighted at the sight. At the feeling. Using his powers was always a delight that made the machinery part of him scream out of joy, his humanity shrinking like it was a tumour. He could feel the electricity invade Angel’s body and set everything alight. It would not kill him, but it brought him enough pain so that the damned whore would well remember how to behave. 

 

The overlord circled Angel, his left eye twitching continuously as the torture continued. He did not take his eyes away from the spider. “See, this is what happens when a low life thinks he can play around. I told you, you are a shit actor, but I didn’t know you actually believe the delusions in your drugged up mind. You think being Valentino’s little bitch will help you? Give you anything in life? We both know you’re not going to get mercy or love or warmth out of that fucker. Wasn’t it that, the precise reason you sold your soul to him? Delusions.” 

 

Vox scoffed. The torturing ceased and Angel lay still on the ground. Vox paused as well, his arms behind his back, his posture straight as an arrow. He leaned over to whisper into Angel’s ear. 

 

“No amount of drugs or disassociation is going to save you from this Hell you signed up for. Might as well face the truth and live with the consequences of your own decisions, hmm ? Oh, or is it that difficult for a fuck-toy like you?” Vox mocked. 

 

When no response came, only shallow breathing, Vox straightened up, satisfied at the display. He turned to face the other prostitutes who hadn’t moved from the spot, whether out of fear or fascination, Vox didn’t care to ponder. He smiled at them through the hazy red smoke filling the air around them.

 

“Get him to his room,” he told them right before zapping through the cameras into his apartment. 

Chapter 5: Hero's Story

Summary:

Husk gets a message from Angel Dust...

Notes:

thank you all for the lovely comments.

they make my day <3

Even with the world slightly spinning all around him, Husk could feel his heart skip a few beats when he saw Angel’s message pop up on his phone. 

 

“Can you pick me up… Please.” — Anthony 

 

Husk put the bottle down immediately and threw back a few glasses of water to meagre the effects of alcohol that had long taken anchor. When Vaggie tried to give him an earful about where he was headed, Husk simply told her to promptly fuck off and stormed out of the hotel. He couldn’t give fewer fucks about what Alastor would do when he’d find out that Husk had just left . That sadistic fuck was the least of his problems. 

 

He called himself a cab to get him to the entertainment district, and as he sat in the car, anxiously watching the buildings they drove by, he couldn’t help but curse himself for letting Angel go back to the studio to begin with. When Angel had come back from the ‘interview’ he had been too exhausted to even finish his drink which he had begged Husk for. After Angel told him about what had happened, Husk had to fight back his urge to go down to the studio himself and rip the television-head off of the damned overlord’s body. Of course, all overlords were cruel fucks — he both knew how it felt to be in power as an overlord, and how it felt to be stuck beneath their heel. He was deeply ashamed of the things he had done during his time as an overlord. All that power… it had got into his head, until he lost it all. 

 

The car stopped in front of the studio and Husk simply threw the money at the driver and ran inside, ignoring the obscenities from the people he bumped into. 

 

Husk knew how to get to Angel’s room. The spider had shown him once when Husk had accompanied him to the studio after they had spent all day long walking around the city and simply… living. It was then that Husk had bought Angel a coat, as Angel worked mostly through the night and when the fucking moth had him working on the streets it could get pretty cold. 

 

He ignored the curious glances and pushed past the few who tried to stop him from getting into Valentino’s part of the tower. There wasn’t any security, really. Who the fuck would want to break into Valentino’s workplace? 

 

“Angel, I—“ he paused dead in his tracks as he opened the door to Angel’s room. What he saw had his body shaking. Angel lay on the bed, his fur standing upright as if it had been electrified, and slight smoke rose from his body. 

 

Without thinking twice, he rushed to his side. “Angel?! Angel, can you hear me?” He panicked as his eyes drifted over Angel’s practically lifeless form. His chest rose with each unsteady breath, and he opened his eyes to look at Husk. The look in his boyfriend’s eyes set Husk’s veins afire, and he could feel his powers pushing on his psyche, begging to be unleashed upon whoever had done this to Anthony. 

 

“I– I’ll be fine…,” Angel mumbled, his voice weak and feeble. “I just… I just need to– to get home.” Husk’s heart quenched as he heard Angel refer to the hotel as his home . It touched him, as much as it could, with the ever-gnawing rage dancing beneath his furry skin.

 

Husk took Angel’s hand and slightly squeezed it, to reassure him that he would be alright. He didn’t quite know whether he had done the gesture to make Angel feel safe or to make himself feel calmer. Angel was alive. He would heal. He would recover. But the prospect of someone doing this to him… Forced sex work was one disgusting thing, torture was a whole another thing. 

 

“Who did this to you?” Husk asked, his voice but a malevolent whisper. Angel observed Husk for a moment, as if he was unsure whether to answer or not. Then he gave in, seemingly too tired from the pain to lie or to argue, to put any fight against Husk’s question. 

 

“Vox.”

 

Husk’s blood, and rage, ran cold. The overlord. Of course, it had to be the damned overlord. The why or how did not matter to him much then, but he also couldn’t do anything about it. The rage he could feel rippling through his chest could not be satisfied. Even if he did something, Angel could never forgive himself if Husk got injured, and it wouldn’t do a thing. He had power, sure enough, but it wasn’t what it used to be back during the times when he had been an overlord. Satan, did he regret those days. How many people had he put into the same exact position as he had found himself, and Angel, in now? How many people had he hurt, and for what? Power? Power that he had lost playing his own game? One thing he knew with certainty: If he had been still an overlord, there wouldn’t be even ash left of what was Vox’s and Valentino’s precious empire.

 

Clutching his teeth, putting his rage at bay, he gently picked up Angel and carried him out of his room. The spider was half-conscious, weak in his grasp. Husk did not care for the other sex workers, who stared at them and whispered to each other. None dared to approach them. He had one thing in mind: Get Angel back home, and help him recover. 

 

That was, until he stood in the hallway, and saw Valentino. 

 

The moth did not take long to notice the two of them. The sinner he had been talking to immediately noticed the moth’s change of interest and skedaddled away at their opportunity. Valentino turned to face them, one set of his arms resting against his hips, the other folded over his chest. 

 

“I see Angel’s knight in shining armour has made an appearance today,” the moth mused, his voice tinkered with a childish tone, but underneath the facade lay the lingering threat. 

 

Husk furrowed his brows and bared his teeth. “I’m taking him to the hotel.” 

 

The moth chuckled in amusement, then his eyes narrowed. “Angie’s shift ain’t over,” he said, his tone much darker. 

 

Husk scoffed. “I don’t give a shit. I’m taking him home.” 

 

“But this is his home, kitten,” Valentino said as he took a few steps forward. Husk did not miss the growing tension in the air, not only caused by their confrontation, but also by the powers that he had to hold back with a straining effort. The thought of slicing the fucker’s throat with one of his cards was all too tempting. 

 

“Not in a million years is this shithole his home,” Husk growled – quite literally, as he is a cat, in fact. “Your outdated fuck of a boyfriend tortured him. He is done for today.” 

 

Valentino lifted a brow. His expression quickly shifted from that of a man-child to the true nature of the moth. Those red eyes of his glimmered, and for a short moment his gaze lingered on one of the cameras hanging from the ceiling. Vox was, for sure, watching this. Husk remembered what kind of stalking creep he was, even before everything became so much more… modern. 

 

“What did you call Vox?” Valentino smiled. His tall figure towered over Husk. The smile all over his face made him particularly disgusting to look at, then. Usually it suited him, but combined with the downright murderous intent flickering in his eyes…. It was unsettling. 

 

Husk did not bulge. He should have. He knew he fucking should have. But he had all this building up anger and rage and frustration – at his situation and Angel’s – the gnawing guilt of knowing he had done the same fucking thing to others… It was too much. 

 

Before Valentino could react, one of the cards flew right at his throat. The moth stumbled back, and his hands went up to the gaping wound. He stared at Husk, but instead of fear or agony in his eyes, all there was, was malicious sadism. The moth’s smile grew as he let his hands fall to his sides. Husk only saw a glimpse of Valentino’s abrupt transfiguration into a proper moth and watched him in shock fly away into one of the cameras, whose screen was now glowing bright enough to be a light of its own. 

 

He could hear the moth’s laugh through the speakers. 

 

“Just don’t damage the merchandise, will you, Voxxy~?” 

 

Then the lights cut off. Husk didn’t waste time and ran for the exit. He reached the downstairs lobby soon enough – found it empty, which was bizarre compared to the masses he had found there earlier – but before he could reach for the door, he felt an abrupt pain spread through his body. He almost fell over. A scream rippled from his lungs as electricity burned through his bones and zapped his nervous systems, frying his flesh. He could smell the scent of it burning right away. 

 

“And here I thought only one of you had a suicide wish,” Vox sneered from behind Husk. Husk could not see him, but he could hear machinery humming and the noise of vents cooling. “Did he infect you with the same delusions, or are you two an item because you share those imbecile delusions?” 

 

Vox laughed as Husk fell down to his knees, tears pushing into the edges of his eyes as he couldn’t bear the pain. His powers, only moments ago had felt so near to grasp, were now completely out of his reach. It was as if the constant static playing in the background somehow mingled with his ability to use them. His head began to hurt, and the world whirled around him – an effect akin to alcohol, but so much more nauseating and confusing. He blinked and only then he realised that Vox was standing in front of him, and he was staring into his hypnotising eye that was twitching as Vox was using his powers. 

 

“You… sadistic… fuck,” Husk bit out through clenched teeth. 

 

Vox chuckled, unimpressed. He stood straight, hands behind his back, a sharp smile plastered all over his flat-screen face. “Tell me, did Alastor put you up to this, or are you some deranged romantic?” 

 

Husk didn’t want to answer. But something about that hypnotising gaze…. He also didn’t miss the amount of disgust Vox had put into pronouncing Alastor’s name. Like he was speaking of some subspecies of cockroaches, and not his old mentor. 

 

“No… Alastor… he has nothing to do with this,” he answered reluctantly, trying his damn hardest to fight against the hypnotic effects. 

 

Vox appeared a little disappointed at that. “And you thought–” Vox laughed. “– And you thought that, what? You could be the fucking hero of the day?” His laughter continued. “Don’t you know 101 of the romantic hero stories?” Vox leaned forward, now only a few inches of air separating his and Husk’s face. Vox's smile faltered, his eyes narrowed. “One of them always dies, hmm ? So, I’m curious. I’m so fucking curious. Which one of you will it be?” 

 

Husk simply stared. He could feel the fear get the better of him by the passing moment. He was frozen on the spot, powerless, Angel lying unconscious in his arms. There was nothing he could do. He felt more helpless than he ever did during all those years of being bossed around by Alastor. 

 

But the idea, the sole idea of Angel getting hurt, somehow broke those chains. Despite the paralysing pain in his body and the effects of hypnosis turning his brain into mush, he had a whole another stone-carved determination to get the fuck out of there. He could feel every fibre of his being protest, but despite how comforting, oh, so comforting it felt to be hypnotised, to simply not feel or think, to be mindless… free of worries! He broke free. 

 

With one swift motion, he used his head to punch Vox in the middle of his fragile screen. In the short second that Vox’s screen glitched, Husk took advantage of being free of the hypnotism. He got up to his feet, tears streaming down his face from the pain, and ran. Vox was too preoccupied electrifying the cards flying right at his neck to stop Husk from running out through the door.

 

He hadn’t got even a few metres away from the building when he felt it. The nausea of being teleported – the uncomfortable feeling of it being done without his consent. 

 

Husk dropped flat onto the ground and Angel along with him. He coughed as the pain of being electrified had all suddenly disappeared from his body. His sight was blurry, but he would recognise that freaky smile and red colour palette anywhere. 

 

“Alastor…,” he mumbled, his throat dry from holding back cries of pain. 

 

Alastor tsked. He stood there over the two of them, holding onto his cane, a disapproving look all over his face. But Husk did not miss that anger in those eyes of his. The deer was smiling as ever, but there was clear rage mirrored in his subtle expression. It made Husk smile, too. If there was one thing he could rely on, Alastor did not fare well with someone else messing with his property . 

 

“Recover yourself and your friend,” Alastor calmly said, static bleeding into his voice. “I will deal with that ill-mannered picture-box.” 

 

That was the last thing Husk heard before he passed out on the Hotel’s lobby’s floor.

Chapter 6: You're Weak

Summary:

Vox has a breakdown... and an unexpected visitor.

Vox had glitched through his cameras right after his screen broke. 

 

He dropped onto the polished floor, clutching his screen. His speakers went mute as he vented through the pain. It was like having a thousand shards stuck through his skull, and then thrown into icy waters. The inner systems of his programming screamed at him about the damage. Although he couldn’t see, he was keenly aware of the mental pop-ups of warnings and other rubbish that went the extra length of informing him something wasn’t right – as if the excruciating pain didn’t suffice. 

 

Everything was cold. Even as he tried to reach around and see where he was by touch, there was nothing. All he was met back with was the unsettling feeling of drowning . He was in the ocean. Drowning, deep, deep, down. And all he could see was the distorted light, covered in spider-web-like cracks. 

 

How bad would it be if he let the calming waters take him? Drag him down deeper, down to the bottom, if there even was one. Down, down, until the light would be no more, and he would be surrounded by cold darkness. 

 

His heart clenched at the thought. Through the pain, he could feel the hollowness spreading through his chest. But the larger part of him agreed. Those lines of code flashing through his mind wailed at him to simply let go . Yes, yes! Drown deeper. Aren’t you curious at what you’d find, buried so deep the light won’t reach it? It’s right there. At your fingertips. And you pathetic, useless, attention-seeking fuckhead won’t even try. Too scared, are we? Get over yourself. 

 

Vox wanted to claw away at himself. Dig his claws deep into his flesh and simply tear himself apart. Rip out his flesh until he’d dig deep enough to uproot these thoughts from his mind, whatever it takes. There was only a faint acknowledgement in his system as the claws found the mark. The satisfying feeling of their sharp edges breaching the skin, sliding through the flesh like butter and the blood seeping through the fingertips… Oh, he was ecstatic. 

 

It wasn’t enough. 

 

He had to go deeper. Deep as the demanding voices asked for. Deep as the fucking ocean if need be. Deep down to the bone, so he could shred himself apart and get rid of this . This feeling– oh, this feeling. 

 

Angel was there scoffing at him, standing at a pole, swimming in neon lights. ‘And I am the pathetic one?’

 

His lover loomed over him, his red eyes glooming in the dark of his bedroom. ‘This is why it’s so easy to take control, Voxxy~.’

 

Velvette was holding a phone in his face, a smile on her face. ‘Your fans gonna love this!’

 

The lobby was filled to the brim. The spotlight was on him. The script was in his hands, but he had lost the plot. They were pointing at him. Laughter erupted in his audio receptors. He put his hands up to hide from the blinding light, muted the audio, but it was still there. It rang through his head like church bells announcing judgement day. 

 

Then darkness. 

 

He was drowning again. The icy waters cradling him, whispering words of comfort. He felt so cold, all of a sudden. Only faintly aware of the blood piling beneath his body, lying still on the floor of his apartment. The sharks swimming in the aquarium eyed him like he was their prey. 

 

Then, there was the sound of static.

 

Vox opened his eyes. His vision was littered in cracks, and so he saw things double, some parts of his sight not there at all. Everything was distorted, some parts blurry. Like a badly tuned television screen. The worst of the damage had healed itself, but it would never do so fully on its own. 

 

The thought of having to replace it was just a background thought, one among many, as his mind was present everywhere all at once. The stream of consciousness… It was overwhelming when he focused too much. A thousand angels of a thousand things – the Vees’ tower, the streets of the entertainment district, the faces of sinners looking down at their phones and those sitting idly at home. Everything all at once was happening somewhere in the back of his mind. Ever-present. Always just a thought away. 

 

Vox got up to his knees. A strained cough escaped him. He must have fallen right out of the camera and had lost consciousness before he could have directed his teleportation on the floor. That was the least of his problems. 

The sharks watched him. All were gathered at the walls of their confinement. Vox looked at them. They were looking at him like he was their food. Their prey . Electricity sparked in the air around him. The thought of electrifying them alive, right there and then, and showing them who was the stronger one took root, and spread and spread– He was just about to do so, when he suddenly heard that static again. 

 

That ever-so familiar static. 

 

He whipped his head around– too late. 

 

Something hit him in the chest, and he fell down onto his back. His head hit against the floor with a loud thud, and new cracks formed where the previous ones had begun to slowly heal. He could feel his blood, soaking through his clothes. Just don’t lose consciousness. Just don’t lose consciousness. Stay here, stay here, stay–

 

When he looked up, his mind froze. The stream of thoughts halted abruptly. He was so alone in his thoughts. The constant surge of noise in his head was replaced by the constant, obnoxious static. 

 

Alastor was standing above him. Looming over him. His posture was straight as ever. The smile there as always. Undecipherable symbols hovered in the air around him, static spreading through them. His hands were clenched around his microphone, with which he had hit Vox in the chest. The microphone’s eye was staring him down. 

 

The first immediate thought he had was that it was just another hallucination. That his fucked up mind was continuing to play with him, punish him for whatever sin he had committed against himself. But no, his hallucinations had never been this picture-perfect. There were always missing details… Never so, vivid. This was real. The fear struck him like Valentino would whenever they were in an argument. 

 

“I knew you were sloppy,” Alastor spoke, his voice underline with the distant sound of jazz music, overlapped with people having conversation and enjoying the show. “But letting your guard down, like this? Well, now I see that I stand corrected. I overestimated you, if that was even possible.” 

 

Vox stayed down. He didn’t try to move. His powers were there, waiting for the wake-up call. Somehow, he found himself unable to bring them to life. The rage he had felt. The need to let it all out and destroy something that was other than himself. He didn’t need to look at his arms and chest to know they were clawed up and covered in deep scratches. His left arm had a wound deep enough he spotted the white of his bone and the torn cables that rang along his veins. The adrenaline kept the lightheadedness accompanying blood loss at bay. For now. 

 

“Come to avenge your– your little pet?” Vox coughed out, his voice interrupted with glitches. 

 

Alastor tilted his head. “I thought so, but I see he did quite a number on you. Wouldn’t have thought it possible. Husker is just a lowly sinner. Yet here you are, on the verge of death.” 

 

“Sinners can’t die,” Vox mumbled, clutching the gaping wound across his chest. Blood poured through his fingers like water out of a dropped over cup. 

 

“Funny! Wouldn’t you like to put your statement to the test?” Alastor said, his smile growing wider. Vox flinched back, but the pain spreading through his body at the simple motion had him stop. He tried to hold back the cry, but it came out as a whimper. 

 

He lifted his eyes to meet Alastor’s. There was nothing he could do. Vox could try to fight. His powers… they couldn’t hold a light to Alastor’s under the circumstances. They were in Vox’s apartment. In his tower. But he could already feel the effects of the blood loss take effect, and his inner systems were disoriented and torn apart by the damage they had sustained. He could fight. And he’d get torn to pieces. 

 

The tension disappeared from his body and he let his hand fall down to the side of his chest. He holstered himself up against his elbows, as if he was about to get up and fight– All it would take was one blow. One blow, and he’d be back in the embrace of that ocean. He yearned for it. If Alastor wasn’t standing above him, he would have further clawed away at himself for having forsaken it when the offer to let go was first presented to him. What had he been thinking? It was better to be drowning than… whatever this feeling was. Satan, it was too much at once. His vents were already going on overdrive. 

 

“Are you not going to beg for a clean death?” Alastor mocked. The air around them was thick with crackling energy. Either one of them would strike first any moment. 

 

Vox spat out blood to the side, then turned his screen to face Alastor again. He managed an arrogant smile, as hollow as it was. Then he could feel that anger again. That frustration of being perceived as… ‘Weak’ , as Alastor had called him all those years back. Vox now had a vast empire to prove him wrong. To prove everyone, wrong. Anyone who dared to cross him would find themselves kneeling at his feet, writhing in pain. And yet… The flashes of a crowd laughing at him, him standing in the blinding spotlight with nowhere to run– they ran through his mind and threw fuel onto the pile. 

 

Electricity cracked beneath his fingertips. The scent of something burning filled the air. 

 

“Clean death? There is no– no such fucking thing– as a clean death.” Vox glared at Alastor, his teeth clenched. His left eye was twitching, but unlike when he was using his hypnosis powers. One could taste the sheer hatred seeping from him. “There is– is only death. But maybe– maybe for you, it’s different. Too afraid to look– look fucking weak?” 

 

Alastor narrowed his eyes. He leaned forward. The static around them turned quiet. The silence was enough to choke on. 

 

“Are you?” Alastor asked in return, his voice absent of any noise… so eerily normal.

 

Vox flinched. Then he let the electricity flow. He could feel his powers hit their mark before he could hear his joints snap and feel his limbs being pulled apart. Darkness overtook him moments after, but not before he could catch Alastor’s words. 

 

“Impressive. You’re still weak.”

Vox wanted to laugh. Wanted to see everything burn, just so he could finally have that pair of antlers nested on his head like a crown. 

 

This time, when the ocean embraced him, he did not hold onto that dismayed light leaking from the surface. As darkness surrounded him, thousands of red eyes appeared, watching him sink further down. Wherever he went, he would always have an audience. Even in the deepest depths of his fucked up mind. 

Notes:

for those wondering how Alastor got into Vox's place: while Vox is knocked out, his powers don't work. Like when you unplug a computer and have it at zero battery, nothing works. So, he pretty much was completely defenceless.

as for where are Valentino and Velvette....

stay tuned.

Chapter 7: Headaches

Summary:

Velvette has to deal with the aftermath... Valentino is not cooperative.

Well, that had been a PR nightmare. 

 

Luckily, there hadn’t been that many sinners around to see the whole mess, but there had been a few to see Alastor’s cat and Val’s prostitute running away from Vox . Velvette knew of the fiasco just moments after it had happened, thanks to Valentino appearing in her studio and laughing about how his boyfriend finally had the chance to return the radio demon the favour from years back. She knew right there and then that all hell would break loose. 

 

Not that she had thought Vox would lose the fight. No, that had been shocking even for her. Vox, the guy who went about flexing his strength and influence for a living, lost to Alastor’s little pet. It was why she knew she had to keep this under wraps and make sure not a single dead soul would find out about it, or speak of it ever again. She sent out some of her best agents to sniff out the few witnesses, and hammered it into them that they were to make sure those sinners would never speak of it – and if they did, they would pay a grievous price. 

 

The whole thing gave her a headache, but the worst part was that she couldn’t tell what exactly had happened. From the footage, she could see that he had got away with a smashed screen, but that wasn’t any foreign condition to the TV Overlord. Velvette was quite sure that it couldn’t even half as bad as what Valentino did to him during their numerous arguments. The two were poison to each other. There was no other way of putting it. They were at the brink of ripping each other to shreds every other week, but they were so addicted to one another’s presence that their ‘break-ups’ never lasted too long. Sooner or later, it would be either one of them running back to the other. Usually, it was Vox. That attention-whore. 

 

Not that Velvette had anything against it in particular – if anything, it made business easier. Vox’s desire to be the centre of attention was what had started this whole thing in the first place. His need for it is what had given him the determination to become an overlord, and the strength and willpower to do anything to get there. By the time Velvette had arrived in hell, Vox was almost at the top of his game. That was, until Alastor had parted ways with him. Violently. She could still recall the whole ordeal better than she would’ve liked. It was when Vox’s actual cracks began to show, and it was then she had realised how desperately Valentino and Vox actually depended on her. If she hadn’t been around then, none of this – the Empire, the power, the influence – would have lasted as long as it has. 

 

When Vox wasn’t picking up her calls for what was like six hours – which was pretty weird, he always answered her calls – she went to Valentino. 

 

Velvette found him at his apartment, spread out on the couch, smoking that love potion she had arranged for him. Right as she waltzed in, he looked at her through those heart-shaped glasses, eyes flickering red.

 

“Velvette~, hi ,” he greeted in that terrible Spanish accent. Velvette couldn’t really tell whether he was actually Hispanic or pretending to be, but right now she couldn’t care less. The moth liked to play games with people. She didn’t mind unless he tried the same shit with her. 

 

“What happened,” she demanded immediately in a tone that left no room for back-talking. 

 

Valentino simply shrugged, as if it didn’t matter at all. “That worthless whore’s friend from the hotel swung by, trying to play the hero. Can you believe that? When I see that fucking spider again, I swear I’ll–”

 

“ Val ,” Velvette hissed. Valentino turned to look at her, seemingly confused by her irritation. “Where’s Vox?” 

 

“And how am I supposed to know that ?” Valentino scoffed and took a drag out of his cigarette. 

 

Velvette furrowed her brows. This was becoming too much even for her nerves. She usually could put up with the moth’s bullshit, usually, but today she already had enough from dealing with the situation and the only thing that really mattered now was to make sure Vox was alive. He didn’t have to be fine. Satan, no, even the stupidest fuck would know after knowing Vox for a few days on a friendly level that he was not fine. If there were antidepressants that weren’t spiked with drugs in Hell, Velvette would’ve bought those for him for Christmas. Or, Hell’s interpretation of Christmas, which was just saying a big ‘fuck-you’ to Heaven and God. 

 

“You’re the one who dragged him into this shit,” she pointed out. 

 

Valentino chuckled. “You think? He’s the one who decided to torture Angie – not me , this time. Shouldn’t have done that if he can’t handle one stray pussycat.” 

 

Velvette’s eyes widened. “ What ?” 

 

“Oh, yeah~ He went haywire,” Valentino laughed in amusement. His eyes glimmered with sadistic intent. “Saw it all through the cameras. I have to remind that television freak not to mess with the merchandise,” his tone grew darker at that. 

 

Velvette felt like confetti had just exploded in her face. She had known that interview was a bad fucking idea. That feeling had hit her right when she had found Vox plugged in, and he had been missing for three days. It didn’t take a genius to figure it out, but Velvette wasn’t his mother, and so she had hoped he would gain some fucking sense and get back to reality. Of course, he didn’t. There was little to no sense to why Vox was doing it the way he was doing it. He was connected to the net at all times – it would be physically harmful for him to lose his connection, but to directly throw himself into the dataflow? That had been an idea that surfaced just after his skirmish with Alastor, shortly before the deer fucked off to Satan knows where. Velvette knew it wasn’t anything good, but what could she do? She told him her opinion, but he dismissed it in favour of Valentino’s support, who thought it would be good for business. Or, rather, it would make it easier for the moth to spy on his employees. Not that Vox objected. 

 

What Velvette knew for certain, though, was that Vox never came out the same after one of his deep-dives. Miraculously, he managed to come back out somehow, even more cracked. Valentino didn’t mind it – Velvette minded it very much. So, when he had done it just before the supposed interview, she already had a feeling things would go wrong. But for them to go as badly as Vox torturing Angel Dust– Well, fuck, colour her shocked. 

 

Vox had, what Velvette would describe as his biggest weakness, an issue with how he was perceived. Before Valentino, or so Velvette had been told, he relied on sharing a reputation with Alastor. It built him up from nothing. Yet the stronger he grew, and the more he became attached to Valentino, the further he had drifted from the deer – or wendigo, to be precise. His biggest issue was that he was always perceived as someone and him. Alastor and Vox. Valentino and Vox. Velvette and Vox. It was rarely just Vox. The fucker had done that to himself, but Velvette knew how much it fucked with his head. All those years of work and all it had got him was this. He had this fucked-up paranoia of everyone secretly perceiving him as weak , something only amplified with his fallout with Alastor. 

 

Shit, recalling that made Velvette’s head hurt even more.

 

What it all led to was a blatant lack of self-control, ironic for someone whose face was plastered all over the screens and whose media presence could be only rivalled by Velvette. He was like gasoline. One match was enough to get the whole gas station flying up in the air in a glamorous explosion, and Vox’s explosions were glamorous . One of them was enough to take electricity out of the entire Pentagram City for days, if Valentino wouldn’t be around to coerce Vox into pulling his shit together, or Velvette to calm him down. 

 

But torture ? Velvette found it… not difficult to believe – she knew he was a piece of shit, just like her – but Angel Dust of all people? What the fuck?

 

“And you just… let him?” Velvette asked out of disbelief. 

 

Valentino shrugged again. “He’ll pay for it, don’t worry your silly little doll-brain about that,” he mused. Velvette wanted the moth to choke on that cigarette of his. The anger burned beneath her skin. Energy rippled in the air around her. The moth’s expression was just unimpressed.

 

“You knew the kind of shit this would set in motion, and you cocksucker just let him!” Velvette blew out. “You know the fucking shitstorm I just had to deal with?! The one we all will have to be dealing with?! I know you got a sex drive for brains, but holy fuck. Do you ever think – think for one fucking time – before trying to burn this entire thing down?!” 

 

Valentino coldly regarded her. “It’ll be fine, Velvette . Just let Vox deal with it.” 

 

“First I have to find him, you fucking–” 

 

Before she could finish, the familiar sound zip-zap had them both turn their heads. Sure enough, Vox stood in front of the couch-section. Velvette’s eyes widened. He was a mess . His clothes were soaked in blood, presumably his own, and his screen was shattered to splinters. The face wasn’t even there. It was just a flash of colours, disturbed by the damage. One of his arms was hanging by a single wire, while his legs were– well, shredded from beneath his thighs, only the metal skeleton holding him like he was some kind of robot stripped of its fake skin. Vox didn’t move. Just stood there. The silence was filled by the venting noises of his exhausts. 

 

“Vox!” Velvette exclaimed and ran up to him. She didn’t dare just grab him – he could still electrify her even in this state – but she did take him gently by the shoulder and quickly led him to the couches. Valentino sat on the nearest, but he didn’t even budge. Velvette gave him an angry glare and let Vox lay down onto the second. 

 

“Looks like somebody tried killing themselves, again ,” Valentino chuckled, but his laughter was cut short when Velvette threw her phone at him.

 

“Shut the fuck up!” She yelled, making the moth flinch back a little. He tried an innocent, childish expression, but that shit didn’t work with her. Ignoring him, she turned back to Vox. Well, he was a wreck, for sure. “What the fuck happened, Vox?” 

 

No reply. He just lay there, unmoving, as if he was dead. She sighed, and with a flip of her wrist had his clothes disappear so she could see the damage. Not like it was the first time she saw him naked. Oh, there had been plenty of times thanks to Valentino fucking him practically anywhere. The office, the hallway, the studio, the fucking lobby–

 

She felt her heart quench when she recognised the damage. Valentino had hit the mark with his comment. Those wounds on his chest were only matching Vox’s sharp claws. Before the moth could get a peak, she used her powers again and dressed Vox in oversized pyjamas. That way, no one could see the damage – including Valentino – and he wouldn’t be overstimulated once he’d get back to reality. 

 

“I’m taking him with me,” she announced, already gently picking him, careful not to touch his wounds. Valentino arched his brow. She rolled her eyes. “That means, you are not going to be in the same room with him alone until he’s healed, got it?”

 

Valentino giggled. Like a child. Like a child excited to receive its present. It made Velvette slightly sick, but that was just their… freaky relationship. While Vox was conscious and there to consent, Velvette didn’t give a fuck what they were doing, but she wasn’t stupid enough to let Valentino alone with Vox in the state he was in. She liked Valentino on a… eh… certain level. The kind that he and Vox had taken her in when she woke up in Hell, not knowing what the fuck was going on. It was difficult to let that kind of relationship be swayed, even after she found out about some of the fucked shit he did. 

 

She did some of it, too. The love potion? Yeah, that was on her. Making sure her employees were terrified of her? Yep, guilty. But she’d never have someone pay the price for the mistakes of actions they had never taken. Taking a love potion notorious for making one fucked out of their minds was a decision. Getting spiked? Should’ve been careful. Bad working conditions? Too bad, should have read the goddamn contract. But having someone recover from Hell’s version of death that wasn’t brought upon by angelic weapons, and then giving them even worse Hell for it? Not when it came to Vox. 

 

Before she could snap at Valentino, she waltzed out the door and headed right for her studio, Vox in her arms. He was taller than her, but so light. It made sense. He didn’t eat properly, and she could practically see the ribs beneath his thin skin. She had talked to him. Tried her best. Sometimes it wasn’t enough. Some shit he had to deal with on his own. Sometimes, it was too much even for her.

 

She put him down on a spare bed in the guest room. It was a cosy place for her tastes. Girlish, kinda, but it was lived-in and had the vibe of being a safe place with its warm lights, plenty of pillows and blankets, and cheerful but not nauseating colours. There were even plants! And plenty of cactuses. 

 

Velvette looked at Vox one more time before she had to go. There was still shit to take care of and a time schedule to follow, but she could spare one last look. He looked… tired. Even through the cracked screen, she felt it. That exhaustion that was lingering around him whenever he let his guard down. It didn’t happen often. Not even around her and Valentino. She was quite sure it wasn’t even his decision to teleport to Valentino’s apartment, but it had been his ‘mechanical’ systems who had made the call, the logical decision, which was getting help from the one person Vox had saved in his memory as the one he ‘loved’ . No matter what Velvette would do for him, she could never offer him the same sweet poison Valentino had to offer. It was just plain abuse, but as long as it made Vox feel special and worthy of attention… 

 

With a sigh, she locked the door. Not as if Vox wasn’t able to just fry it open with electricity. It was wooden, after all. 

 

In a few more hours, it was like the incident never happened. The public had no clue. Except Vox was rotting in her guest room, and there was still Valentino’s pornstar and Alastor’s little pet who knew all about what had happened. A headache for another day.

Notes:

I hope ya guys enjoyed this chapter <3
Not much happens but I love writing Velvette’s character. I’m pretty sure I’m characterising her wrong, but oh well.

Idk when next chapter’s out. But it will focus on Husk & Angel!

Chapter 8: Together

Summary:

Angel/Husk comfort.

Notes:

heyyyy, I've been gone for some time. Sorry for that. It's actually funny because I got to experience the "writer's curse". Here's the short gist of it:

- my girlfriend broke up with me
- my father disowned me
- my friend relapsed in her anorexia
- my other friend relapsed in SH
- my grades dropped to an average of 60% (failing grade)
- I am developing an ED

I hope you enjoy this chapter -- it's short, but it's sweet. Next one will be out shortly, promise ;)

Nuggets was snuggling up to him, even as Angel’s tears dripped down onto his back. 

 

Angel was lying on his bed, curled up with his hands around his knees. His body was still aching from the pain. He had already thrown up several times, but the nausea wouldn’t leave him. This sickness was deeper than that. It festered in his soul and gripped him tightly. It wasn’t the pain that was the worst of it. 

 

Husk had risked his life for him . 

 

“What the fuck was he thinking…,” Angel whispered into the emptiness of his room. Nuggets looked up at him with his big eyes, but Angel didn’t have the energy left in him to talk to the animal—to comfort him or even to reassure him that he was fine. He wasn’t. 

 

There were lines he was willing to ignore. When it came to Valentino, everything was fair play. It was a game. Valentino’s game, and Valentino’s rules. Angel wouldn’t deny that he had got himself into this mess. What the fuck had he been thinking when he had signed that contract? It was meant to be a loving act. Valentino promised him a life of fame. What he had got instead was… another kind of hell. But there was an understanding. It was only Angel’s hell. Nobody else’s but his and other workers’. 

 

Now? Now it was Husk in the middle of it all, too. 

 

Angel wanted to slap himself for having ever talked to Vox. He wanted to beat himself bloody for ever texting Husk. What had he been thinking? He was hurting, and the only thing he could think of was his boyfriend. Selfish. Selfish. Selfish. You did this.

 

He couldn’t get the image out of his head: Them both lying on the hotel’s floor. Angel didn’t question that Husk had it in him to fight—but Vox? Fighting Vox ? Angel didn’t believe anyone could stand up to him, not even that fucking moth. 

 

Angel hid his face in the pillow, crying his eyes out. 

 

Then, the door to his room slowly came open. 

 

“Angel?” Husk softly called out, his voice still raspy. 

 

Angel’s body froze, but he wouldn’t move to look at Husk. He couldn’t. He just couldn’t . 

 

The bed creaked beneath the cat’s weight. A gentle hand reached out to him, but Angel flinched at the contact. The after effects of the shocks still rippled through his body, and each touch made his skin feel like it was set afire. 

 

“I–,” Husk’s voice broke, and they both stayed silent. 

 

The silence was suffocating, until Angel just couldn’t take it any more. 

 

“I’m sorry,” he softly cried, his voice muffled by the pillow. 

 

“Angel… There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Husk softly said. 

 

Angel shook his head. “You got– You got hurt because of me .” 

 

Husk breathed out deeply. “I’ll be fine. We will both be fine, Angel. Alastor already dealt with Vox.”

 

At that, Angel turned his head around to look at Husk. Unlike Angel, Husk looked… fine. There was not a sign of the electrocution he had suffered, unlike Angel, who was still recovering hours after it had happened. The confusion must’ve been plain on his face, because Husk smiled and his eyes eased. 

 

“Alastor’s doing. Fucker’s a pain in the ass, but you can’t deny there are some ups to having someone with power behind him at your side,” he explained. 

 

Angel didn’t know what to say to that. The silence started creeping back in, when Husk put his hand on Angel’s. Angel wanted to flinch back, but the warmth of Husk’s hand made him… calmer. It felt reassuring. 

 

“Look, Anthony, we will be fine, okay? We can heal from this. We will get through this, together ,” Husk said, his voice low, meant only for Anthony to hear. 

 

Anthony looked at Husk, his eyes wide and filled with tears. Not of pain, no. His heart ached at Husk’s voice, filled with so much love. There was no mistaking the emotion drawn all over his big eyes. He was still in love. He still cared for Anthony. Even after what had happened, even after he had gotten a taste out of Angel’s every-day life. Oh, there is nothing greater in this world to be loved, even while being broken .

 

Overwhelmed by emotion, Anthony put Nuggets aside and embraced Husk. He draped his arms around him tightly and nuzzled his head into Husk’s neck. Husk returned the hug instantly, holding him as if he would turn into sand the moment he’d let go. 

 

“You know…,” Anthony sniffled, “I sometimes forget you fell in love with Anthony and not with Angel Dust.” 

 

Husk chuckled warmly. “I fell in love with both, darling. And I'll always be there for both.” 

 

Anthony felt safe for the first time in a long time, ever since he’s landed in hell.

Chapter 9: Red Ocean

Summary:

Vox wakes up... and is not pleased.

Notes:

this one's a little spicy!

thank you all for the comments & kudos! <3

As soon as he woke up, before his systems could even register him as awake, he threw up. The vomit landed onto the bed frame and trickled down onto the floor. It was just water, but the disgusting smell made him wretch a second time. Gasping for air, he gripped the mattress tight until the claws tore through the fine fabric. Vox stared at the ground, his gaze absent. 

 

A hundred pop-ups, warnings, informational posts, and overdue-project announcements flooded his consciousness to the point Vox thought he might faint from the overheating alone. Instantaneously, he was aware of how much time had passed and what had happened during his absence, and the old recordings of every sinner’s doing on the internet and through the cameras appeared in his mind. Overwhelming didn’t begin to cover how it felt. 

 

His hands shook as he grabbed for his face. There weren’t any cracks he could feel, which meant it had healed pretty well with the assistance of the worker Velvette had sent to look after him during the duration of the week that he was knocked unconscious. A whole week . The reality began sinking in only then, as the footage of the worker coming and going and cleaning his wounds played on repeat in his mind. 

 

“Ha…ha ha,” he chuckled hysterically. 

 

The amount of work he was missing out on—the shit Valentino has been up to—Alastor’s disgusting smiling face as he had torn Vox apart engraved into his mind—Angel Dust not showing up to work—and the fucking Princess of Hell getting involved. 

 

‘See this shit? You did this to yourself, you stupid fucking piece of television.’ 

 

Despite his entire body shaking as if there were an earthquake going on, he got up to his feet. Instantly, he had to support himself against the bed frame. He could feel the vomit stick to his claws, but it was something his systems acknowledged. Vox… Vox wasn’t aware of much. 

 

He took only two steps before he fell to his knees, almost hitting his head against the ground. Laughter kept coming out of his speakers—hysterical and deranged—even as he wrapped his arms around himself. Frantically, his systems searched for the reason. The reason behind all of what has happened. 

 

The interview with Angel Dust followed by their conversation, then when Alastor’s pet came to the rescue and then– Vox’s breakdown. The numbers running all over his screen couldn’t find a plausible reason for the reaction he had. He got beaten by some poor-fuck loser who sold his soul to his old—no, to some deranged, out-dated piece of shit lunatic whose only purpose in this Hell was to agitate Vox. But Vox knew the reason behind it. The cursed fucking reason why every situation that didn’t go his way ended up with him either tearing his opponent down, or himself. 

 

‘Alastor, Alastor, Alastor, still stuck on your mind? Or, rather, in your feeble little heart. Do you know what happens to those who are stuck in the past? They become prey for others. Look at yourself. Oh, the mighty Overlord Vox! Nothing but some desperate romantic craving for validation. Tell me, do you hate others because they are beneath you, or do you hate yourself so much you see yourself in every low-life sinner you stumble on?’

 

The voice felt like a distant echo. Muffled by the sound of crashing waves, the shrieking and creaking of wrecks buried beneath the weight of the ocean. The longer it spoke, the clearer its words became, but the colder he felt. His systems didn’t register a drop in temperature, but all of a sudden he felt frozen . Vox couldn’t move his fingers, and his synthetic flesh felt like refrigerated meat. 

 

The world around him began to sway, the walls became distant, and the light drowned out. As if a fog had been cast over him, all he saw was a dark-blue void littered with shark-like eyes watching him. All thousands of them were pointed at him, their pupils thin as knives—as thin as the tips of his own claws. The stinging pain of himself tearing his stomach and arms apart came back to him, and slapped him in the face. Why had he done that to himself? What was he—some angsty teenager like Velvette?

 

‘You know the fucking answer. Don’t play coy. Don’t fool yourself. What did you accomplish in life? A fucking cult leader? A televangelist? You died alone, still pathetically craving some form of reassurance that you weren’t a hopeless failure. Well, aren’t you? Acting the way you are, there is one logical conclusion: Whatever you accomplish will crash and burn around you because you… are… pathetic… and worse… weak.’

 

Those last words sent him over the edge. 

 

Vox clawed away at the waters surrounding him. He didn’t care any more for the sharks lurking around him or how he cut seamlessly through their flesh and the ocean began turning red. More and more, the dark-blue turned to crimson, until he could taste the blood on his tongue. When he opened his mouth to laugh, it flooded his lungs, but he laughed nonetheless, even as he began to choke. 

 

“Weak?” He laughed, only semi-aware that he was still kneeling on the floor, alone in Velvette’s guest room. “If I have to carve this out of myself … I will.” 

 

At his words, the waters suddenly turned back to blue—a beautiful cyan blue of a clear ocean, littered with sharks and orcas peacefully swimming about. The storm was over. But now there were ice glaziers swimming above the surface, blocking out the sunlight. The waters were freezing cold, but it didn’t affect him any more. Vox wasn’t drowning; he simply floated in the ice-cold waters. As one of the sharks passed him by, they exchanged glances, but the predatory look in its eyes had slightly subsided. It was still there, still irking Vox to summon his powers, but it didn’t make a move. It simply swam by, and as it disappeared, so did reality slowly begin to come back to him.

 

Vox was lying on the ground, gasping for air. As soon as he started moving to get up, he received one simple pop-up: New firmware successfully installed . The confusion of what it was referring to was distant, as if covered up by a transparent curtain, and he didn’t care enough to observe closely. 

 

Without giving it any further thought, he simply conjured himself new clothes, cleaned his hands and adjusted his outfit.

 

When he walked into the lobby of Velvette’s studio, everyone’s gaze was directed at him as they momentarily paused their work. This time, Vox had the script ready in his hands, lines rehearsed and learned, and he was in charge of the plot. They quickly returned to their diligent work as soon as he instructed them to, and none were brave enough to question his command to keep quiet about him having woken up to Velvette. 

 

Before the Influencer Overlord could find him, he zapped through his cameras into his domain. Power surged through him as he felt in-sync with all the technology surrounding him, and once he dove deep into the net, he no longer felt stranded and drowning—No, he was at home, and it welcomed him with open arms. 

Once he’d finished catching up with his overdue projects, he would make sure to get in touch with Carmilla. He had a business proposition for her. One she would find very enticing.

Notes:

here we go! the plot begins to thicken

I have some things planned... won't spoil much, but revenge arcs are in order! I also have thought of writing some flashback chapters to Vox & Alastor's relationship, and surely of Husk's time as an Overlord... You know, to really enhance the flavour of the angst ;)

Stay tuned!