Chapter Text
It had been a rather pleasant day, Alastor thought as he walked down the empty halls of the Hazbin Hotel. His newly repaired cane thumped against the carpeted floor as he made his way to his room, unperturbed, courtesy of a gratifying end to a tiring day’s work.
Approximately, a month had passed since the failed extermination. The hotel had been diligently rebuilt and The Princess and her crew were blessedly enjoying the reprieve their hard work had granted them, peacefully spending their free time recuperating and getting readjusted. Meanwhile, Alastor had dutifully resumed his obligations as the hotelier, though no less mindful of the injuries he himself had sustained in the fight.
The blow Adam dealt was an unfortunate complication. It had taken him longer than he would have preferred to recover and summon enough strength to reappear from the angelic energy that, thankfully, now barely resided in the almost healed wound, the dregs of its power dissipating with every passing second. Alastor could still feel the remainder of the injury on his chest throbbing as he walked along the corridors when he heard a familiar voice calling to him.
“Hey Alastor! Can I talk with you for a minute?”
Upon hearing Angel’s voice, he stopped and turned towards him with an audible crackle of static.
“Of course, my dear fellow. What can I do for you?”
Inwardly, he hoped Angel wouldn’t load him work or ask any favors as he had indelibly implanted his plans to spend the rest of the evening languishing by the fireplace and listening to music. He let his gaze wander over Angel’s form, noting the fresh bruise on the demon’s face. His hair was messy and he had an aura of exhaustion accompanying him.
Angel took a deep breath, as though steeling himself, before he responded. “Alright, I’m gonna be straight with you here. I need you to help me break my contract with my boss.”
Alastor had to admit, the demand caught him off guard. So far, the spider hadn’t taken any action to quit his job, so his proposition was quite unexpected.
“I see. Though, you are aware that would be no easy feat. I presume you have something to offer me in return, if I am to execute this… task.” He let a small dose of green power ominously frame his form as he narrowed his gaze at the person in front of him.
Contrary to his expectation, Angel remained collected and unshaken, his body language tense, but firm and determined. “Yeah yeah, I know. You get me out of that deal and I will give you ownership of my soul one day a month, your choice when.”
Alastor let a beat of silence pass by as he processed the offer that mostly served to give Angel time to reconsider. It was tempting, he couldn’t deny. Looking back, he shouldn’t be so surprised that Angel had been provoked to this extent, for the past few months the demon had been increasingly growing more aggravated and insurgent at even the slightest mention of his boss’s name. His spat with the other had spread wide across Hell, no doubt exacerbating the strain on their already noxious relationship.
Though, matters had to be far worse than they seemed for him to come to Alastor, ready to make a soul-binding deal.
“My dear, I advise you to take a few days to rest and think this through. Surely, you’re well-aware what it would mean if I owned even a fraction of your soul.”
He knew the message his last sentence relayed as he watched Angel’s eyes darken at the malice dripping off Alastor’s words that clearly struck a sore spot since either the spider hadn’t conversed with Husker on this matter, or the demon had recommended a different solution that he wasn’t satisfied with.
“I know what it means, Smiles, and I know what you do to the souls you own.” His voice was tinted with contempt as he addressed the other. “Once a month, take it or leave it.”
“And what has Charlie said on this matter?”
Angel answered, sheepish. “She… kinda doesn’t know yet. It doesn’t matter, she doesn’t like him much.”
Alastor hummed, twirling his cane between both hands as he mulled the proposition over. “I think once a week should suffice. After all, I would have my hands full if I’m prepared to antagonize an overlord.”
He knew Angel wouldn’t refuse the deal, his desperation clear from the sole decision to resign himself to the whims of the Radio Demon, so he allowed himself the liberty of greed. His mind had already started mapping out a strategy to fulfil his end of the deal and break that contract as he waited for the other to respond.
Angel rolled his eyes. “Look, I know it’s a lot to ask, but you won’t be antagonizing anyone. You’re powerful, you definitely have something to offer him for an exchange.”
“Oh, certainly, but if I’m making sacrifices I only think it’s fair the payment be adequate.”
He didn’t disclose that it wouldn’t take much effort to make Valentino succumb to his demands, he only had to avoid the possibility of alerting the other residents of the tower and inadvertently inciting a turf war.
Decades of masterful self-control - something that Alastor prided himself with - were to credit for his ability to subside the glee that tingled in his chest. An opportunity such as this one was unfit for declination, Angel’s soul would not only benefit to reaffirm Alastor's importance and longstanding position at the hotel, but it could also be used as leverage should the other soul he owned, that was currently residing under the same roof and had detrimentally allowed himself to grow fond of the spider, elect the route of defiance and misconduct more frequently.
Angel crossed his arms, turning his gaze to the walls and breathing out an anxious exhale. His voice was quieter when he spoke again.
“Once a fortnight.”
Alastor turned his gaze upwards in a display of feigned contemplation before he eventually answered. “Very well. It’s a deal.”
He extended his open hand to the other, his magic causing the room to shine a foreboding shade of green as runes etched themselves across the walls and furniture of the hallway, making the boards creak and groan as his power vibrated through the open space. His face stretched in an unnatural manner as his smile only increased from all the possibilities the spider’s soul would gift him.
Angel briefly hesitated. His hand hung in the air, unsure.
“Okay, but I don’t want you to make it obvious. I don’t want Val taking it out on me for wanting to quit. Just-” He took a long breath, carefully calculating his words. “Just help me when the time comes, if it does. I need to know you’ll have my back.”
“I’ll be sure to be as obliquely discreet as I can.”
The words echoed, filling the tense silence that stretched between them as Angel weighed the situation before he finally grit his teeth and clasped Alastor’s hand.
Tendrils of radiant, explosive magic blasted from where their hands met, dangerously twisting and cutting through the room. Angel shielded his eyes from the blinding turbulence of their light as Alastor’s form grew, crooked and malevolent. He could feel a fresh wave of power course through him from the newly gained soul, overflowing his veins and refilling his body with strength. It was only the thread stitched through his skin that prevented his smile from completely tearing through his face, revealing a maw eager to viciously savage and tear whoever had the misfortune of finding themselves in its vicinity.
When the stormy wave of magic subsided, Alastor shrunk his form, reappearing as his usual self once more, content with the brimming remnants of a deal well-struck blazing through his nerves, sparking them like embers as the decreasing flames lingered in their promise of freshly-acquired power. It was a feeling all too familiar for him, one he would never grow tired of.
In front of him, Angel took a few seconds to gather himself, his breaths long and deep as he resurfaced to normalcy once more.
“So… it's done?”
“Yes.” He thumped the end of his cane against the floor, resting his hands on the top. “Do rest easy, it won’t be a long time from now. I’ll make sure to fulfil my part, then you will yours.”
“Right. Okay.” Angel stuffed one pair of arms in his pockets, looking nowhere in particular before he raised his gaze to Alastor. “You know, we could take this to your room, so we could... properly seal the deal.” His voice was smooth, inviting, as he stepped closer to the other demon.
Alastor pushed him back with the butt of his cane.
“Goodnight, Angel.” He turned on his heel, only briefly craning his neck backwards to say. “Sleep well.” Before he resumed his original path back to his room, smile wider and posture straighter, delighted at the unexpected turn the night had taken.
Oh, yes. This had been a very pleasant day, indeed.
----‐‐----------------
The night sky had risen, the stars littering it barely shown from the over polluted clouds of smoke and toxins that exuded from the city below them. Alastor stood in his tower, turning his cane in his hands as he recounted each step of the plan soon to be realized.
It had been two days since Angel had approached him with the offer and it hadn't been difficult to design a course of action for Alastor to take. While the spider didn't agree to more violent tactics, if those classified as "obvious", he hadn't exactly omitted that prohibition and Alastor was never one to willingly forfeit his advantages. If he were to offer anything to an overlord, the price would be costly, so there really was only one option left for him.
He couldn't deny that the Vees had made a prominent name for themselves, unfortunately for him they also had an irritating habit of reminding him of it, of who they were and what they were capable of. While the constant, petty bickering instigated by a particularly annoying member of the group was inconvenient, Alastor allowed it to happen, not because any words the TV demon said held any truth to them, but mostly because he couldn't bother investing enough effort to stop his charades.
Alastor was fairly disappointed in his old friend, a feeling that had plagued him for countless years, and he was unable to stifle the bewilderment how all three of them had gained so much power considering the full length of their capabilities. If he wanted to, he could obliterate them in a matter of hours, it would be a long and strenuous task, but with enough determination and cunning it could unfailingly be executed.
Suddenly, his heart felt heavy as it did all those years ago when everything fell apart. The prickling sensation martyrizing his soul was reminiscent of the night he lost his best friend to avarice, selfishness, lust and that insatiable need for advancement. He was a victim to those former vices himself, but it stung no less when he was at the receiving end of their destruction, the betrayal only intensified by Vox's heedless greed for more, for things Alastor couldn't give him, to force Alastor to give in to feelings he couldn't experience despite the other being perfectly aware of that fact. Even after Vox had crossed all of his boundaries and threw their friendship aside like it had meant nothing, like it had only been a stepping stone for the achievement of a higher form of love, if it could ever be called that, Alastor wasn't able to bring himself to permanently end the frail connection between them.
His chest ached at his refusal to admit he couldn't snuff out the demon even if he wanted to. He had nearly succeeded, he had nearly eradicated that enthusiastic, passionate person that now held only hate in his heart for Alastor. But the prospect of going through that again was precisely what was refraining him from attacking that tower, even if it was ruinous to him.
He shook his head, trying to rid himself of those unhelpful thoughts.
Tonight, his priority was Valentino. It was simply business, nothing more. His intention to silently infiltrate the tower, catch the overlord unaware as well as make sure he liberated Angel of Valentino's potential retribution, and do what he did best, was specifically planned to avoid notice.
He steeled himself and closed his eyes, feeling his body fuse with the shadows around him and become one far-reaching entity.
Following their natural pattern, he slipped through the wooden boards of his radio tower and slithered his way down the walls of the hotel. Careful to steer clear of the light, he wormed his way through the city, passing through buildings and houses undetected with one clear destination in mind.
It took only a few minutes for him to cross the city and make his way to V Tower. The overwhelming lights were more prominent in this part of the Pentagram. Billboards, advertisements and TV displays were built onto every corner, illuminating the streets in an aggravating, degenerate show of modern over-consumerism and casting them in an obnoxious blue and purple glow.
The tower loomed before him, its brightness made Alastor's eyes sore and he quickly ducked into a nearby flat that appeared to be empty.
He spared a moment to compose himself and gather his wits. The bustling and chaotic atmosphere in this section of the city always left him reeling from his failure to understand how anybody could possibly enjoy living here. He looked through the window of the apartment, noting the entryways and exits of the tower. From Angel’s frequent rants about his boss, Alastor knew Valentino's office was supposedly located on the bottom floor. His eyes swept the area, looking for paths that weren't captured by the, frankly, exaggerated amount of cameras installed throughout.
He took a deep breath before plunging himself into the darkness once more, their safety a welcome comfort for what he was about to do.
Mindful to avoid the cameras, Alastor traipsed across the street, his movements tactful and calculated as he cautiously made his way into the tower.
Slipping through an open window, he was greeted with the slick interior of the building. The late hour guaranteed few people would be populating it, leaving Alastor with more freedom to explore the rooms.
He still stuck to the walls, not eager to set off any alarms or draw any wandering eyes. The furniture and appliances that the rooms were decorated with reeked of opulence. The tiles and surfaces had barely a speck of dust on them, evidence of the wealth and grandeur the founders had obtained.
Not willing to waste any time, Alastor trudged along the corridors, pointedly ignoring how well his former business partner was prospering and turning in different directions looking for Valentino's office. He turned across a couple of corners before he was met with a plain pink door that had the word "Valentino" carved in cursive letters on its surface.
Just as he was ready to sneak through the gap at the bottom of the door he heard shoes clinking behind him, the echoing sound increasing in volume as it neared closer towards Alastor.
He quickly ducked behind a nearby plant, his body still morphed into the shadows, only sparing a moment to peep at the person approaching. He could almost physically feel fate’s derision clenching his heart and he mentally laughed at his own luck when his eyes landed on a blue figure walking towards Valentino's office, the bright screen he had instead of a head was unmistakable.
All of Alastor's instincts set on fire as a calamitous combination of anger and fondness spread through his whole body upon seeing the other demon. The realization that it had been almost a decade since he had seen him from so close, in the flesh, struck Alastor like a tidal wave. He wanted nothing more than to rip him apart where he stood for all the misery Vox had caused him, for not only disregarding their partnership and the opportunity for them to be the most powerful beings in the whole city, but also for the blatant carelessness and inconsideration he had shown Alastor that one dreadful night when Vox's confession cleaved a rupture between them so grave no amount of apologies or bargaining could stitch it back together.
And yet...
He couldn't do it. He was rooted to the spot, paralyzed by his own still persevering affection for a past, long gone, version of his former friend.
He didn't know when the gradual change began, when the man who Alastor could laugh with, could scheme and plot with, could talk with for hours on end transformed into the narrow-minded, pretentious man that currently stood before him, and even though he tried everything to stop it he was incapable of preventing the downgrade from happening. Even hurting the vile, misguided person he had become felt as though he would be causing pain to the wonderful, quick-witted and above all, respectful person that once bore his face.
He was incapable of doing more than watch as Vox opened the door, not bothering to knock.
From his position behind the plant he could hear a fair bit of shuffling that was shortly accompanied by muffled conversation. He couldn't decipher the words, but he knew the other voice was undoubtedly Valentino's. Pressed firmly against the wall, he abandoned his cover to itch closer towards the door in an attempt to hear the conversation better.
An impressive amount of whiny protests were exchanged before he heard footsteps draw nearer to the door. He swiftly returned to his hiding place just in time before Valentino threw the door open, stomping into the hallway, clearly frustrated.
"You really had to drag me to do it, can't the bitch sign the papers himself?"
"Again, they need your signature." Vox's voice responded, unconcerned by the other's immature theatrics.
Valentino huffed. "Well, you definitely know when to pick your moments. You had your fun yesterday, now it's my turn with the box-head." He retorted as they both walked the opposite direction from Alastor who was vexed at the other's audacious necessity to wear heels when he already towered over everyone around him. He had half a mind to blow his cover and kick Valentino's ankle if only to see what would happen.
Vox's tone was calm when he responded as he put a hand on the other's back to gently steer him forward. "Val, you're efficient. I'm sure it will take only a couple of minutes, it's not like the guy is a limited time offer."
"Hmm, that's true."
They continued to chatter as their voices faded into the distance. Yet, something about their words caught Alastor's attention.
He felt a tingling sensation of familiarity seep through him at the mention of the nickname his former friend used, back before he insisted on all the frivolous upgrades to his appearance. Alastor deigned another peek at the duo which was now nearly out of sight as they rounded another corner before disappearing from view, but he didn't fail to take in their forms. The man, whose voice Alastor knew all too well, was unequivocally Vox, who quite evidently no longer had an old TV design.
It would have been in his best interest to overlook the comment, to follow the two overlords, finish the job and never pay any consideration to the conversation that transpired.
…But something deep in his mind stirred, prodding into every corner of it as though searching for something long lost.
He tried to shake off the feeling but he couldn't dissuade it from trailing across every cell in his body. Something about that nickname was strong enough to disrupt his focus and counteract his determination to follow the two overlords and finish the mission. There was only one person he knew that it could be aimed at, so his perplexity was only reinforced by the irrefutable fact that he had seen that very person only moments ago.
He was fixed in his spot, despite arduously straining all his muscles and will himself to move his body that refused to obey. The feeling only grew in intensity, lighting his body on fire with a sense of nostalgia, ignited by the mention of the familiar name, that scraped across every bone and buried itself in every crevice of doubt, filling it with the foreboding aura that something wasn't right.
If there was anything that Alastor learned from living - from surviving - for so long in Hell, it was to always trust his gut. And right now all of his instincts were screaming at him to look further, to dig deeper and find out what that comment meant.
He let out a resigned exhale and sharply veered into the office.
Upon entering he was met with a lavish interior, chairs and sofas were placed around the room that consisted of mostly plastic rather than actual fabric. Alastor wrinkled his nose in disdain at the deluxe design, the unpleasant pink color of the walls making his eyes sting. There was a desk in the middle of the room, the scarcity of any paperwork on its surface a clear indicator of its underutilization. Not wanting to spend another unendurable minute longer in the room he quickly scanned it, looking for any hint as to what the comment had meant.
Just when he nearly decided to forfeit this unproductive delay, his eye caught something behind one of the cabinets on the far end of the room. He slithered towards it, now clearly seeing the dark outlining - that he pinpointed as a normal shadow - was actually an open door.
There was no light emitting from the opposite room, nor did he detect any signs of life. He looked into the dark abyss that waited on the other end of it. He had to admit, the position of the door was unorthodox, and looking down at the floor Alastor could see a half-circle of scratches on the marble tiles that led from one end of the door to the cabinet, barely visible if one wasn't looking for them. Their pattern indicated that the object had been moved from its previous position of obscuring the door.
He hummed, his curiosity building. “Well, that’s interesting.”
If Valentino had bothered to install a secret door then he must have done it with good reason, whatever lay on the other end was surely of high value. Perhaps, Angel had been right. If Alastor could gather enough leverage with whatever could be hiding on the other side then swaying the overlord to break the contract without inciting any violence would be an easier job than he supposed.
From the door he could vaguely see steps descending into the darkness that blaringly radiated a disquieting sense of danger. The shadows swirling in the depths sent dread through his body. It caused apprehension to build in him, everything about their ominous existence promised to deliver unabated pain and misery.
At the back of his mind he could feel a warning creeping in. It was very possible this could be a trap, but the twitchiness the door was giving him with its unnatural persistence to cause him terror and fear was precisely why he refused to feel those emotions. Usually, if a powerful entity strived to ensnare someone in their attempt at power and dominance the most efficient way was to affirm a false sense of safety, to mitigate any trepidation and lull the unfortunate soul into a dangerous display of comfort. Earning someone's trust was the surest way to lead them to their doom, a craft Alastor had mastered throughout the years and used regularly.
That knowledge was the very reason that his interest was piqued. The void beyond the door didn't sooth his nerves nor alleviate his worries, on the contrary, it reeked of peril.
Alastor smiled wider.
His gaze wickedly narrowed in anticipation at discovering what possible mystery could be concealed beyond the abyss. He trudged on, ignoring the tingling sensation pricking his skin and spreading goosebumps along its surface.
He ventured through the dark, his ghostly form melting with it. His senses flared at the mind-numbing feeling from both the freedom and the repression it caused. The air was thick, suffocating.
The stairs descended deep beneath the tower. Finally, after passing a few dozen of them Alastor spotted a flash of light coming from the other end. Discerning the distance, he surmised another dozen or more steps would bring him to his intended destination.
The closer he advanced the stronger the smothering feeling of the atmosphere became.
His instincts writhed within his bones as the shining light grew nearer and nearer, alerting him of a hidden presence residing at the bottom of the stairwell. He blinked, trying to accommodate himself to the feeling in case he needed to keep his vigilance up and his reflexes sharp. Whatever life dwelled at the end of the tunnel was concerningly ailing. Quiet, soundless, unmoving.
He didn't want to needlessly linger on how horribly familiar the sensation that latched onto his very soul was. He ignored how his heart clenched and how his shoulders unconsciously squared.
The bottom felt like an eternity away. When he finally reached it he had to squint his eyes from the red artificial lights that had been installed along the edges of the ceiling.
Taking a look around the room he noticed the walls were covered in rubber plates from top to bottom. Cameras were positioned in every corner and he quickly summoned his shadows to obscure their view before materializing back to his normal body and stepping into the room.
In the middle of the ceiling and right wall were located two metal bars that resembled minuscule train tracks. They ran in a straight line from one end of the room to the other and they flickered with electricity every few seconds. The space was uncharacteristically deprived of furniture, it majorly comprised of a small nightstand and a full-sized bed. But what really caught Alastor's attention was the person laying on top of it.
He took a few more steps closer to the bed, every beat of his shoes against the ground sent pounding waves of unease through his body. The person's form became clearer as Alastor neared it.
Alastor now stood in front of him and it took all of his slowly diminishing self-control not to gasp at the sight.
He was lying on his side, back turned towards Alastor. Even in the dim, aggravating red light Alastor could see the disturbing amount of cuts and burns that littered his naked body. The wounds appeared in various shapes and forms, differing in severity. Some were jagged and misshapen, indicating the weapon with which they were dealt with had torn and ravaged the flesh, some were sharp and narrow, sliced straight through, some were mostly healed while others were gushing fresh blood, newly inflicted.
The bite marks and scratches that marked almost every limb and surface of the person's body were nauseating proof that he had been subjected to pain and agony for a sickeningly long period of time. Bruises accompanied them, stark contrasts of yellow, purple and black across every appendage, particularly concentrated on his neck, wrists, hips and thighs.
Alastor felt bile rise in his throat. For all the enjoyment he gained by watching people suffer, by watching them fail and succumb to desolation, the torment and hardship that this person had gone through weighed heavy and painful even on his irredeemable, corrupted mind.
Upon closer inspection he noticed the man was chained to the bed. Manacles encased both of his wrists with each chain connecting to the two metal bars that had been installed on the walls and ceiling. The contraption made no sense to Alastor and his confusion didn't assuage when he noticed electrical wires coiling through the loops in the chains, blue and sparking every now and again.
Alastor trailed his eyes along the abused body, and he could feel his chest painfully constrict as his gaze landed on the person's head.
He froze.
The frail thread that was holding his composure precariously thinned with every second that passed and he painstakingly realized with dawning horror that he recognized the man laying on the bed.
…Or rather, he recognized the old television in place where a head should be.
Alastor's breath hitched in remembrance. His body ignored every command he tried to give it to run, to turn away and completely erase this night from his memory. Every cell in his body had grown tense, the small voice in his head that merely whispered and nudged before was now shouting and screaming in panic with one clear sentence:
I know you.
He had known ever since Valentino had made that specific remark. He had sensed his old friend's presence, deep down inside him. Even when his will had refused to listen his subconscious had picked up on the familiar aura that he could recognize in the worst nightmares that haunted his twisted mind.
I know you.
He knew him, and the impossible reality burned every inch of his rotten, irreparable soul. The man's dark, navy blue skin wasn't supposed to be so viciously damaged. His weak body wasn't meant to cower in this manner and Alastor couldn't even bring it in himself to fathom the image in front of him.
He had just seen Vox barely a minute ago, standing and talking with nothing amiss about his appearance. He blinked incessantly, trying to verify the validity of the situation only to be met with the same truth after each attempt.
I know you.
The man chained to the bed whose body was lax in resignation, battered and beaten so badly he hadn't even noticed a different presence had entered the room... was Vox.
Alastor could only stare. His breaths had grown rapid and shallow despite his determination to keep them steady. He exhaled long, and slow, cursing himself for his inability to control his emotions.
He knew pain, and he reveled in suffering, but nothing he had ever encountered could even resemble the bitter, torturous agony that was now seeping into his very core at the sight of his long lost friend, who was strong, intelligent and powerful enough to topple entire buildings, being brought to such a miserable state.
He reached a trembling hand to tap the man's shoulder only to immediately draw it back when the other violently flinched from his touch.
He stepped back, unable to do anything but watch with shock and horror as the man curled in on himself even further, covering his head with his hands in a feeble attempt to protect himself and Alastor nearly retched from how unbearably wrong the motion was.
He didn’t dare touch him again, the memory of him cowering in fear from Alastor was already ravaging every corner of his mind and he knew he wouldn’t forget it for a long, long time. But, he needed to know. He needed to speak to him, to hear his voice, to see his face, still desperately clinging to the belief that this isn’t Vox. Because if it is…
Then he wouldn’t know what to do with himself. He would have no choice but to succumb to his own guilt and misery for not helping him, for not looking for him, for not digging deeper, for not listening to the intuitive, muffled voice telling him something had gone wrong all those years ago that had been clouded by the arrogant, self-assured, selfish voice that had always been his favorite to don.
Tentatively, slowly, he sat on the edge of the bed, silently praying to whoever listened to let this person be someone else.
The man in front of him tensed, sensing Alastor had gotten closer.
Trying not to draw his attention by using touch he whispered instead. “…Vox?”
He could feel him bristle from the sound of his voice and before Alastor could prepare himself the man lifted his head and turned his face towards him.
He must have recognized the static effect embellishing Alastor’s words because his expression was nothing short of pure, unadulterated shock, and Alastor had to gather all of his strength not to step away.
…It was him.
All of Alastor’s hopes got violently crushed and he felt ice seep into his veins when Vox made eye contact with him.
The left side of his screen had been brutally smashed in, leaving sharp pieces of glass still barely clinging, a jagged spiderweb of cracks spreading through the whole monitor like a vibrant, treacherously barbed flower. His face was haunted, tired, devitalized and he was looking at Alastor with a red, wide, tearful eye that spoke of years of pain and Alastor nearly shuddered from the hopelessness that radiated from it.
He could only stare at him, at the face that should be nothing more than a ghost. His vision slightly darkened at the edges from the impossible reality descending on his fractured, disbelieving mind. The feeling was akin to the dread caused by thousands of needles piercing his flesh, pressing deeper and deeper, not ceasing their brutality even after they've reached bone, before coiling around his veins and twisting throughout his whole body, freezing it in place with a deftness only the coldest winters were capable of possessing.
He was brought out of his daze when he heard rattling.
Vox was trying to sit up, the chains on his wrists clinking from the shaky movements. A dreadfully brittle sound escaped him and only then Alastor noticed the gag that was strapped around his head.
Without much derail, he instinctively raised a hand to try and take it off. Thankfully, Vox didn’t flinch this time, rather he leaned his head further towards him, allowing him better access.
Alastor hooked a claw under one of the straps and sliced through it, quick and clean. He halted in his efforts to remove it when the other choked, feebly grasping Alastor’s wrist, as the obscene object that had been shoved down his throat was removed. Alastor tossed it to the farthest corner of the room, not sparing it a second glance as he directed his attention to the person in front of him once more.
Before he could say anything, Vox spoke.
“Al-“ he broke off with a dry cough. His voice was ragged, gravely and hoarse, as though he hadn’t spoken in days and Alastor wanted to scream from how horribly wrong it sounded. He wanted to shout, to kill and to maim from how far it was from the deep, silky, beautiful voice he knows should be associated with that face. Vox cleared his throat before trying again. “Alastor…?”
He was trembling and Alastor didn’t know what to do to alleviate his suffering, he didn’t know how to fix this, how to somehow erase it from ever happening and spare Vox from this fate and he could have torn apart the whole building from his rising frustration at his inability to do so.
Instead, he gulped and answered. “It’s me.” His eyes never leaving Vox’s.
He heard the other softly gasp.
"Oh, god..."
In a flash his breathing quickened, his chest rapidly rising and falling. “Alastor you need to leave.” He was trembling even more now, face contorting in agony, desperate and pleading. “Please, leave… Alastor, go now…”
Alastor only shook his head, not understanding his insistence. “Tell me what happened.” He tried to make the demand reassuring rather than as frantic and furious as he felt.
Vox only grabbed his shoulders, trying to push him away, but was too weak to do more than nudge Alastor back.
“Listen to me, you need to leave. Right. Now.” He tried shoving him more vigorously, pushing against his chest and clutching at his lapels. “Go! Just go, quickly!”
Stunned, Alastor opened his mouth to protest, to pry for more information when he suddenly heard footsteps echoing from the direction of the stairwell.
The stiffness that spread through his body must have been felt by the other for Vox instantly ceased his movements. The silence between them was deafening, clawing at Alastor’s heart and pooling dread into the newly inflicted wounds and he felt his very soul shatter when Vox’s eyes widened even more. Not out of shock, or confusion, but out of sheer, undiluted terror.
He grabbed Alastor’s face and quietly, but more firmly whispered. “Alastor go! Go now!” He spoke fast and wild, his words distorting with static, desperation increasing with every glitching word. The chains rattled, electricity surging through the wires and into the ceiling as Vox tried to shove his battered body towards Alastor, urging him to leave. His body started to shake uncontrollably and his pleas developed into unconstrained sobs. “Please, please leave. They can’t get you too... not you…. anyone but you.”
Alastor only reached to hold onto Vox's elbows, steadying him despite the descending footsteps increasing in volume. He looked down at him, at his panicked, terrified form and in that moment he knew.
He wasn’t going to leave him here.
Despite Vox’s begging Alastor was resolute in his decision to not abandon his friend. Not again.
Knowing he had less than a minute to act he grasped one of the chains connected to Vox’s wrists and opened his jaw. Rows of sharp, piercing teeth that could cut through flesh like butter jutted out, stretching farther and farther as his maw widened, inhuman and monstrous. With staggering speed he bit down on the metal, not sparing any worry to his own preservation as he felt the chain ring from the crushing force. The wires coiled through it sizzled and zapped with electricity. He repeated the motion once more, but the metal was unyielding.
In a last desperate attempt he set the chain on the bedpost, a quick snap of his fingers and in a spark of lime-green energy an axe appeared in his hands. Vox turned his face away just in time before Alastor expertly brought the axe down on the chain with all his might. Years and years of crafting his method, of breaking bones and cutting off limbs, resulted in the metal bending under the force.
He raised the axe and brought it down again, his smile stretching beyond the confines of his face when he saw the chain and the wires snap.
He managed to catch a quick glimpse of the stricken, affrighted expression on Vox’s face before shifting his attention to the other manacle, not wasting even a moment of precious time. For precious it was, if he didn’t free Vox now he would never get the chance again and the person he had been looking for for so long would disappear once more. Alastor proceeded to repeat the motion and the other chain was snapped in a matter of seconds, leaving the metal of the bedpost dented and ruined.
He tossed the axe on the bed. With his hands free he wrapped one of his arms around Vox and slid the other beneath his knees, careful not to irritate or worsen any of his injuries, and gently hoisted him up. In response, the other hissed and grasped his lapels, holding tight.
He made sure his grip on Vox was secure, but before he could summon any of his shadows a voice rang from behind them.
“I thought I heard a bitch trying to escape but now I see there's two. Isn’t this a stunning surprise?”
He felt Vox’s sharp shudder at the other’s smooth, seductive tone. Alastor turned towards it and was met with Valentino’s form, leaning languidly on the doorway, a gun in his hand.
“You know, Radio Demon, if you wanted to have a turn with one of my most prized possessions you could have just asked.”
He watched as the other inhaled through his cigarette before deftly blowing the pink smoke in their direction, nearly causing Alastor to cough from the suffocating, sickly-sweet aroma.
“Is that what he is?” He couldn’t help the bite from tinting his voice, indignant on Vox’s behalf. “How unfortunate for you, I’m afraid I’m going to be taking him with me.”
He tilted his head to the side with a sickening crack, displaying a clear warning that indicated to anyone it would be in their best interest to step out of his way.
The moth demon narrowed his eyes, his body visibly tensing, as though it was being held back from pouncing by an incredibly thin thread. Instead of releasing his anger, the other chuckled, insincere and mocking.
“Now, as much as I’d love to share him,” He put down his cigarette and straightened his body, causing him to tower over the doorway and block the only exit out of the dank, wretched room. His next words were devoid of the fake amiability he had been masking behind so far and instead replaced with an unmistakable animosity that made Alastor want to barrel through him and leave only a trail of blood and ravaged entrails in his wake. “He won’t be going anywhere.”
Alastor only tightened his hold on Vox. Instinctively. Protectively.
“Well…” His eyes turned to radio dials and his horns elongated, rising in height. His body slightly grew, his hands morphing into long, sharp claws that wrapped around Vox defensively in an attempt to shield him from harm. “Then it seems we’re at a disagreement.”
Alastor could see Valentino slowly growing more hostile with every delaying sentence, his barely contained anger brimming from his body language. He didn’t let himself be dissuaded. His main priority now was Vox. Not the deal, and not revenge. He just needed Valentino to move away from the door so he could dissolve them both in the darkness and escape.
The two Overlords stared at one another for several painful, unnerving seconds, both of their forms tense, menacing, prepared to strike.
Alastor nearly broke the gruesome silence from sheer frustration alone before Valentino addressed the demon in his hands.
His deceitful tone was dipped in poisoned honey when he spoke. “Voxxy,” With a genteel smile he held out one of his hands towards Vox. “Come here, baby.”
The thinly-veiled threat was as clear as day and Alastor felt Vox shift in his arms, torn between hope for a future out of this Hell he had been subjected to, and the primal instinct to avoid any more pain. His hold on Alastor’s coat only strengthened, with all the residual force he could muster.
"Vox..." When Vox didn’t reply, Valentino reiterated, his voice dark and strained, baleful and dripping with malice. “Get your ass back on the bed.”
Vox’s tremors now transformed into full-blown shaking, and if not for the effort that Alastor was investing in keeping his hold on him secure, he would have seriously been concerned that Vox would actually obey the command.
Attempting to extinguish Vox’s mind of any second-guessing, Alastor stepped back, putting distance between them and Valentino. He hoped the taller demon would follow them and abandon his current, highly inconvenient position.
Alastor softly exhaled in relief when the other affirmed his suspicions and took a slow, dangerous step towards them. He continued to retreat, not taking his eyes off of Valentino for even a second, luring him away from the door.
The last proof that luck had taken their side this dreadful night revealed itself when Valentino made the mistake of raising his gun, lightning fast, and aiming it directly at Alastor's head.
Alastor summoned a tentacle from the floor and swiped it across the back of Valentino’s hand before he could fire, effectively knocking the gun out of his grip and sending it hurling through the room.
Furious, the moth righted himself with a growl and spread his wings, their impressive size nearly encompassing the entirety of the small space, and swiftly brought them forward, sending a massive wave that crashed into Alastor and Vox.
At the last second, Alastor wrapped his tentacles around both of them to cushion their crash. The force of the blow caused Alastor to topple back, hitting the wall behind him with an audible thud. He barely managed to keep his grip on the other and avoid Vox slipping from his arms. When he looked back at their attacker Valentino was pointing another gun at them.
Acting on reflex, Alastor didn’t hesitate before turning Vox away from the line of shot, increasing the width of the tentacles to shield them in a makeshift cocoon, inadvertently exposing his back and making himself more vulnerable. His entire body flinched when he heard a resounding bang echo through the room.
He tensed, painfully immovable, but he still forced his eyes to scan Vox’s panting form to ensure he hadn’t gotten hurt, relieved at finding no new injuries, when his far-away mind took notice of the lack of pain in his own body. Confused, he turned around.
His eyes locked on Valentino, who was kicking and punching at a dark blotch of shadow that was clawing at his arms, tearing the gun away from Alastor and leaving deep, gruesome gashes on the moth's skin. Alastor smiled, amused at the sight before him. For all its mischievous insubordination and untimely theatrics, his shadow continued the legacy of never faltering when it was needed.
Valentino lifted his gun, firing two shots at rapid speed in an attempt to hit the shadow which simply swerved through the air, causing the bullets to miss and embed themselves in the walls. The sound undoubtedly thundered through the building, alerting to whomever was present of the commotion occurring downstairs. Alastor needed to get Vox out of the Tower, fast.
Before Valentino had time to aim again, the shadow struck him in the face, leaving three, gnarly cuts on his cheek, sending his hat and glasses flying. He stumbled back, howling.
With a sharp, confident smile on its wraith-like face the shadow charged at him again. Valentino's eyes widened and he instinctively gripped his cigarette and jammed it into the shadow's abdomen.
Alastor grunted, his grip on Vox unintentionally tightening as white hot pain flashed in his stomach. Lifting his gaze he saw his shadow recoil from the flame.
His eyes made contact with Valentino's and he knew the demon had noticed what had transpired. He watched as his momentarily puzzled expression morphed into a sadistic, wicked grin.
He couldn't let him ponder it any further so he summoned several vicious, blood-thirsty tentacles from the floor, giving Valentino no time to adjust before he rammed them with brutal force straight at the demon's body.
He hit the wall, hard, before crumbling to the floor.
With a crazed laugh he sputtered. "You're insane if you think-" His voice was livid, vile pouring from every word as he slowly picked himself up from the floor. "-That I'm just going to let you walk out of here with that whore!"
Alastor raised a wall of his shadows to shield them from Valentino, both physically and visually. The moth raised his gun, shooting at the blockade and Alastor used the distraction to plunge them into the darkness.
He inwardly smiled when Valentino failed to detect the mass of shadow that slithered right next to where he was sitting as he continued to bury bullets into the decoy Alastor had manifested.
He quickly directed them out of the basement, without looking back for even a second as the cacophony of shots and cursing slowly decreased in volume behind them until eventually it resounded from far, far away. Crawling through the halls and furniture with breakneck speed, Alastor led them out of V Tower and towards the loud, overcrowded streets of Pentagram City.
When the wall of shadows dissipated, Valentino was left staring at an empty, lifeless room.
Notes:
Hi! Just so you know I have the entire story already planned out and I know exactly how it's going to end. I expect chapters to be released between a week to two because I still need to actually write them but please be patient with me if it takes longer sometimes as I'm currently drowning in work. Also I know this chapter raises a lot of questions, but they'll all be answered in the next one or two chapters.
Constructive criticism is more than appreciated. If there's anything that could be made better don't hesitate to let me know.
Thanks and I hope you enjoy the rest of the fic.
Chapter 2: For how long have I been missing you?
Notes:
Hi! Ok I know I said I will release the second chapter after a week or two, but I hyperfixated like a loser and wrote it in two days
TW: aftermath of torture, abuse and sa!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Alastor paused in a nearby alcove, catching his breath. Vox, was still in his arms, obscured by the darkness that enveloped them.
It had taken them less than a minute to travel from V Tower to the Hazbin Hotel, passing the city in a haze of blurry lights and incomprehensible sounds that wasn't too dissimilar to swimming in a river of stars, waving through its misleading, dangerous waters as the only path to safety. Alastor took several deep, panting breaths before he turned his attention to the hotel in front of them.
All the lights, save for the ones on the ground floor and the utterly distasteful, tacky lighting that the exterior of the hotel had been decorated with, had been turned off, the inhabitants having gone to sleep. He was thankful for the late hour as it liberated him from the possibility of being spotted and from the inconvenience of explaining why he was carrying a past, hurt, look-alike version of one of the most powerful Overlords in Hell. He also wanted to unburden Vox of experiencing any prying, unwanted eyes potentially seeing him in this state.
He softly squeezed the figure in his arms as a form of reassurance, concerned when he felt no response. Quickly, he scanned the building looking for the darkest route that led to the window in his room.
Steeling himself, he sped across the cobblestone yard, sticking to the most inconspicuous parts of the land in an attempt to not be seen. He started to crawl the wall and in a matter of seconds he was latching onto the window, swiftly opening it and entering his room.
He corporealized both of them back to their three-dimensional forms and made his way towards the armchair that was situated across from the bed.
The bayou in his room provided a pleasant aroma of pinecones, fresh grass and clear wind, a stark contrast to the suffocating, polluted air of the city. After several long strides he was standing in front of the chair. Carefully, he lowered Vox, who had at some point lost consciousness - too exhausted to be able to endure the tumultuous travel through the void - onto the soft cushions that adorned the chair, the chains still on his wrists clanking with the movement. Alastor held him gently by the shoulders to prevent him from tipping to the side and slightly leaned back.
He had to stifle a gasp. In the soothing, bright light of the room he could better see the extent of Vox's injuries that he had failed to do with the aching, disagreeable light of the basement from before. It was... bad.
The first thing he noticed was the state of Vox's hands. They had been declawed, leaving only the soft, sensitive flesh of his fingers. Alastor breathed in heavily, trying to balance the inner turmoil that ravaged his guts at the sight of his friend being bereft of even the most primal, absolute first-line of self-defense.
Looking at his form, he couldn't pinpoint the off-putting sense that something else was missing. His brows creased and he looked Vox over a couple of times before his eyes landed on the top of his head where his antennas should be. In their place he instead saw two short metal rods, about the length of his palm, their points sharp, twisted and jagged.
His antennas had been snapped. His signal had been cut off, entirely depriving him of the ability to teleport.
Static laced through the room. Ear-piercing. Livid. Alastor's form elongated, his claws gripped the arms of the armchair, tearing the fabric, as his eyes flicked between their usual form and radio dials. The wave of raw, murderous anger that washed through him was capable of tearing apart the whole building and disintegrating anyone in sight.
He tried to control the vicious, merciless fury that spread through every inch of his body at seeing what had been done to Vox. At seeing the unending, soul-crushing pain he had been subjected to and at seeing how completely helpless he had been to stop it. The injustice of the idea that those lecherous, vile, disgusting excuses for sinners even thought themselves superior to him, that they even thought they had any right to do this to him was unfathomable. It was impermissible. They had no right to lay even a single hand on Vox, much less to imprison, torture and defile him for who knows how long. To forcibly steal his freedom, his ability to move, to speak, to say no.
He hadn't been given any possessions. Nothing in that room had been his, something that belonged to just him. The cameras on the ceiling were nauseating proof of the horrors that had been done to him, a sickening indicator that Vox had been watched every second of every hour of every day. And he hadn't even been given a blanket...
He looked at Vox's face with an enraged yet sad, sorrowful expression and his heart shattered at the state of his screen, the one Alastor had grown to adore deeply and find comfort in whenever his eyes landed on it. He had to clench his fists from worry that he would break something at seeing the paleness of Vox's monitor. Its normally vibrant, enchanting blue glow had been replaced with a gray, dull color. It was also barren of any features. Alastor had only seen him entirely shut down to a blank screen a couple of times since he had known him as it usually happened after bouts of extreme exhaustion or fatal damage to provide Vox a speedier time of recovery. But now?
He looked devoid of life.
Alastor reached a hand to cup the side of his face and his breath hitched from the familiarity of feeling Vox's old square-shaped, TV design against his hand. A strong, painful, nostalgic feeling swept through him and he briefly closed his eyes, trying to get control over his emotions before they threatened to crumble him completely. He brushed his fingers over the screen, mindful not to dislodge the sharp pieces of broken glass and accidentally injure Vox, and he felt his heart leap, as though his mind had forgotten the motion a long time ago while his body still had the impression that it had done it just yesterday.
But... it wasn't fair toward Vox. As much as Alastor wanted to hold him for as long as he could, it would be inconsiderate and intrusive toward the other demon when so much had been forcibly taken from him without his consent. Fighting every screaming cell in his body, Alastor retracted his hand, already dreadfully missing the feeling of caressing Vox's face. He closed and unfolded his fist a few times, trying to dislodge the ghost of the warmth that his screen had exchanged.
He stepped back, his mind crafting his next course of action. He decided it would be wisest to use the opportunity of Vox being soundly asleep to replace his antennas for he didn't know if the action would cause him pain.
He walked towards his wardrobe. Opening it, he perused through his clothes until he felt a metal box on the bottom of the appliance. He grabbed it and brought it out, the contents jingling inside.
He opened it and a myriad of mechanical components greeted his vision. He quickly swiped through them, ignoring the pieces of metal, extra wires, spare chords, and left-over computer pieces he had accumulated during his time with the TV demon when they were still confidants. He shifted the unnecessary parts out of the way until he found what he was looking for, a screwdriver, a pristine, unused screen and two identical antennas, longer than the ones Vox wore on his modern design.
Alastor stilled at the thought that passed through him. That person wasn't Vox. Whoever he was it was not the well-mannered, charming, magnetizing person that he knew Vox as.
He shook his mind, trying to clear it of the distraction that currently benefitted no one and attempted to focus on the task at hand. He closed the box and returned it to its original place before turning back towards the armchair.
He stepped closer to Vox and reached for one of his broken antennas. Having done this dozens of times before, he knew the exact way to turn the rod without damaging anything vital. A wave of anxiety washed over him at the looseness of the antenna, similar to how a radio's antenna would grow lax at careless, rough treatment. He removed them both quickly, efficiently and replaced the empty sockets with the new, functional antennas.
Next, he picked up the screwdriver and headed to twist the bolts at the corners of Vox's screen. The TV he had for a head was covered with scratches and dents and Alastor winced at the scraping sound of the metal unfastening beneath his hands, drearily neglected. He knew Vox would heal in time, all of the gashes and bruises on his body as well as the damage done to his screen would fade when he eventually regenerated, but if Alastor could make the experience as painless and as quick as possible then he would.
After setting the bolts on the nearby table Alastor removed the metal framing Vox's monitor.
Instantly, several pieces of shattered glass cascaded down from the screen, having been dislodged from their precarious position. Alastor hurriedly went to pick up the broken pieces. Some had fallen to the ground while others had landed on Vox's chest and Alastor was immensely relieved that they hadn't been thick or sharp enough to pierce the flesh. He redirected his attention to the screen and tentatively removed it, revealing a mess of wires and circuitry within.
To anyone else it would have been a horrid, abnormal sight, to witness a dark, hollow abyss filled with machinery in the place of someone's face. But to Alastor? It was the most natural thing in the world. His hands, that have experienced this countless times before - whenever Vox needed help replacing his screen he had always confided in Alastor, never trusting anyone else to do this task for him - moved as if on autopilot, picking up fractured shards from every nook and crevice, mindful not to irritate the insides of Vox's screen too much.
A sudden, rapid knocking woke him out of the focused daze he had lost himself in.
"Alastor?" A grim voice spoke out which Alastor recognized as Angel’s. "Smiles, are you in there? I need to talk to you."
Alastor ignored him. Whatever the spider wanted to discuss it certainly wasn't more important than the person in front of him. He also pointedly shoved the feeling of a piece of his power missing that had only been acquired two days ago.
Angel continued knocking and calling out his name. Alastor simply jogged to the kitchen and retrieved a cloth, damping it in water before continuing with cleaning up the cavity, making sure no glass dust remained that could potentially cause Vox internal damage.
Eventually, the disruptive knocking ceased, the silence was followed by Angel's quiet footsteps as he retreated down the hallway.
As though the interruption never happened, Alastor continued working. He picked up the crystal clear, spotless monitor and meticulously positioned it in the correct place. Then he reinstalled the frame and screwed the bolts back in place.
He leaned back, satisfied with his work. Already, Vox started to resemble the image of him that Alastor remembered.
His expression turned sullen once he remembered the shackles still circling Vox's wrists, the electrical wires still tightly coiled through them, randomly sizzling with electricity. He snapped his fingers and a metal cutting mill manifested into existence in his hand. Truly one of humanity's most ingenious creations, it had lessened his work load on so many fateful nights when he needed to hide or carry a body. He plugged the device in and turned it on.
The wheel noisily whirred and Alastor carefully lowered it to one of the manacles, grateful when his shadow sprang forth to steady Vox's arm. With a hawk's precision, Alastor began to slice the metal, the loud, sharp noise piercing his ears.
When he successfully cut through the manacle on each side, he turned off the device, surprised as to why the pieces of the cuff hadn't fallen. He picked up Vox's hand, which was heavy and limp in his grasp, and made to remove the metal only for his heart to stop in horror.
He wasn't removing the manacle, he was extracting it. On the inside of the cuff were installed two parallel rods that connected like a diameter. Each of them had been pierced straight through Vox's flesh with anatomical precision. His skin was painted in an abhorrent, detrimental shade of dark purple and black bruises that enveloped his entire wrist.
Blood immediately started trickling out of the two punctures in Vox's wrist when Alastor removed the shackle. Thankfully, it wasn't a gushing stream like he had expected, any veins or arteries had been expertly avoided, and he had to apply pressure with the cloth for only a couple of minutes for the bleeding to stop. Alastor managed to stifle a full body shudder with a strength he wasn’t aware he possessed at realizing - judging by the length and width of the rods as well as the particular spot where they had been inserted - that the metal had been drilled straight through the bones in Vox's arm, one through the radius, the other through the ulna.
It was a miracle his hands weren't paralyzed.
If Alastor felt angry before, the feeling that currently coursed through him at seeing the full extent of Vox's torment was capable of toppling entire cities to the ground should the sheer magnitude of his uncontainable fury unleash itself. The room creaked as shadows raked across the walls and surfaces, veiling any object and mystifying it behind a lethal, impenetrable force of darkness. Alastor's form grew, every demonic attribute that he had been masking for the comfort of those around him rose to the surface in a deadly, wrathful manner. His antlers stretched so far they scraped the ceiling. His eyes turned to radio dials, ticking away, as though they were capable of counting the time until the end of the world itself. Blood seeped out of the gruesome, monstrous maw filled with razor-sharp, gnashing teeth that were ready to viciously maul any living thing in sight.
Alastor closed his eyes, breathing heavily, vindictive, fuming, vengeful, hurt. Then, slowly, he lowered his forehead until it made contact with Vox's.
Feather-light, the touch was merely a fleeting, passing thing, barely there, like a warm, gentle breeze passing through a sleeping forest during the coldest days of winter. Alastor's hair softly fell over Vox's screen, his corpselike hands positioned on either side of the unconscious demon as though his body was shielding him from the heartless, ruthless dangers that could be lurking around each and every corner.
He would have gladly taken the blows if it meant he had kept Vox safe. He would have happily subjected himself to serving only as a means of protection for the rest of eternity if it meant preventing the horrors Vox had faced from resurfacing, and the knowledge that he had failed to do so would haunt him for the rest of his miserable, depraved life.
He breathed in deeply, holding it for several seconds before he steeled himself and reluctantly leaned away from Vox with a long exhale, already hating the painful, empty impression that the heavenly feeling Vox's forehead had inflicted on his own.
Reducing his size, he picked up the mill once more.
Taking off the second manacle passed in a blurry, dissociated haze, his mind shutting of as a numbing fog spread through his senses. His hands worked on autopilot and before he knew it, the second cuff was removed and the bleeding was staunched. He opened a portal and tossed the broken chains into the void, certain that they would swiftly be reduced to ash by the voracious, pitiless creatures that resided within, never to be seen again.
He steeled himself. The next thing he needed to do was disinfect and bandage Vox's wounds, and that wouldn’t have been a problem if they hadn’t been so covered in blood, making them indistinguishable from the soft, healthy flesh.
Alastor walked in the direction of the bathroom. Upon arriving he turned the faucet of the bathtub on. He tested the water, turning the handle left and right until he was satisfied with the temperature. He picked a few bottles of soap and a washcloth from the cupboards and set them down on the edge of the tub.
He entered the main area once more and with a quiet grunt he gently, and very carefully, picked Vox up.
He didn't even stir in his arms, not even after Alastor had sawed through the metal protruding through his hands. Pushing down the unease in his gut, Alastor carried him towards the now full bathtub and slowly put him inside, turning off the faucet.
He held Vox's head with his hands, not knowing if the water would damage his systems with how broken and exposed the circuitry had been - when he realized he needed help. He needed an extra hand, someone he could trust not to divulge the information of Vox's presence in the hotel, not just out of consideration to not betray Vox while he was in such a vulnerable, defenseless state by touching and prodding at his body without his knowledge or permission, but also because he physically couldn't do it alone. Unless he summoned his moppets or shadows which is a choice fit for refusal like no other.
There was only one person he knew who wouldn't betray his plight. He sighed and snapped his fingers.
In a spark of green light Niffty appeared in the middle of the bathroom, aimlessly stabbing at a couple of roaches that Alastor had accidentally summoned as well.
"Niffty?"
His voice reached empty ears. The small demoness continued to impale her needle in the floor tiles, completely oblivious of her new whereabouts, as she spewed a rapid array of hisses that mostly consisted of 'Stab! Stab! Stab!' under her breath while giggling like a maniac.
Alastor felt the corner of his smile raise from the fondness the sight before him evoked. It was the first time he smiled genuinely the whole night.
Still holding Vox's head above the water, he tried again, slightly louder. "Niffty?"
The girl abruptly stopped in her tracks. Her big, curious eye scanned the room, taking in her surroundings before it eventually landed on Alastor.
"Hello, dear. Glad I have your attention." He shifted, trying to get more comfortable on the edge of the tub. "I'm sorry for calling on you so abruptly, but I have need of your assistance."
Niffty scurried towards him, nimbly climbing on his shoulder. Despite Alastor’s words not being a question, the demoness never protested, therefore he never had any need to quarrel with her. There was a reason she was his favorite out of all the souls he owned, and treating her correctly had never been a difficult task.
She looked at Alastor then she looked down at the person in the bathtub, her eye widening, noticing him for the first time.
"Ooohh, a bad boy!" Her smile stretched, gleeful and exited, body ready to dive forward at the unfortunate figure.
"No!" Alastor raised his hand to block her from getting to Vox. "No, no, no. Not this time. Don't jump this one."
Her expression twisted into one of sorrow, as though Alastor had physically struck her. With a dejected look she asked. "He's not a bad boy?"
"No, he is. He's simply..." He took a moment to contemplate his next words, trying not to sadden Niffty more than necessary. "I just need your help to bathe him. As you can see, I have my hands full."
Her eye danced between him and the man in the tub, most likely noting his various wounds and the awful state of his battered body. Eventually she nodded, also understanding why Alastor was preoccupied with holding the other's head. With a shrug, she descended along Alastor's arm towards the edge of the tub.
Effectual as always, she wordlessly set to work, filling the tub with the right shampoos, equally distributing them and making the copious amount of bubbles cloudy and voluminous.
A couple of minutes passed, the lack of exchanged words not weighing heavy on either of their minds for the quiet was a welcome comfort.
"So, who is he?"
Her voice chimed in, breaking the calm silence.
"He's..." He wanted to keep Vox's identity a secret, but he didn't want to lie to Niffty. "...important."
The demoness hummed, as she ran the cloth over Vox's arm, cleaning the blood and sweat off his skin. She was surprisingly apt at disconnecting the part of her brain responsible for the salacious, carnal desires when the situation was dire. If she hadn't been, Alastor wouldn't have let her anywhere near Vox.
"Be as gentle as you can with him." He was walking a dangerous line. While he was sure Niffty wouldn't rat out his secrets, there was still a sort of aversion and bashfulness to revealing a deep wound. Not to mention the many, various ways it could potentially be used against him.
At the sentiment, Niffty looked up at him, studying him in silence. Her analytical, yet innocent attention didn't fail to unintentionally make Alastor jittery.
Just when he thought he was out of the woods, a shrill, long gasp escaped her.
"Oh!" She raised her hands to cup her face in astonished realization. "Oh, oh, oh! Is he the one you fell in lo-"
"Niffty."
The darkness of his tone cut her off. She looked taken aback and Alastor immediately felt guilty from the shaken, staggered expression on her face. After a few seconds she lowered her gaze to the bathtub, resuming her work, the severity of her admission dawning on her.
It had been a mere slip up on Alastor’s part years and years ago when he had underestimated Niffty's perceptive, astute mind. While she hadn't discovered Vox's identity, she had recognized the affection in Alastor’s tone, especially considering the job of caring for someone that he had just asked her to do. He should have known the demoness wouldn't forget there was only one person he spoke so delicately of and who he held in such a high honor. She hadn't forgotten the one mysterious individual in all of Alastor’s years down in Hell who had managed to earn not only Alastor’s respect, but also his affection, and carve a special place in his heart.
And now she knows who it was.
Having finished with his arms, she proceeded to clean Vox's chest, diligently, but gently scrubbing at his skin. Alastor lifted his head, an ashamed look decorating his face, and addressed her. "Niffty?" His voice was quiet, almost completely devoid of static.
"Yeah?"
The anxiety that clenched his heart eased up at Niffty's amiable tone, glad he hadn't upset her too much.
"I can trust that you won't tell anyone about his presence here, can't I?"
He knew he didn't need to ask, but Niffty was one of his only, if not THE only, confidant he really had and he didn't want to forfeit that loyalty by behaving in a discourteous manner.
He purposely ignored the small voice at the back of his head that corrected: only two confidants, now. He would verify the validity of that statement after Vox woke up.
The small demoness briefly paused to say "I won't tell anyone." Her tone sincere, without a smidge of bitterness in it.
He nodded, grateful. "Thank you, dear."
The remainder of their time together was spent in a peaceful silence, with Alastor holding Vox from slipping under and Niffty brushing the cloth over his body. His mind would have started to wander from the calming atmosphere if it wasn't so exhausted. The stress, anxiety, reality-bending shock and absolute terror of the night had left their heavy mark on Alastor’s weary consciousness, and now that they were slowly starting to alleviate, he felt his senses dulling, his mind slipping into a lulling, fuzzy daze.
At some point he had closed his eyes, only noticing after a voice called out from the distance.
He blearily opened them again, trying to focus his vision on the blurry red-white figure on his lap.
"Sir?" She said, a concerned look on her face. His ears must have evaded her previous calls to him. "It's done."
He straightened up, clearing his throat. "Wonderful! I can always count on you, Niffty. Can you fetch a clean towel from the top cupboard for him?" He heard a tapping sound that reverberated through the bathroom and only now noticed the dripping, soaked state of the demoness. "... Make that two."
He unplugged the tub, letting the water slowly drain out of it as Niffty scuttled in the direction he pointed her towards, unperturbed by the drenched state of her hair and clothes. When the bath had been emptied, Alastor wrapped the towel around Vox and carefully hoisted him up then carried him out of the bathroom and towards his bed, where he softly laid the demon on top of.
He beckoned Niffty to his side and with another snap of his fingers gauze, antibiotics and other medical equipment materialized on his nightstand. An invoiced message transpired between them and both he and the demoness simultaneously sat down on either side of Vox to bandage his injuries.
Looking at him in this light, he barely managed to keep his breathing steady. The cuts and gashes were deeper than he had deduced and the bruises throughout his whole body were far graver than they had appeared. It was a difficult task to find a part of it that hadn't been hurt, tortured or beaten.
He didn't want to think about what had happened to Vox anymore, he didn’t want to think about the inconceivable suffering he had endured, not trusting his own emotions from keeping themselves bottled in. He imagined the person he was taking care of wasn't Vox, that it was someone else and that this was nothing more than a transaction.
They worked in silence, both of them wanting to bandage the demon as quickly as they could.
When they were done Alastor procured a set of pants and a button-up shirt, not Vox's usual style but they would keep him warm. After he was dressed Alastor moved him into a more comfortable position on the bed and draped the blanket over him. He considered the other for a few seconds and his breath hitched from how snug and peaceful Vox looked. His chest was softly rising and falling, his screen was blank, a picture of calmness, and Alastor could have pretended nothing was wrong if he wasn't painstakingly aware of the staggering, horrendous damage hiding underneath.
He turned away, sharply, and walked back to the box of mechanical parts from earlier. He shifted through it carelessly and shut it with a snap after finding the electrical cord suitable for his needs. He made his way back to Vox and plugged one end of the charger in the wall and the other in the lower side of Vox’s head.
A part of him wanted to let Vox sleep through the worst of his recovery while his body healed, but the more rational part of his brain knew that he needed the energy to do so.
He stared expectantly at Vox’s screen, growing more restless with every passing moment the longer the screen remained blank. After around a dozen seconds, Vox's monitor flashed blue, casting a tranquil, incongruous light on the otherwise red room and green trees beyond it. A horizontal stripe filled and emptied repeatedly in the middle of the screen, with the words '5% full' underneath it. In the corner stood the sentence "Charging..." which alleviated some of the tension in Alastor’s shoulders.
Satisfied, though no less discontent from the concerningly low energy that Vox had been sustaining on, he went to tidy up the room, picking up broken pieces of glass, throwing away the damp towels and putting away the remaining, unused equipment. Niffty helped him and a small voice in his head, that didn't know how to properly express its gratitude, briefly wondered why she hadn't been sent to Heaven until it remembered her gleeful, homicidal tendencies. The idea made him smile.
By the time they had finished, the bar on Vox’s screen read "20% full", much to Alastor’s relief.
Sighing, he sat down on the armchair where he had situated Vox earlier and lounged back, only now noticing how sore his body had become. Niffty followed him and perched on the armrest.
Gingerly, he took the towel, that was too big to be hanging around her shoulders, laid it over her head and gently soaked up the water from her hair. When he was done he removed the towel and was met with a giant, merry eye framed by a jovial smile and messy hair. He smiled down at her reassuringly.
Too tired to get back to his feet, he summoned a tentacle to retrieve a comb from one of his drawers. Niffty turned her back wordlessly as if this was a routine, legs crossed and hands clasped in front of her. She leaned her head back eagerly, body relaxed. Alastor raised the comb to her hair and started threading through it slowly, careful not to snag on any knots as he untangled and straightened her locks.
The slow, soothing strokes lulled his mind and only then did he notice the lack of light which should be shining through the window in various hues of yellow, blue and red from the city.
There was a blackout. He silently thanked whoever had designed the blueprints for the hotel, ensuring it had its own power generator - disconnected from the rest of the city - and not depriving them of the energy vital for Vox’s recovery. His movements stopped, his hand tightening around the comb, slightly disappointed at himself for not noticing the evident calamity of a very... very angry Overlord.
He smiled further, a wicked, devious smile at having taken something from the man who had done so much harm to his friend, at having taken something, that he never had any right to in the first place, and a sense of justice and retribution washed through Alastor like water soaking up a sponge.
"Alastor?" Niffty's worried voice cut through.
Taking a deep breath. He resumed combing through her hair. He summoned his shadows from every dark corner of the room and watched them slither along the ceiling and walls, effectively obscuring the wood as the tentacles coiled and twisted around themselves until they made a shielding canopy that occasionally morphed into a makeshift dome around Vox.
Niffty watched the construction being made, knowing it was meant to protect them. After some time she spoke again, the words taking Alastor by surprise.
"He must be very special." His hand halted before he quickly willed it to continue, not wanting to alarm Niffty like before. Several seconds passed before she added, her eye closed, enjoying the calming effect of having her hair brushed. "When I got hurt I used to cover it up with makeup. I sometimes wished someone had noticed, though."
Anger boiled up in Alastor’s gut. "You mean whenever he hurt you."
She nodded, fidgety. She let a small silence pass before she said "I don't think he was a very good husband." Her voice was small, as if she was ashamed of her admission.
"No man who would raise a hand on you is considered a good husband, my dear. That craven, pathetic excuse of a human being is as far away from a partner deserving of you can get. But then again," He hummed, reflective. "That is all men like him can ever be. Common and forgettable. Just another speck of dust being carried away by the wind like all the others before it." The denunciatory statement was said with shrouded acidity and he wasn't sure who exactly he was intending to aim it at. "All he was deserving of was the fitting end you dealt him."
At that Niffty chuckled, a delightfully playful sound. "I stabbed him so many times, there was so much blood everywhere." Her hands grappled the air as she reminisced. "And then when he got down here you finished him for good!" She laughed.
He joined in her mirth and laughed as well. "I'm happy the show was enjoyable for your wicked, little mind." They continued to giggle, eventually her sadism was the victorious of the two, leaving Alastor heaving in air.
He continued brushing her hair even after it had been smoothed out completely, loosing himself in the motion, genuinely pleased with taking care of someone who he hadn't abandoned. Perhaps it was selfish on his part, though he knew it was as gratifying for Niffty as it was for his worn out mind that refused to dwell on the horrors from before.
They stayed like that for a while. He didn't know how much time had passed since he had connected Vox to the charger, minutes, maybe even hours could have passed. He was still resting, his soundless repose undisturbed.
Alastor was once again brought out of his thoughts by a knocking on the door.
"Alastor?"
Angel.
"Alastor, come on, I know you're in there." He knocked again, harder this time. "I'm not messin' around here, okay? I need to talk to you!"
The ruckus aggravated his ears and if it weren't for the sleeping figure on the bed who crucially needed rest he would have ignored the thumping.
"I can do this all night!" He kept knocking.
Alastor grudgingly got up, handing Niffty the comb and stomped towards the door. If Angel wasn't an irreplaceable patron of the hotel his entrails would already be filling Alastor’s fridge.
He wretched the door open and he spit out "What is it?" Without giving the spider any warning, causing him to jump back with a yelp.
"Jesus! Okay, sorry, calm down." He crossed his lower arms and lifted the top ones in a placating gesture. "Can I come in? I really need to talk to you."
Alastor considered him for a moment before stepping outside and shutting the door behind him.
If Angel was offended he didn't let it show on his face. He gulped. "I think there's something wrong with the deal."
His tone was solemn and if Alastor hadn't sensed the same thing he would have been concerned. He knew what it was, he just didn't know how to justify his actions without revealing the reason he had done them.
Eventually all he said was. "Yes."
Angel raised his eyebrows. "Wait, you knew? And you've just been ignoring me?"
Alastor would have felt apologetic if Angel's hurt feelings weren't his last priority. "I had business to take care of. It was nothing personal, if I could have I would have come to your assistance sooner."
He knew Angel wouldn't let this go so easily but he still attempted to escape the conversation and head back to his room.
"Whoa, whoa, hold on." Alastor stopped in his tracks, hand on the doorknob. "What is happening with the deal? I feel like..." He pressed his lips, looking down at his body as he tried to find the right words. "-like I got a piece of me back - Ugh, that was a shit explanation - Y'know kind of like cutting a cake but returning the piece back."
Alastor didn't comment how he had the exact opposite feeling, the shred of power that had been supplied to him by the acquisition of Angel's soul was gone. Evaporated.
When Alastor didn't say anything Angel's expression turned glum, voice serious. "Smiles...?" He asked apprehensively, his eyes flicking between Alastor’s, trying to discern the nature of his features. "... What did you do?"
Alastor blinked slowly, trying to appear nonplussed by the whole affair. "Oh, no need to be so melodramatic, dear. I would never endanger one of my souls or let any harm come to them, you are no exception to that." Except by him of course, should the occasion call for it, although he omitted that part of the sentence.
Unfortunately, Angel wasn't satisfied by his attempt to avoid answering the question.
"So, you did do something." Angel started rocking on his feet, hands wringing in front of him, as he locked his fingers together trying to calm himself. "What was it? What the fuck did you do Alastor?"
His voice increased in volume. Alastor sighed.
"I was fulfilling my end of the bargain, at V Tower. Unfortunately, there were... complications."
Angel's face filled with dread "What kind of complications? And what were you doing in V Tower?!"
"There's no need to trouble you with that, the important thing is that Valentino got in the way."
Angel inhaled sharply - no doubt still being able to feel the chain around his neck and knowing Valentino hadn't been killed. His eyes widened and his gaze got lost somewhere in the distance. He gripped his hair as he stepped away from Alastor on shaky legs.
"Oh, no, no, no, no." His breaths became quick and shallow. He shook his head trying to get a hold of his emotions to no avail, his Italian accent emphasizing with every word. "Oh, god. Oh, fuck Val is gonna kill me. He's actually gonna kill me this time."
"He might not be the brightest, but I think even he would realize that's not prudent-"
His words got cut off by the other's shout.
"No! Fuck, don't you get it?! He already thinks I tried to terminate the contract once, if he finds out I did it again he's going to fucking kill me!"
Suddenly, Alastor got the sense that Angel didn't mean murder in the literal, permanent way. A snitch of guilt pierced his heart, though it easily dissolved among the storm of regret and sorrow that was already raging inside.
"Fuck!" Angel yelled louder, his voice reverberating through the vacant hall, intensifying the effect. "Shit, Smiles! What part of 'don't make it obvious' did you miss? I said," He made mocking quotation marks in the air. "'Don't. Antagonize. My. Boss.' And what do you do?" he threw his hands up in incredulity and disbelief. "You went and antagonized my fucking boss!"
The loudness of his voice grated on Alastor’s ears and he felt his eyes twitch in indignation at being berated like a child.
"As I recall," Angel's head sharply turned towards him, eyes wild and body tense, slightly trembling. "I technically only agreed to help break your contract without inciting Valentino's ire."
Distantly, he heard the door of his room opening and swiftly closing.
Angel pointed an accusatory finger at him, his face furious. "Don't bullshit me with that 'technically' we both knew what the terms were and you still went against my wishes anyway! How long do you think it will be before Val makes the connection? We live in the same fucking hotel, idiot! The deal is broken for a reason!"
In the blink of an eye his expression morphed from righteous anger to sheer, unbridled horror.
"Oh, god, he knows." His voice tilted in a weak manner as his body started to shake from fear. "He knows. He already knows. Oh, fuck."
He paced around the hall, frantic and cursing under his breath as he tried to fight off his rising panic. Alastor was stuck in place, understanding Angel's mounting distress, but not knowing how to assuage it. He hadn't expected the conversation to take such a turn.
A small voice next to Alastor's leg spoke.
"Alastor?" He looked down at the small demon next to him. "He looks mad, what happened?"
A crazed laugh escaped the spider. "Yeah, I'm fucking mad! I asked one thing, just one." His hands limply fell at his sides. "But I guess that was too much."
"Angel," Alastor softly spoke, trying to lessen the spider’s anxiety for his own sake if not Angel's. "I assure you, that while your boss might be volatile and quick to anger, that anger won't be directed at you. Not fully, at least."
Angel didn't even look at him, the rage and betrayal he felt had gotten quickly replaced with despair. "You don't get it. You just don't get it. He always finds out." The hour was late and the lighting in the hallway was poor, but Alastor was still able to see the glassy eyes that Angel was trying to hide from them.
His resigned gaze landed on the demoness staring at him with a confused, sympathetic expression. He took in the state of her damp clothes and hair. "Did you get stuck in the toilet again?"
"No." was all she said. Her eye danced between Alastor and Angel as though she wanted to say something, but was in the wrong company.
After a few seconds Angel huffed. "Yeah, okay, I get it. Go on with whatever you were doing, don't worry about me." His words were dripping with scorn. He turned his back towards them and started walking down the hallway.
"Angel-" Alastor tried.
"No. Just go away." He kept his gaze in front of him, not looking behind. "Just leave me alone."
Alastor could do nothing but watch him retreat in the distance. The silence that descended made him realize how heavy his breathing had gotten. While he didn't particularly care for Angel's well-being, the knowledge that he had failed another person, that he had been responsible for the pain and agony they would be put through by the same people nonetheless, weighed heavily on his bruised consciousness.
Images of Vox's shattered screen, of his broken antennas, of his hurt body flashed through his mind, intrusive and unwanted. His breathing quickened and his hands tightened on his cane as an unendurable, ruinous wave of anguish seeped into his soul, spreading across every inch of it, wilting his durability and breaking his will.
He summoned his cane and harshly stomped it against the floor, the sound of it grounding him. He needed to hit something, to tear something apart, to sink his teeth in and brutalize flesh and bone while he shut off his mind and lost himself in the brutality. He needed to experience the pain, unimportant whether it was inflicted on someone else or himself, if only to distract him from the searing, burning guilt that shredded his heart and threatened to bury him so deep he would never be able to resurface again.
Physically, he remained stoic, but inside he was drowning. Just when he thought he would succumb to the devastating grief viciously squeezing his heart he felt something softly brush against his leg.
He looked down, eyes distant and mind far-away. It took a moment for his vision to focus and when it did it locked onto the small figure tugging at his pant leg.
He swallowed, attempting to sound as unshaken as he could. "Ah, Niffty. Did you need anything?"
She let a moment pass, seemingly unconvinced by the mask of nonchalance Alastor was trying to don.
Finally, she spoke, and what she said made Alastor's heart stop.
"He's awake."
Notes:
Hi! I just want to say I know Vox doesn't seem like much of his own person so far and more like a plot device, but I'm going to slowly develop his character more seeing how he literally just escaped captivity, and I think it would be unrealistic to expect him to just jump back to his normal, charming self.
But, he will and it won't be long now I promise.
(I know there's still a lot of questions to be answered but the next chapter will (mostly) clear everything up)
Also, Stan Niffty. Niffty rocks
Chapter 3: It's you
Notes:
I think half my hair fell off while writing this chapter istg
This is probably going to be the longest chapter out of the whole fic and I'm sorry it took so long to release it but it is like 20K so
TW: Graphic violence and abuse.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
He stood in place, frozen, his body rooted to the ground as Niffty's words replayed in his head.
Vox was awake.
Alastor looked in the direction of the door. He gripped the doorknob, but his body refused to turn it, every cell in it suddenly overcome with an anxiety-inducing sense of trepidation.
"I need to go and curl my hair." Niffty's voice broke the tense silence as she turned around and started walking to her room without another word.
Alastor was grateful as now there was no one in his vicinity to witness his ineptitude. He just couldn't will his body to move. He hadn't expected Vox to wake up so soon, thinking the slow progression of the bar on his screen would give Alastor more time to plan ahead, to revise what he would say, to decide how he would handle the situation.
Alastor knew it wasn't fair of him to dawdle outside when Vox was undoubtedly in such a vulnerable and confused state. He doesn't know where he is or who he's with and he doesn't know whether his surroundings are safe, therefore Alastor knew he had to be the one to lead the conversation.
His fingers flexed around the doorknob as he tried to ground himself. Vox was in that room, awake, alive and so different from the ill-intentioned, deceitful version he had grown to resent. He was stalling for time he knew, mustering the courage and rebuilding his crippled confidence, the storm of feelings inside him howling from the indecision to avoid the conversation entirely for his own sanity or to enter that room and greet the one person he didn't know how to live without.
Eventually, his concern for the other's well-being triumphed. He turned the handle with an audible click and stepped inside.
His gaze instantly landed on the sitting figure on the bed and Alastor felt his breath hitch when his gaze lifted towards him.
His screen illuminated the room, the shining beams of light piercing the air in a tender, caressing manner. It was was a bright, radiant shade of blue that challenged the splendor and magnificence of even the deepest, most mystifying seas.
The figure's eyes stared directly at him and Alastor felt his breath abandon his lungs, depriving them of air he so desperately needed right now. He swallowed, unable to take his gaze off the demon's eyes, stunning, rich, crimson eyes so unlike the hopeless, pleading ones he had been met with before and Alastor felt his heart leap from the nostalgia they evoked. Though, they still looked tired, dark blue bags under them, despite their newly revitalized, other-worldly grace.
Alastor’s gaze was locked onto the demon's screen and a wave of dizziness washed over him as memories he had buried a long time ago flashed through his mind. Memories of festive cafés and nightclubs surrounding him as he waved through a joyous, merry crowd while holding the most precious and remarkable person he's ever met in his arms. Memories of him sitting at a bar, laughing and drinking with that same person, his screen lighting up the entire room, so bright it outshone any person in his vicinity, so radiant it was the only thing Alastor would be looking at the whole night, helplessly unable to turn his gaze away, thoroughly enchanted. Memories of lounging on a terrace, the blood-red, never-ending sky above and his best friend by his side, discussing business, politics, annoying coworkers, talking about their pasts and sharing the deepest inhibitions that haunted their souls in complete, indubitable certainty that the other would never exploit that knowledge. Memories of soft wool brushing beneath his arms, of the gentle wobble of an antenna under his curious finger, of the warm, tender skin of the person Alastor regarded more dear than anyone before as their hands gingerly, shyly held each other.
Alastor couldn't take his eyes off of him. The familiarity, the close proximity, the sheer, impossible reality of his presence as well as the bewitching effect of his attention petrified Alastor where he stood. It had been so long, so long since he had seen that face, gentle, considerate and so full of wonder, instead of the hateful and vindictive one responsible for snuffing it out of Alastor’s life and he briefly wondered - with a painful admittance - how he could ever have even correlated the two, let alone believe they had been the same person.
Distantly, he noticed they've been looking at each other for a long while, enough to make the atmosphere stale and expectant. But, judging by the expression on Vox’s face, Alastor surmised the same feeling was overflowing the other’s body as well.
He knew he had to alleviate the burden of taking initiative from Vox, so he cleared his throat and said "Ah, you're awake! Wonderful!" He hoped his jolly, light-hearted tone would lessen any tension or uncertainty Vox might be feeling as he walked over towards the bed. "It's good to see you up and about. How are you feeling, my dear?"
He put his cane on the nightstand and sat on the mattress, slowly, giving Vox enough space and trying not to crowd him too much.
Vox nodded while he answered, his eyes never leaving Alastor as if he still had trouble believing the demon was actually there. "Uh, better." His voice was still hoarse, the dryness reminded Alastor of the stifled pain that was camouflaged beneath that alluring gaze.
He tried to make his ever-present smile reassuring. "Good. You gave me quite the fright earlier, you know?"
Vox’s lips quirked the slightest. "How long was I asleep?"
"Not long. I only brought you here a few hours ago."
Vox nodded again, contemplative. His fingers fiddled with the blanket and Alastor only now noticed how tightly he was clutching it to his body. The motion stirred something wounded inside him.
He had little time to process the sharp jab at his heart before Vox spoke again, eyes wide, but gentle, vulnerable.
"…You found me."
It wasn't a question and the sincerity and disbelief in Vox's voice nearly knocked Alastor over.
"I did."
Vox sharply inhaled. "I- How?" He seemed to be grappling for the right words, no doubt being overcome by the many questions swirling in his mind.
Alastor chose his next words carefully. "Pure chance, I’m afraid." He hoped he didn't sound compassionless, but he didn't want to lie to Vox. "Or perhaps it was intuition. It's what led me to you." He laid his hand flat on the bed next to where the demon sat, not touching him, but intimate enough to relay where he stood on the matter, giving Vox the choice to instigate contact if he wished to. "And… I'm lucky that it did."
While he spoke Vox never removed his gaze, not for a second, almost as if he was transfixed. Having gotten closer, Alastor noticed the words '60% full' in the corner of Vox’s screen and he barely managed to contain his frown, not wanting to cause the demon any discomfort.
"Hmm, it seems you haven't fully recharged yet. I hope the noise outside didn't wake you. It's important that you rest, your injuries were quite worrisome." In his head, he already designed a menu for his next dinner if that was the reason Vox's sleep had been halted, he just needed to catch the spider first.
The demon looked down at himself, tearing his gaze from Alastor for the first time since they met. "No, I don’t think so." He pointed at his screen. "It's as far as it will go with the charger. Um... it's the organic parts that need energy."
Alastor mentally kicked himself. "Well, then! If it's nutrients that you need allow me to help."
He got up and trotted towards the kitchen, all the while berating himself for not getting Vox something to eat or drink sooner. He knew he could rejuvenate by indulging in food and water just like any other demon, as well as by being able to connect himself via the electric grid, but he only ever did the latter when he was maxed out and just needed an extra boost to sustain him for the rest of the day.
Alastor grabbed a glass of cool water that he irrefutably knew the other critically needed. He walked back towards the bed and extended the glass to Vox.
His hand hung in the air for a couple of seconds as the demon simply stared at the glass, making no move to reach for it. Alastor felt a bout of anxiety increase in his stomach from the undisturbed silence. Eventually, Vox took the glass and brought it to his lips.
He didn’t drink it however, only held it to his face, his breathing slightly quicker and his eyes staring at the mattress, seemingly lost in whatever thoughts plagued his mind.
With more trepidation required to disassemble the poorly bandaged tranquility of Alastor’s mind, he asked “Do you- Is everything alright?”
The only response he received was Vox’s eyes closing. He grew more concerned, but before he could voice his fretfulness, Vox lifted the glass.
His eyes squeezed shut after he took the first gulp, a long nerve-wracking pause followed it before he took the second one. His face twisted in despondency and tears started to border the corners of his eyes. Alastor could faintly hear the glass trembling and he reached a hand to steady Vox’s arm as he downed the water.
When it was finally empty, he inhaled a long, ragged breath.
Alastor could only watch in alarm as the demon started panting, breathy and uncontrolled, and he felt something heavy settle deep in his soul, something rotten and damaged. The sight sent a wave of mounting dread through him as a slow, horrifying realization dawned on him.
Keeping his voice calm and steady, he asked “Vox?” The demon looked up at him with teary, finicky eyes. “…When was the last time you drank water?”
The demon swallowed and lowered his gaze to Alastor’s shoulder. Alastor felt his blood run cold when Vox merely shook his head.
Poisonous dismay started to slowly seep into every fiber of Alastor’s being. “Food?”
Once again, Vox only shook his head, wordless.
Alastor sharply inhaled, the monstrous, enraged part of him banging against the walls that his slowly diminishing self-control have enforced. The interesting thing about starvation in Hell was that it didn’t actually kill the sinner, not physically at least. They would simply regenerate, their body in top shape and they would be given another chance to turn their fate.
Except, fate was not so kind.
Instead, should an unfortunate soul find themselves down on their luck, their body wouldn’t succumb to the never-ending hunger. No. No, that was far too generous of a mercy. Just like Vox’s, their body will remain weak, exhausted and agonized beyond the wildest torment they could imagine, but still unable to die, despite their outward appearance being preserved, fit and healthy as though nothing was wrong. They would have no choice to endure the misery, to forcefully prevail as their body tore itself from the inside,
And Vox had been subjected to that destiny for years.
Anger boiled inside Alastor's chest, piercing and savage. His hands clenched the sheets, their grip vice-like as he futilely tried to get his emotions under control, to moderate the unbridled fury and despair ravaging his soul at seeing the unjustifiable, inexcusable and utterly unwarranted pain Vox had been suffering through. His captors hadn't even bothered to give him food, hadn't had the most insubstantial sliver of compassion to give him water and it made an all too familiar wave of excruciating lividity overcome Alastor's whole body.
"Alastor?"
The voice was far-away and it pierced Alastor’s fogged up mind, causing him to jolt back to reality.
Vox was looking at him warily which only spurred the other's efforts to alleviate any distress permeating the air.
"Well..." He looked at Vox, trying to mask the searing rage inside him with a face of comfort. "We'll have to fix that. Now, you sit tight my dear and let me."
He walked back to the kitchen and took out a pot, putting it on the stove while trying to cling to another part of his heart that was once again snatched by guilt.
"I would have put together something earlier, but you have rather caught me by surprise. I didn't expect for you to wake so soon." He took out the ingredients and necessary spices and began to cook, mindlessly chattering as he did so, wanting to fill the silence to avoid any awkwardness. "I know this lovely recipe just for the occasion. It's my mother's in fact, like so many of the others she's taught me to make. She would usually mix it up whenever I got sick and ho, ho, let me tell you, it was proper Heaven on Earth. It will have you bouncing back in no time! Of course my cooking could never compete with hers, but I like to think it does the dish justice."
He knew he was rambling. It was a useful mechanism to employ when he needed to command an audience, he was a radio host after all, but now it mostly served to keep his mind from wandering to all the things that happened to Vox and inadvertently result in him losing his composure.
Occasionally he would look back at the other, slightly antsy whether he was overwhelming him, but Vox only looked at him with an attentive, fond gaze throughout the entire time. Alastor hadn't realized how much he'd missed when Vox did that, when he would listen, silently, to Alastor chatter about anything and everything not just with a lack of boredom or annoyance, but with an actual, openly displayed, pure interest in the things he had to say.
He continued talking about trivial matters and events if only to serve as a distraction to put Vox's mind at ease.
"Oh, that reminds me. There's this darling little restaurant just around the corner that serves the most delightful roasted pork tenderloin. Is it actually pork? Who knows ha, ha, ha. But it is to die for! Oh, and last time I went they served those lovely, little banana cakes you adore so much. They were your favorite, if my memory serves me correctly. Perhaps, we could visit it someday if you wish, when you get better, of course."
He glanced over his shoulder, wanting to discern Vox's expression while trying not to make his eagerness too obvious.
He briefly stilled once his gaze landed on Vox's face.
He was looking at Alastor peculiarly, his eyes had taken a glistening, watery hue, his eyebrows were knitted and he exuded the most aggrieved, saddened expression, almost mournful.
"Or we don't have to, of course. It was merely a suggestion. And besides, the place is probably pulverized by now." He turned back towards the kitchen counter and continued to dice the vegetables, unsuccessfully trying to tamper his disappointment at himself for prioritizing his own desires and pushing Vox too soon.
"No. No it's alright." Alastor whipped his head back, an anticipatory smile on his face. He saw Vox's throat bob. The demon pressed his lips together in a straight line and quickly nodded his head. "We can visit it sometime."
And his voice sounded so genuine, almost as keen as Alastor and the deer found himself relieved at being unable to detect any qualms that Vox was agreeing only to appease him. He felt a knot that he didn't know had formed untangle in his stomach.
"Oh, splendid! I'll see if it's still alive and well, you never know with these debauched sinners, nowadays. I'm telling you, it's a miracle this building is even standing."
As he was preparing the food he heard Vox’s voice mutter "Alastor...?"
Alastor stopped his work. That was the second time Vox had said his name that day and the tenderness, the familiarity, the raw fondness with which he uttered it, like it was the most natural thing in the world, threatened to crumble Alastor on the spot.
He spun around with an encouraging smile on his face, waiting patiently for the other to finish his sentence. His heart twisted at his next words.
"... Is this a dream?"
A lesser man would have fallen to his knees. Alastor stared at Vox’s face, blank, sincere and heartbreakingly uncertain and shook his head, not breaking eye contact.
"It isn't." Vox continued to analyze him, his eyes raked over his body and his face, as though he was trying to detect some sort of con or illusion. "I found you in V Tower and I brought you here at the hotel." He abruptly stopped, discerning the weight of disclosing his next admission. "And I won't let anyone take you back there."
His voice was firm, confident and he hoped he relayed the severity of his promise and the length he would travel to to uphold it.
A short, unimpeded silence followed that neither of them felt the necessity to fill. The absence of words, too ill-equipped to convey the profound depth of Alastor's feelings, was more potent in verifying the validity of his vow.
In response, Vox simply nodded, knowing Alastor’s statement didn't demand a vocal confirmation of his gratitude.
With a last reassuring, warm smile Alastor turned back and resumed cooking the dish.
Faintly, he heard Vox clear his throat. "We're in a hotel?" he asked.
"We are. I should have debriefed you sooner, it's only natural that you have questions. So, whatever is itching your mind, ask it freely." He waved his hand with a flourish. "In fact, the hotel belongs to the Princess of Hell. It's a hotel for redemption - a laughable notion in my opinion - and I am its hotelier." His tone took on a serious, earnest tilt. "-And as such, you are welcome to stay for as long as you need."
By the time he finished talking the meal was done. He poured the soup into a bowl and made his way over to Vox.
Vox’s face was pensive. "The Princess? You mean the blonde girl who once asked us for an interview?"
"The very same!" He sat on the bed and handed the bowl to Vox. "I hope you granted it to her, and if you didn't, best not to mention it."
Vox huffed. "No we did, naturally. It just... never received any views. She's still on that redemption thing?"
Alastor sighed, but his eyes didn't betray the glee he felt at engaging Vox’s mind in everyday conversation, even if the distraction would last for only a short while, it was more than worth it. "Resolutely so. Her enthusiasm can be..." His expression shifted to one of exhaustion. "Quite exasperating at times, but she's a generous soul."
He was cut off by a silent rumbling. Vox clutched the bowl tighter, bashful. He closed his eyes as he inhaled the rich smell and his stomach growled as if stirring from a deep sleep.
"Eat." Alastor said. "It's soup, something easy for your stomach. You need it."
As if a command had been cast upon him, Vox took a spoonful and hummed appreciatively at the taste. He swallowed the next several bites in rapid succession before he completely discarded the spoon and started sipping straight from the bowl.
Alastor watched him down the whole soup in less than a few minutes, vaguely concerned whether Vox was actually breathing throughout.
When he had consumed the entirety of it, Alastor took the bowl and set it on the bedside table as he watched Vox breathing heavily, labored and deep. His hands were tightly gripping the blanket and his eyes were closed.
He seemed to be grasping for some form of control, whether it was over his body or his emotions. Alastor broke in "I'll get you something else to eat later, something more solid and restorative."
"Thank you." Vox spoke up, voice shaky.
Alastor’s heart ached from how genuinely grateful the other sounded, as though Alastor had given him one of his own kidneys. "I hope the taste was agreeable to your liking."
Vox didn't skip a beat before he answered. "It was amazing." Alastor felt a spark of joy dance across his bones at the praise, intensified by how the brisk response didn't appear to derive from fear of insulting the other, but out of veritable honesty. "Your cooking always is."
Alastor's ears twitched. The compliment sent a vicious flush creeping up his neck and he blinked trying to recollect himself. Vox knew cooking was both Alastor’s pride and weakness and how he had managed to aim straight for it in less than an hour of them interacting left Alastor baffled. "Well, you always know just the right words to make a man swoon."
"You know very well it's true." Vox countered.
"Correct, though it is gratifying to hear you say it." He piped back with a teasing grin.
Vox raised an eyebrow. "As if you ever needed external validation." he joked, matching Alastor’s tone.
"No, but it is deliciously special when it comes from you."
His statement caused a flustered snort to escape the demon. Vox smiled, genial and mellow. "Now, who's the flatterer?"
Alastor felt light seep into his chest, a warm, soothing glow that diminished his worries and any anxiety infesting his bones from the knowledge that he had caused that expression on Vox's face. His pulse quickened, as though butterflies were flying out of his heart, thumping against its walls and making them shudder with their soft, delighted wingbeats as he simply stared at the image of Vox's smile and let it crash through his memories like a tidal wave, igniting back to remembrance every single happy moment, shared caress, playful joke that had been received with that same alluring, striking expression.
Oh, how he had missed it. How he had mourned that captivating, resplendent presence in his life, not dissimilar to how a flower blooms with vigor once the gentle sunlight vital for its prosperity embraces it.
He hadn't realized how dreadfully he had been yearning for the feeling of being relaxed with someone, of being so comfortable with their presence he could tear down his walls and release his constricted thoughts and emotions. He hadn't felt that in so long, except maybe with Rosie, but this was different. With Vox it felt as though he was looking at a shimmering, illusionary thread of understanding and unwavering trust that ran so deep it was almost palpable, connecting them on a visceral, soul-binding level.
It could have been his own starved mind imagining things, but looking at the wistfulness and heart-rending warmth that radiated from Vox's eyes, he knew the demon felt it too. Even after all these years.
"I've always been helpless in that regard with you, dear." An insatiable, boiling need to keep Vox’s smile from disappearing spread though Alastor and he couldn't even heed the potential apprehension that he was exposing his vulnerability in front of Vox for he knew the demon would never abuse that knowledge. He would gladly spend all his days by the his side, showering him in compliments if it meant he could continue to gaze upon that expression and he painstakingly realized his soul is being gifted everything it had been craving.
"Gosh, have some mercy Al. I don't have enough energy to blush." The corner of his smile twisted upwards, seemingly enjoying this benevolent game of back and forth.
Ever since Alastor had entered the room, there had been an unidentifiable tension infusing it, an electrifying charge in the air percolating every sentence they exchanged, dominating the proceedings every time their eyes connected - that Alastor couldn't shake off and he found himself lacking the desire to even attempt to. It was haunting the atmosphere, a forgotten ghost shadowing them throughout the whole time they had been apart, now awakening to serve as a devoted guardian to that wounded, yet impossibly still-persevering connection between them.
And now, it was stronger than ever. Alastor could almost physically feel the waves of his commitment and affection wafting through the air with their only destination being Vox’s heart and judging by the ineffable expression on the demon's face, Alastor allowed himself to believe they had succeeded.
Alastor smiled in turn, only now noticing how they haven't broken eye contact for even a second. "I'll reserve my veneration for a later time then. It's not as if I don't have it in abundance."
Vox lightly smacked a hand over his screen, puffing out "Yeah, I knew it. This is a dream."
Alastor chuckled. "It's as real as anything, old friend."
His chest slightly clenched when the other didn't respond to his light-hearted reassurance. Alastor tilted his head, trying to get a clearer view of Vox’s expression behind the hand covering his face as he felt an unnerving jab of anxiety strike him.
Several seconds passed and Vox still made no sign of speaking up. Growing concerned, Alastor asked "... Vox?"
He hoped his voice was gentle, coaxing, but the other only shook his head. His next words magnified the unease that slowly seeped into Alastor’s gut.
"It's not real..." His voice was silent, disbelieving, as though he was talking to himself with nobody in the room. "You're not real."
In an instant, the breathtaking joy and unabated exhilaration that blossomed in Alastor’s chest like an ethereal, unearthly meadow in all its majesty spreading through a desecrated desert, evaporated. The sun had set, and the night sky had risen to take its place, leaving the land cold and barren of any warmth.
He pursed his lips, not knowing how to approach the situation. Tentatively, he laid a hand next to Vox’s knee, a small gesture to let him know he was safe here, that no one would betray his boundaries or touch him without his permission. Relief washed over Alastor when the other didn't retract from it.
"Vox." His voice was firm, but gentle as he attempted to draw the other's attention and hopefully drag him out of the daze he had plunged himself in. "Look at me."
His voice fell in the air. Vox's other hand raised to wrap around the other and he assiduously started stroking his wounded wrist.
Alastor drearily realized he was trying to reaffirm his suspicions by finding the shackle still there. The roughness with which Vox was caressing it, as though purposely seeking to inflict pain as a means to ground himself, sent alarms flaring up in Alastor’s mind.
When Vox didn't lift his head Alastor tried again. "Vox. Look at me."
This time he was rewarded with Vox dropping his hands back down, revealing a tired, hopeless expression. His eyes, glistening and drained, landed on the spot next to his knee, where Alastor’s hand rested, his index finger tapping at the sheets, a fixating, lulling distraction.
Alastor continued his ministrations as he spoke. "You're not there anymore. You're out of that tower and you're not going back."
Finally, Vox looked up at him. His throat bobbed and his eyes were wide in an attempt to keep them dry.
With a choked, breathy gasp that bordered on a sob, he confessed "I couldn't stop them." His voice trembled and Alastor had to focus his attention to decipher the words from how quiet it was. "Alastor, I swear I tried to get away, I tried to escape, but I couldn't- I just couldn't-"
All at once, the dam that Alastor had been constructing to keep the topic from veering to the events of the night before ruptured. The inescapable conversation had been initiated, and Alastor felt a primal, visceral need to run, to shut his ears and cover Vox with the blanket if only to stop the horrors from resurfacing again. He knew it was foolish and naïve to try and avoid it, he just hadn't expected the staggering force with which it struck his heart.
Alastor gulped, unable to quell the storm of regret and soul-crushing remorse that raged inside him at Vox’s ailment. "I'm sorry I didn't find you sooner." If it were anyone else he wouldn't have such qualms, but Vox wasn't just anyone and that remembrance caused his eyes to well up. "If I had known I would have come for you in an instant."
He didn't know how to properly relay the irrevocable truthfulness his statement held, nor did he know how he could ever possibly rectify his mistakes, how to even dream of fixing the irreparable consequences they had caused.
He continued to tap his fingers against the mattress, inching them closer to Vox, the loving, soft motion a stark contrast to the fire of guilt burning his soul and he felt the flames incinerate every cell in his body when Vox spoke again.
"I thought- I thought you had forgotten about me." His voice was strained, his words sporadic and it was clear as day he was fighting back tears. It seemed all the effort he had invested in keeping himself composed while wrestling with this new, impossible reality was crumbling from the pain and confusion he was fiercely keeping at bay.
Alastor leaned in, trying to convey the verity of his words - since his mind was incapable of conjuring them in a sequential, meaningful manner - with action.
"No," he stated, voice firm and inflexible, his eyes boring straight into Vox’s. "Never."
A sickening realization struck him as he stared into Vox's bleary, devastated eyes. With a cautious, hesitant voice he said "He... pretended to be you."
Vox blinked, taking in the words. "What do you mean?"
The confirmation of Alastor’s suspicion caused his stomach to drop.
Vox didn't know.
He felt nauseous, searing bile rose to his throat at the discovery that Vox didn't know he had been replaced. His mind shifted with a new, insightful perspective into Vox’s potential thoughts and feelings. All of this time, he had believed Alastor had abandoned him, that he hadn't meant enough for Alastor to bother looking for him.
Alastor’s vision began to dim, his fingers prickling as they slowly started to lose sensation and every breath through his constricted throat became increasingly more difficult to draw.
…But, he needed to steel himself, he needed to gather his emotions, that were converging from all sides around his weakening will, threatening to annihilate it if only to spare Alastor from experiencing the unending grief that had made itself a permanent resident in his heart. Vox deserved answers, he deserved to know he hadn't been discarded.
"I thought he was you. He..." He gulped, calculating his words. "He used your name, he had your voice."
Vox only blinked in consternation. "But, he doesn't have-" He wiggled a finger in the general direction of his head. "He doesn't look like me."
Alastor felt like the whole room was getting ready to swallow him whole. Of course, Vox couldn’t replace his entire head. The prospect of being devoured in the confines of his very own residence almost seemed preferable rather than having to confront his own failures, he would gladly allow the walls to bury him under if only to forget about his impotence and stupidity.
"He said he upgraded his design," The sound of his own voice, debilitated, guilty, only intensified the raging inferno scorching his soul. "He said it was to 'Get with the times'."
Even though his eyes hadn't abandoned Vox’s face, he couldn't decipher his feelings from the blank, emotionless look that masked his expression. Vox simply flicked his eyes along Alastor’s features, taking in the information.
"I don't think I can do that." His voice was quiet, his pronunciation slow.
Alastor had to close his eyes, unable to look at Vox, incapable of bearing witness to the pain his gullible obliviousness and impercipient simple-mindedness had done to his best friend. "No... Of, course not..."
If he could surrender himself to the dark, endless void he was currently surrounded by and never resurface to life he would have. His inclination to that impossible future only solidified with Vox’s next words.
"Did he hurt you?"
Alastor felt another piece of his heart break.
His throat had completely closed up, his claws were severely digging into the mattress, moments away from ripping the fabric, and the static lacing in his ears threatened to melt his mangled, scattered mind. Even now, wounded, frightened and hurt, instead of worrying about what had been done to his image, reputation or his life overall, Vox was focusing his concern on Alastor. With only one sentence he had managed to trump all of Alastor's fruitless, vain attempts at comfort, with only one question he had managed to surmount all of Alastor’s lackluster, pitiful efforts of care and solace.
He didn't deserve him. He didn't deserve to be in his presence let alone uphold the pretense that they were equals in any sense.
Alastor could only shake his head, and even that minute movement taxed most of his scarce energy. "No." His voice was quiet and it wavered, barely fighting back from completely cracking. "He didn't hurt me. He just went his own way."
It wasn't a lie, he just didn't have the energy or good consciousness to disclose the entire, agonizing truth of what the impersonator had tried to do to him or the current status of their relationship as enemies.
Finally, he reluctantly looked up at Vox, detesting every single fragment of his weakened will for delaying him that long to do it. "He went down a path I couldn't follow, because he... was different." He bore his eyes straight into Vox’s, desperately trying to stifle the flood of emotions devastating his mind. "Because, he wasn't you."
They stared at each other for several unnerving seconds, yet the time was befitting, the river of questions and professions too great for their exhausted minds to wave through.
Eventually, Vox nodded. "Thank God." He fidgeted with the blanket, staring into space, zoned out. "Good. That's good."
He kept his gaze lowered, fingers kneading the blanket. Alastor watched him silently for a couple of seconds before he asked the unavoidable question that had been plaguing his mind.
"Do you know who he is?"
Vox looked up at him, his weary eyes exploring Alastor's face, an ashamed look hiding behind them.
He swallowed and shook his head. "...I have no idea."
The admission caused a long silence to stretch between them. The air was suffocating, the eerie lifelessness of the room disquieting, and Alastor felt his bones shudder at the prospect that he had been surrounded by, that he had been vulnerable in front of an impostor who seemingly had been known to no one, a faceless figure hiding in the shadows, cunning and clever enough to deceive two of the most powerful Overlords in Hell.
The silence was broken by a stifled whimper.
"He was just an employee. I didn't know who he was, I didn't have time to find out his name." His breathing increased and he started talking faster, stumbling and stuttering over his words. "I didn't know what he wanted and by the time I- he already- It was already too late. I couldn't stop them-"
He was starting to panic and Alastor didn't know if it was caused by him having to relive the memories, or of some desperate feeling to prove to Alastor that he hadn't chosen any of this, as if he feared Alastor wouldn't believe him.
Alastor could have sworn the floor was going to drop under his feet at any moment. Hearing the debilitated, anguished way Vox was speaking felt as though he was getting impaled by hundreds of blades, each one more vicious and piercing than the last. The sheer amount of wrongness that perforated the atmosphere was soul-crushing and Alastor felt his throat constrict, a bone-crushing need to sooth the pain Vox was suffering spreading through his whole being.
Slowly, he inched nearer towards Vox. The demon looked up at him, their faces were barely a meter apart and the close proximity threatened to murder Alastor on the spot.
"I believe you." His voice was on the verge of breaking, only now did he notice the slight tremble in his limbs and he blanched in his perplexity. He couldn't remember the last time this sensation had washed over him.
His hopes of comforting the other collapsed at the anxious expression on Vox's face. Alastor immediately proceeded, trying to indelibly implant that there was not a shred of doubt in his mind that didn't believe Vox’s words.
"I believe you and I'm not angry, or upset, or disappointed, but if it will ease your mind you don't have to explain anything. You can show me, instead." He was trying to dissemble his true emotions, the need to reassure Vox trumped the inner rage and sorrow he was waging a war with as he gestured to Vox's screen.
The demon's eyes widened and his hand shot up to clasp around his antennas, as if he just remembered they were there. A breathy, raspy exhale escaped him and after a few seconds he nodded, closing his eyes. Alastor didn't fail to notice the tears that had built up at the edges, moments away from spilling, before the demon shut them.
Vox straightened up and sat cross-legged, putting his hands in his lap and providing Alastor a sufficient view.
A crackle and his face got obscured by a snowy, black and white buzz covering his whole monitor. His screen buffered and glitched with a resounding static in and out of the picture he attempted to show.
"Wait," He shifted his position slightly, rolling his shoulders. "I'll try again."
Alastor waited patiently, knowing it had been years since Vox had last attempted this, having been stripped of his signal. He lightly bent and repositioned his antennas and the image cleared. Vox's memories from his perspective started playing like a movie.
He tapped his claws against the long, sleek table, the tinkering sound reverberating through the vacant conference room. The bright, white ceiling lights buzzed with a quiet hum, their intensity causing Vox's tired eyes to ache. He knew he should be at home at this late hour, but he needed to handle this meeting quickly, and - hopefully - painlessly.
He was broken out of his daze by a knocking on the double doors that was swiftly followed by two figures entering the room.
"Ah, Velvette. Valentino." He greeted them, cordial. "Come, take a seat." He gestured to one of the many chairs lining the table.
The two demons strutted to take a seat opposite him, tall and composed as always. He could admit, the regal manner with which they carried themselves would have been admirable if only it didn't hinder their ability to conduct themselves in a respectable, professional manner.
"Now, that you're here I think we should discuss this new project of yours." He linked his fingers, leaning on his elbows to address them. "From what I hear you're nearing its completion."
Velvette huffed. "Damn right. The potion is synthesized, tested and ready to be mass produced." A pleased, self-congratulatory smile adorned her face.
Vox chewed his lip, nodding.
"You must admit, boss," Valentino’s sultry voice broke in. "We have done our jobs well. We stuck to the minimum budget and we only used a couple of workers."
"Yes, you have." Vox cleared his throat as he directed his steely gaze towards them. "Except, from my knowledge you have created a love potion, an aphrodisiac. The project I assigned to you was to manufacture a compound that will increase productivity, build up stamina, boost cognitive function and lessen fatigue."
"Oh, but Vox." If he were a man less capable of emotional restraint he would have ground his teeth at the impertinent behavior of his employee. "This will do wonders for my stars. The porn industry is only growing and this will help us stay on top of the game."
As much as Valentino's attitude irritated Vox, he couldn't lie that the man was an essential part of the company. Losing him would result with a staggering decline in profits and the demon was perfectly aware of that. His aptitude and efficiency were the only reason Vox was still keeping him around and overlooking his behavior.
"I must be honest, it's vexing why you think you can't do that without the potion. Are things not going smoothly down there?"
He knew everything had been working flawlessly, it was his job to manage and oversee every department after all, he just needed to leverage the argument in his favor.
Judging by Valentino’s stricken, balked expression, he had been successful. "Uh, no. No, of course not." His tone shifted from defensive to assured once more and he gave a small, amicable laugh. "I'm just saying, the potion will do everything you listed."
Having sensed her friends' plight, Velvette chimed in "Not only that, but this is Hell. People will want to buy it for all sorts of other reasons, after all, the customer always knows best." She ended her sentence with a wink and a cheeky smile, thinking that by conforming to the ways of how a business is run she could get into Vox’s good graces.
Vox only looked at her unconvinced, even slightly disappointed at both of them, not only at their inability to think ahead, but of their insensitive, reckless lack of consideration for the people who might suffer the repercussions of the drug.
Finally, he opened his mouth to speak. "Tell me," His voice was stern, authoritative, like someone who could see past what others couldn't, an ability that would grant him unimpeded control over the entire room. "What kind of company is this?"
There was a short pause where both sinners exchanged uncertain glances, wondering whether it was some kind of trick.
Valentino spoke first, voice hesitant. "For technology and entertainment?"
A weak answer, but Vox didn't push it, instead he nodded, humming. "Mhm, and what is it that we do?"
"We... produce and innovate technological devices and gadgets, we lead the entertainment industry and we are the main source of news and information?" Velvette added. As a costume and set designer she had been more attentive to her surroundings and purpose, it seemed.
"Correct." Vox affirmed, condescending. "Now, what will happen when a substance that we know little about and could have a massive effect on the population should it be released, gets in the hands of a company that specializes in let's say, analytical research, or biotechnology? A company fully supplied with the necessary equipment and laboratories to not only isolate and dissect the structure of this newfound substance, but to replicate it as well?"
He let a bout of silence stretch into the room, if only to allow the two demons in front of him enough time for his message to sink in. They shifted in their seats, whether it was from his scrutinizing gaze or from their shame at not realizing any of this sooner, he couldn't tell.
"What do you think will happen when that substance grants them enough power and prestige for them to challenge us?"
Velvette cut him off. "We won't let that happen, simple." She shrugged her shoulders.
Vox sighed. "Velvette, we are not a pharmaceutical company, nor do we have any toxicology labs. We don't have the means to regulate this compound, and should customers realize that it would heavily backfire on us."
Suddenly, a scraping sound echoed from the direction of the door. Vox turned his head, not expecting anyone to still be working this late, and was met with a demon that piqued his interest.
He was carrying a tray, three mugs on top of it, and he wore blue pants and a white-button up shirt covered by a red and black striped vest. But, what captured Vox’s attention was the flat TV screen he had for a head.
He faintly heard Valentino mutter under his breath "Uh, finally."
"I apologize for the delay, sir. Your assistant sent me in his place." the man said. "He had an emergency at home and had to leave urgently."
So, that explained the absence of the lad. Vox had almost forgotten he had called for him.
"It's... fine." He headed to redirect his attention to the other two, when his inquisitiveness took control. "I know you." He addressed the sinner. "You're part of the software developing team, aren't you? What's your name?"
The man, who had walked over towards the table and had begun to distribute their drinks nodded, a smile on his face that for some reason unnerved Vox. No one could be that jovial while working late at night in a tech company. "I am. It's been a great adjustment and the people are very easy to work with."
Looking at him, at his developed TV design, Vox remembered why he had hired him. It hadn’t been just from pure, genuine curiosity to meet another demon like him, who had the same biology and same mechanical organization. He had also wanted a second opinion and the man appeared experienced enough in the IT department, thinking his modern perspective would help the company grow and evolve.
Only, he had never really had the opportunity to converse with him on the matter. Considering his own busy schedule, as well as the sinners' annoying, bewildering habit of disappearing from view at most times - but from his superiors' calculations, he had been dutifully executing his tasks with nothing amiss about his behavior - this is the first time they had ever interacted.
He appeared to be well-mannered and respectable. Yet...
Vox couldn't shake off the tingling in his gut that something was off, whether it was the man's posture, maybe his positive, assertive tone, he didn't know.
He blinked the feeling away, turning his attention back to the other two demons, as the man handed him his drink.
"My point is," he began, more than eager to put this meeting to a close and go home. His heart slightly jumped at the prospect of seeing Alastor soon, of hearing him talk about his day which he knew without a shadow of a doubt must have been better than his. "I required of you to find me a drug that will be distributed to my employees, and my employees only, to improve their work technique. I did not ask for a roofie, to be mass produced and sold to whomever wished to buy it for whatever purpose."
He stood up, his chair grating against the marble tiles. "I recognize your hard work, but I'm afraid I cannot green-light it."
There was a short, tense silence where both demons simply stared at him, their chests rising and falling. Surprisingly, their eyes held no tint of anger, or incredulity. For some reason, that didn't bring Vox any relief, on the contrary, the stillness of the room accompanied with their piercing gazes sent a wave of unease and apprehension through his body that made the hairs at the back of his neck stand up.
His eyes widened when Velvette puffed out a laugh. "Oh," Another short laugh escaped her. "We knew that, already."
Her tone and her words only exacerbated that slowly building fretfulness in his stomach. "Did you?" He raised an eyebrow, trying to tamp that feeling and regain some form of control over himself and the situation. "Well, I'm glad this isn't too much of a disappointment for you."
He went to pick up his coat when Valentino spoke up, stopping him in his tracks. "Oh no, we are not disappointed at all, cariño." His smile stretched, exuding a thinly-veiled, venomous aura. "We already sent it to the manufacturers."
Vox froze.
Any irritation he might have felt towards them got instantaneously replaced with indignant outrage at their inconceivably irresponsible actions.
"By whose authority?"
The two looked at each other again, wide smiles on their faces like they knew something he didn't and it sent a shiver down Vox's spine. His heart skipped a beat when they turned their attention back to him and spoke simultaneously.
"Yours."
He was rooted to the spot, no words that could greet his mind would properly relay the anger that coursed through his veins at the audacity of his employees. The only thing that surpassed it was the mounting wave of dread that boiled inside him, kicking in his fight or flight response and activating that whispering voice in his head that started screaming at him to run. He didn't know the perpetrator of its causation, he only knew that he should heed the warning.
"You will tell them," he started, barely keeping the fury and tremor out of his voice. "That there has been a misunderstanding. You will tell them to cease production, immediately."
Velvette tilted her head and the motion caused Vox’s breath to hitch. "Mm, nope." Her tone was cheery, a stark opposition to the nature of her words. "In fact, this whole meeting was set up for the purpose of witnessing the first customer using it."
They smiled at him, eyes menacing, tones mocking, teeth razor-sharp and what were once shadowy voices echoing from the deep, dark void at the back of Vox’s mind were now a chorus singing and shouting at him in manic alarm to get out.
He only had a moment to gather himself before he felt a sharp pain shoot up the side of his neck.
He stumbled back with a cry, holding a hand to his neck as he turned around.
His breath caught in his throat and his panic rose to an agonizing level when his eyes landed on the TV demon who was holding an empty syringe in his hand.
He smiled, a devious, wicked smile.
Immediately, Vox shot into the air, a bolt of electric light surging towards one of the cameras in the corner. He was inches away from it before a loud bang resounded through the entire room.
The camera exploded, causing Vox to lose his navigation and violently crash into the wall, leaving a dent in the carton, before he fell to the floor in a messy heap.
He lifted himself onto his elbows and raised his head. All three demons were circling him. They had caged him in.
Already, he felt his vision starting to dim. Acting on instinct he shot a bolt of electricity directly at the gun used to disable his only means of escape. It flew straight from Valentino’s hand and the demon yelped at the sudden surge of power that scorched his skin.
Using the short distraction, Vox zapped himself across the floor, intending to teleport out of the dead end they had forced him into. He grunted when an identical bolt shot into his side, veering him away from the doors and causing him to tumble across the floor.
The unknown demon rematerialized in front of him. Before Vox could stand up, the demon knelt on his chest and grabbed his antennas, his grip vice-like and merciless. Vox keened at the pressure on his chest that made it even more difficult for him to get air in his lungs and at the sudden pain in his antennas.
"Stop-!" His left eye swirled with the activated hypnosis, but his terror only grew when the demon looked away, his reflexes sharp. Lightning-fast he lifted his fist and blindly brought it down onto the left side of Vox's screen, shattering it and rendering his hypnosis useless.
He screamed. The all-consuming, agonizing pain disintegrated all his rational thinking and in response he sent hundreds of volts through the other, effectively blasting him in the air.
Vox watched as the demon crashed with a loud thud opposite him. He lifted himself up, gasping in a long, deep breath, and nearly retched from how disoriented he got at the movement. He was wasting energy and the drug was kicking in fast.
Panting, he stumbled forward only to fall onto his hands and knees, tilting from side to side as his vision clouded, causing him to lose his focus. Beads of sweat had formed on his forehead and he found it difficult to breathe from how hot the atmosphere had gotten.
The door could have been inches or it could have been miles away, it didn't matter because the next second something wrapped around his ankle and yanked him back.
The motion knocked him flat on his chest and he was starting to get pulled away from the door. He tried to resist the imperious force, his claws dug into the marble tiles in a feeble attempt to prevent himself from getting dragged back.
The strain on his ankle lessened and he looked up to see Velvette and Valentino above him, holding a pink, translucent wisp that resembled a rope in their hands, their faces muddy and bleak. One of Valentino’s hands was holding a syringe, the red liquid swirling inside, and with another he grabbed Vox by the neck and lifted him in the air.
He choked and sputtered, clawing at Valentino's skin, before he was ruthlessly slammed down onto the table, causing shards of glass to fall from his face and his back to burn from the force of the blow.
Valentino's hand squeezed around his neck, cutting off his air flow and Vox instinctively grabbed one of his antennae. He twisted the demon's head and sent another shock through him, effectively scorching the antenna beneath his fingers.
Valentino howled and quickly released his throat. Vox gasped in air, his vision getting dark around the edges. He tried to teleport away again, sparks sizzling between his antennas, but in a state of dazed panic and mind-numbing fear he failed to account for the demoness who had climbed behind him on the table.
Her hand shot out and grabbed his antennas before she swiftly pulled his head back and slammed it against the table with an audible crack. The blow sent stars bursting through his vision and his heart started to beat out of his chest, his bones reverberating the thumping and increasing his panic tenfold.
He wasn't going to get out of there. The drug had already taken over his body. His vision was staticky and unfocused, his lungs were burning from the lack of air and the pain in his skull was unbearable.
He was scared, hurt, betrayed, and confused. He didn't know what was happening or why they were doing this. He couldn't think. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't get away.
Horror seeped into every inch of his body when he felt hands on him again. Valentino had composed himself, his antenna burnt to a crisp, his fur ruffled and his expression enraged. He pressed two of his hands against Vox's thighs, keeping him flat against the table, his claws digging into his flesh.
His primal instincts kicked in and he started clawing at Valentino’s arms, only managing to mangle his hands as the demoness behind him pressed her whole weight on his shoulders. Blood trickled down his fingers, wet and warm and he felt bile rise in his throat when the other didn't retreat this time.
Distantly, he heard Velvette's voice booming over his head.
"Dammit, Valentino just stick him!" She was frantic, furious. "Four hands and none of them are useful?!"
Her voice grated in his ears and pierced straight into his mind, causing another wave of pain to spread through his head and darken his vision.
"I'm trying, bitch! Fucking do something!"
His heart nearly split in two when Velvette grabbed his wrists and pulled them above his head.
He thrashed, too weak to send the residual electricity that he needed to stay conscious through her. Her grip was unyielding and he felt the fabric that had served to keep her hair in a bun wrap around his wrists.
"No! Don't-" His words caught in his throat. Tears welled in his eyes and his rapid, shallow breaths were beyond his control. He couldn't breathe, his convoluted mind wasn't working and suddenly all his muscles felt weak, sluggish, worn out. "Stop!"
She only shushed him as she secured his wrists together with a firm, final knot.
He couldn't move. His eyes raked across the room, aimless and afraid, seeking some kind of salvation, anything.
He shifted his legs, trying to shimmy them out of Valentino's grip despite the darkness descending on his exhausted mind. The only thing that was still keeping him conscious was the sheer, staggering amount of adrenaline coursing through his veins.
Somehow, he managed to pry his leg away and he quickly started to kick ferociously. One of his attempts proved successful and Valentino cursed as the syringe was knocked out of his hand.
The moth raised an elbow and brought it down on Vox’s stomach. He coughed as all the remaining air was expelled from his lungs. In his weakened state, Valentino easily grabbed his leg again and slammed it back down.
He tried teleporting away again, but all he managed to conjure were a few pitiful zaps of electricity to traverse between his antennas.
He gasped for breath, everything felt like it was light-years away. Tomorrow and yesterday were lost concepts to him as his mind gradually started sinking into a deep sleep.
Faintly, he felt pressure on his chest again. He drunkenly opened his eyes and was met with an image that would haunt him for the rest of his life.
The last thing he saw before an unforgiving darkness enveloped him was the face of the nameless demon as he injected the needle into his neck, staring down at him with a bone-chilling smile.
His screen flickered, the image fading into pitch black that reflected Alastor’s expression and allowed him to see the sheer horror and fury that radiated from it. Through the entire time the memory was playing Vox supplied explanations, additional information about the sinners' pasts and insight into his own thoughts to properly relay the reality of the situation to Alastor whose attention hadn't faltered once.
His eyes felt sore and dry from not blinking, having stared at the feed with rapt concentration. His whole body was quivering, but before he could speak up, or even process what his eyes had just seen, Vox's monitor buzzed back to life, a new memory starting to play.
Pain.
That was the first thing he felt the moment his mind started to wake.
Undiluted, unimaginable pain.
A groan escaped him before he could even open his eyes, the sound echoing from far away, resounding in the dark abyss that was engulfing him from all sides.
His hands were on fire.
For a brief moment he wondered whether he had dipped them in boiling lava before he had gone to sleep, but then he realized even that might have hurt less than the scalding, unendurable pain that was tearing his hands apart and spreading up his arms so far his whole body trembled from the severity of it.
His face felt like it had been plowed through with a rock. Sharp, searing agony seeped into every corner of his mind, igniting it on fire akin to the way lightning demolished a tree after striking it, coiling through every nook, crevice and leaf like vines traipsing across a building. His ability to think had been scattered, the pieces broken and trampled on by not only the piercing, headache-inducing pain that ravaged his body, but also by some unbeknownst fogginess that had descended on his mind, dulling his rational thinking and reducing his sense of orientation.
He felt lost. There was nothing but endless, harrowing darkness for miles and miles in every direction and that insurmountable, soul-rendering pain that threatened to crumble his already fractured mind. Distantly, he heard himself screaming.
The noise barreled into the farthest corners of his weakened consciousness, grounding him back to reality. He immediately regretted succumbing to the string pulling him back to wakefulness when the pain in his arms and head amplified.
He felt something soft underneath him, a rosy smell reached his nose and he realized he was laying on a bed. His eyes felt like they had been sewn shut and it took all of his strength to pry them open.
A light reached the never-ending darkness, red, uncomfortable, unfamiliar and he felt a primal instinct to back away from it. The animosity it blared into his eyesight made him squint, his eyes watering from the unpleasantness.
His throat felt sore, and he vaguely realized he had been groaning and shouting in his half-awake state. Suddenly, the concern he felt at the pain in his body was instantly replaced with blood-curdling fear.
The memories from the night before crashed through him like a tidal wave. He jolted, his vision going blurry from the movement, sending the room out of focus. It took a moment for it to settle back to normalcy and when it did Vox’s stomach dropped.
He wasn't in his bedroom. The aggravating red light he had felt originated from strips of lights installed along the edges of the ceiling, the corners of it furnished with cameras. The room was vacant, the only things that populated it were a bed and a bedside table.
The skin of his body was touching the fabric of the bed and he realized he was naked. His clothes had been stripped from him while he had been unconscious and he started to breathe heavily, his anxiety picking up and extinguishing whatever numbness still littered his mind. Only now did he realize just one of his eyes was working and when he reached a hand to inspect the damaged side of his face he heard a clanking sound following the movement. He looked down at his hands, thinking the skin had been melted off for he couldn't procure a different possibility that explained the excruciating pain that blared from them.
When his gaze landed on them he gasped in horror.
Thick, impenetrable metal shackles encased his wrists, connected to a chain that lead all the way past the bed post and merged into two iron bars built into the wall that traveled up the ceiling before disappearing from view. As his eyes followed the contraption they managed to catch the sizzling sparks of energy that danced along the bars as well as the wires coiled through the chains that exuded a foreboding, disquieting sense of dread.
His breath hitched and he tugged on one of the shackles only to scream in pain as fire laced up his whole arm. He doubled over, breaths fast and shallow as he clutched his wrists, feebly trying to alleviate the agony that spread through him like thousands of needles impaling his skin, digging deeper and deeper until they melted into the flesh, petrifying it in place.
"Good morning, sunshine."
Vox stilled.
He whipped his head around to the direction where the daunting voice had spoken from and was met with the face capable of warding off all of Vox’s hopes with less than a glance.
The TV-headed demon was leaning on the doorway, his arms crossed. He smiled at Vox, a sadistic, malevolent smile that made every cell in his body stand up in apprehension and fear.
In a few, short strides he made his way over to the bed. He sat on the edge, a short length away from Vox, who only watched him as he got closer.
Discerning the distance, Vox pulled his hand into a fist and tried to ram it in the demon's face. His speed was disappointing, the pain and exhaustion in his body weakened his strength and abilities and it took little effort from the other demon to dodge his attack. He firmly grabbed his forearm and used the hold to yank Vox towards him.
Vox yelped as the motion forced him onto his stomach next to where the demon was sitting. He made an indignant, agonized sound when the other grabbed his antennas and craned his neck upwards.
"Come now, I just want to talk." His amiable tone reflected itself nowhere in his actions or his bruising grip.
The strain on both Vox's neck and antennas was unbearable and he weakly raised his wounded hands to claw at the other's arm, hoping to dislodge his hold, only for another scream to tear out of his throat when a torturous pain impaled itself in his fingers.
Confused, he brought one of his hands to his face and his eye widened in terror at the sight.
His claws were gone. In their place now stood the sensitive, nimble stubs of his fingers, susceptible to even the lightest breeze that would greet them.
A keening, hopeless sound escaped him at the dawning reality that he was completely defenseless.
"Why are you doing this?" He couldn't keep the shaking out of his voice. He panted, panicked and afraid.
The demon's hold on Vox only tightened as his smile stretched in a nefarious, wicked fashion.
"I'm so glad you asked." He shifted in his position, leading Vox’s head whichever way it pleased him. "I don't think you realize how valuable you are, my dear. You see, there are some people who luck into their power and success. Like you!" Not giving him the opportunity to refute his erroneous statement, the demon tightened his hold on Vox's arm and antennas even more, earning a wince from him. "And then there are others who have to earn it. Like me."
The endearment and his patronizing manner of speaking, a stark contrast to the roughness with which he was treating him, sent bile to rise up in Vox's throat. His trepidation only increased by the sound of the other's voice which now uncannily resembled his own. He felt a stone drop in his stomach at the realization that the demon had modified his voice box to sound exactly like Vox.
He was angry, he felt hurt and betrayed, and he was absolutely terrified.
He spat out "Don't play games with me. Tell me why you're doing this."
The demon rolled his eyes, twisting his grip and drawing an anguished whine out of Vox. "I would mind that attitude if I were you. As of now, you live by our mercy, the only reason you are still breathing is because we let you, the only reason you are still alive is because we need you."
Vox’s eyebrows creased in both bewilderment and concern. "What do you mean you 'need me'? What use could I possibly be to you?"
His heart skipped a beat when the other laughed down at him, the sound chilling, nasty. "Oh, haven't you noticed something amiss about your power? Or rather, lack of?"
Vox pressed his lips, as he tried to focus his attention and summon electricity in his fingers. It took all of his slowly-diminishing energy and he could only watch in shock as just a trickle of electricity sprang from his hand and cascaded down the chain then quickly slithered up the bars before eventually vanishing into the wall.
His head was yanked back and he grunted as his face was redirected back to the demon that had put him in this nightmare.
"Ingenious, isn't it?" His voice was almost reverential as he let go of Vox’s arm to lift one of the chains. "A conductor, installed right through your wrists, through flesh and bone. It must be difficult for you. To see all of the power you could amass instantly abandon your body. To feel the metal steal it straight from your bone marrow, straight from your core where it's created, like the last drop of water out of a tipped glass, helpless against the gravity." His sadistic smile stretched even more, his screen brightened and his eyes gleamed as he leant his face down towards Vox. "And to know that all of it is pooling directly into the power generator only a floor away."
As the demon spoke, Vox felt his heart stop beating.
Ice seeped into his veins, freezing his whole body in place and he could do nothing but stare in shock and horror.
"You..." He couldn't breathe, he couldn't speak, the task of formulating coherent sentences too grueling for his petrified, disbelieving mind. The demon's words replayed in his head, as form of cruel punishment only reserved for the most vile and repellant sinners. His body was rigid, his fingers trembling. "Cannot be serious..."
His voice was quiet, timid from fear. The demon only laughed again and Vox felt like he was going to pass out from the wickedness in his tone.
"I've never been more serious in my life." His thumb gently brushed against his antenna and Vox shuddered as a wave of pain spread through him. The demon's finger pricked the top of one of his antennas and Vox realized with mounting horror that they had been snapped in half, completely terminating his signal and ability to teleport. "Why do you think I went through all of that trouble to bring you here? Wasting years of planning and working to make you a permanent resident in your- well, my company?"
Vox tried to shake his head. It was too much, his form was racked by bouts of dread that struck his very soul like boiling water. No words that would ever greet his mind could even resemble an inkling of the sentence needed to justify the sheer, absolute horror coursing through his entire body.
A crazed laugh escaped him, insincere, frantic. "It won't work."
"It already is. I tried it myself in fact." The demon lifted up one of his sleeves, revealing his bandaged wrist.
Vox simply stared at his arm, at the place where the demon had mutilated and mangled his own bones. "You're insane..." His voice was shaky, but brimming with scorn.
The demon chuckled and the sound sent a shiver down Vox's spine. "Perhaps," With staggering speed, he grabbed Vox's neck, not tight enough to cut off his air flow but firm enough to lift his head and cause a stifled whimper to escape him. "But let me tell you," He sneered, his face inches away from Vox's. "You're never getting out."
Vox couldn't tear his gaze away from his face, magnetized by fear. "You can't do this." His voice was small and he knew his words were predictable and lazy, but he couldn't get his mind to properly function as the gruesome, inconceivable reality of his situation started to dawn on him. "I hired you. I gave you a job. I put you under my protection."
The demon raised his hand to softly cup Vox’s face, derisive as he cooed. "I know." His tone was mockingly sweet, like someone who knew he had all the cards and could play them however he wished. "...That was your mistake."
Vox's gaze was transfixed on the demon and the way he looked down at him sent a full body shudder through Vox. The evil that exuded from the man's eyes was capable of rotting the most imposing, magnificent trees with barely a glance.
"You won't get away with this." Vox shrunk in on himself, trying to cover up to preserve even a small modicum of dignity.
Instantly, the man's hand shot out to grab one of the chains. He violently pulled it, wrenching Vox’s arm away and causing a pained yell to echo through the room.
He chastised "Nuh, uh, uh. No hiding here." He gestured to the cameras on the ceiling that were aimed straight at them.
It felt like his hand was splitting in half, as though it would rip away if even the most insubstantial tug was applied. The knowledge that the metal had been embedded through his bones only exacerbated the pain and he had to lift his arm further to lessen the excruciating strain, his whole body shaking from the exertion.
"By the way, don't bother summoning any of the souls you own, l've already seen to them. Your assistant had quite the collection of all of their contracts stored away. It was highly convenient, I really should have thanked him before I killed him, but I was on a rather tight schedule. Oh, and if you're hoping your Radio Demon friend will come find you," His last words broke through the static-numbness in Vox’s mind. The mention of Alastor jolting him to full-awareness. "I will make sure he's taken care of."
The pain suddenly dulled, having gotten pushed to the back of Vox’s mind as unbridled fury took its place at seeing the sinister tone the demon spoke with. "Don't you dare even go near hi-"
"I think you should be more concerned about yourself," The demon cut him off. "Not some demon who will never come and save you."
Vox smiled up at him, feeling confident and certain in himself for the first time since they had met. "You're wrong."
He bore his gaze straight into the other demon's eyes, unwavering in his belief that Alastor would find him, that he would tear down the whole building if he found out what had happened to Vox. Just the mention of his name invigorated every cell in Vox's body and he felt a sharp pain jab his heart as he realized just how much he was desperately craving Alastor's presence, how achingly he longed to hear his voice, to see his beautiful face, to hold his hand as the other whispered gentle comforts in his ear. The unpleasant sensation was squashed by his resolute conviction that he would get to do just that not long from now. He just had to survive until then.
The other returned his steely gaze and softly hummed after a few seconds. The corners of his lips twitched upwards and his eyes sharpened, menacing, ill-intentioned.
"Let's see shall we."
Lightning-fast, he gripped Vox's upper arm and tossed him back to the middle of the bed. Vox barely had time to discern the other's intentions before the demon opened a drawer from the nightstand and pulled out a knife.
Vox audibly gulped. The knife glinted, its edge as sharp as the promise of pain it was about to deliver. He instinctively backed away when the demon started to close the distance between them.
"Poor thing," He smiled, twirling the knife in his hand, as he climbed on top of the bed. Vox tried to resist him, but with the soul-crushing agony searing his hands and the concerningly low levels of his power he could do little to prevent the demon from straddling his waist and pinning his hands above his head, using the leverage the shackles granted him to press them together. "I do wonder how long it will take to wrench every remaining scream out of you."
Panic and fear took over his body, he started to kick his legs and thrash, in vain, and his breathing quickened, shallow and erratic, as he was once more forced to look up at that same icy, monstrous grin that would plague his nightmares for the rest of his life.
The video feed cut off. The momentary blackness of Vox’s screen quickly got replaced with his usual red and blue features.
The silence in the room was deafening, as though the wind itself blared the memories repeatedly, and only now did Alastor realize how heavy and labored his breathing had become.
He was rooted to the spot, his eyes were closed and he leaned over the bed. The sheer, absolute horror of how they had ensnared his friend seeped into his very bones, causing them to vibrate with a passionate, uncontrollable fury capable of challenging the very idea the world knew of revenge. His claws had effectively torn through the sheets, his grip unyielding at finally baring witness to that one dreadful night he had lost his best friend, at seeing how he had been betrayed by his own employees for not allowing them to sell a dangerous, deplorable drug, at seeing them use that same drug to render him completely helpless and imprison him for their own appalling, greedy intentions.
Fire raged inside Alastor’s soul, savage and merciless, determined to desecrate any living, breathing being in sight, any leaf, any blade of grass, any brick, any speck of dust, stretching far and wide until only the havoc their destruction had left behind remained to serve as proof of the retribution his rage was capable of. His mind refused to fathom the horror of how Vox - who only wanted to talk to someone who looked like him, to get to know someone who would understand him - had been tortured, beaten, raped and abused for years all for the simple purpose of serving as a power source for three despicable sinners so they could keep their empire afloat. Of how their monstrous avarice and their depraved, abysmal desires had stolen his friend from him, how their abhorrent, reprehensible, intemperate behavior had snatched all those lovely years they could have spent together and replaced them with loneliness, misery and sorrow.
His heart wept as the boiling fury in his core fought with the rising wave of grief plowing through his body. It was screaming at him, wailing in his ears that refused to accept the message aimed at them.
He had failed Vox.
The voice rang in Alastor’s head, pillaging everything in sight until it was the only thing that resounded in his mind.
'You're wrong.'
His soul shattered at the thought of just how long had Vox been clinging to that belief, to the frail, delicate hope that Alastor would find him, that he would put an end to his torment and carry him out of that foul, wretched room. Only to be met with disappointment, again and again. To wake up each day, still chained to the bed, his power sapped, his hands in unconscionable agony and his body in pain and not even be able to lose his mind from its ability to regenerate itself.
Did anybody miss him?
Did anybody notice?
A piercing, deadly torrent crashed into Alastor at the idea that Vox had eventually abandoned that hope, that he had succumbed to the belief that Alastor didn't care about him, that he had forgotten him and that no one would come and save him, that this would be his life for the rest of eternity.
"They would sometimes be gone for weeks, even months." A voice broke through the silence, gentle and so achingly familiar, as if sensing the vicious anger bubbling under Alastor’s skin, ready to be expelled. "And they would occasionally send a robot to take care of me, clean me up, change the sheets and similar. She was nice, they called her Kitty."
Alastor raised his head to look up at Vox, only now noticing how far his antlers had stretched, their weight heavy, creaking beneath the dome he had concocted around Vox which was currently writhing and billowing from Alastor’s inner turmoil. He tried to regain control over his shadows as he simply blinked at Vox, at the incomprehensible, gut-wrenching way that he thought weeks of isolation with no one to talk to or nothing to do was a mercy and Alastor’s heart nearly split in two when he realized Vox was trying to calm him down with that admission.
He inhaled sharply, his form slowly reducing in size as he steeled himself to ask the question that had been haunting his mind.
"Do they own your soul?"
His voice was dark and grim, almost causing the air itself to quiver.
"No."
Alastor felt himself plummet from relief. A loud exhale escaped him before he could stop it and his whole body sagged, his muscles melting and his head drooping as a wave of consolation washed through him. The feeling resembled the waking of a thousand year old forest from its deep slumber when the sun finally dares to grace it with its light.
"They didn't need it," Vox continued, his voice quiet, though thankfully no longer shaking and on the verge of tears. It seemed the small reprieve of transferring responsibility to his screen had allowed him to compose himself. He had told Alastor everything he needed to know while not revealing the gruesome extent of his suffering. He had chosen the memories well. "It would have created grounds for extortion over the other two if one of them owned my soul, so they made an agreement."
He fiddled with the blanket, pointedly ignoring Alastor’s gaze. "...I think they just enjoyed having power over someone without actually owning their soul."
Alastor wanted to scream. He wanted to howl and tear apart the whole city looking for the vile, depraved wretches and bury them so far underground they would never be allowed to resurface. He wanted to hold Vox, to embrace him so tight no one would be able to snatch him from his arms again.
A small silence took over the room once Vox finished speaking, the only sound that pierced it was Alastor's evident inability to subdue the shadows in the room. He couldn't relent his grip on the sheets, he couldn't force his body to relax, inundated from the unbearable truth that had been thrown at him, and he felt his world tumble into darkness when Vox spoke up again.
"We danced to Doris Day." His voice was soft, reminiscent.
Alastor whipped his head around, the meaning of Vox's words not going unrecognized and he felt the remaining broken shards of his soul shatter further.
He opened his mouth, his throat constricted, his voice strained, the tears in his eyes barely held from falling and said "That old feeling..."
Vox gasped, watery and delighted from relief, when Alastor named the song they had danced to the night before Vox had been taken. He remembered it as clear as day, the night before Vox had upgraded his design, the night before Alastor felt the beginning twitches of worry that his friend would slip from his grasp, the night that was the last he truly felt he belonged to someone and his heart cracked from how he had never questioned the blatant discrepancy between that version and the Vox he knew.
"I would often play it out in my head," Vox continued, his voice had gotten even quieter as though the wind and the trees themselves halted to listen. "It was the last time I saw you."
"I know," Alastor broke in, finally looking up at Vox and he barely managed to rasp out his next words, their horrifying truth unbearable, stealing the static effect completely from his voice. "...It was seventeen years ago."
If Vox was stunned that Alastor had kept count he didn't show it. He only nodded staring off somewhere in the distance behind Alastor, processing the implication of that information. Alastor didn't press him, the quiet that befell the room was heavy enough to vocalize the weight of that statement that sentences alone couldn't relay.
"I still remember it though." Vox eventually muttered. "...You let me lead because you knew I preferred it."
The corners of his lips quirked up in a small smile and he took a deep breath, but his resolution didn't wane. Alastor could not even fathom where he was finding the strength, he couldn't even comprehend the extent of his friend's willpower and spirit.
"We were alone in your Radio station and it was a few hours after midnight, but we weren't tired." Vox's gaze never left Alastor as he started to recount the events and every word tore away pieces of Alastor’s weakening durability. "And your hand was so warm in mine..."
His voice wavered and Alastor had to squint his eyes shut lest risk the flood of tears from bursting through for he knew he would never regain control over them again.
"Your other hand was on my shoulder and at one point you raised it to-"
"-To tap your antenna." Alastor finished for him. It would have been hypocritical of him to be flabbergasted at Vox’s recollection of that night if his own mind didn't hoard the events as if they were his last lifeline. "It wobbled, I laughed. Then you flicked my ear."
A shuddery chuckle escaped Vox and when Alastor looked at him his breath hitched from the tears that had welled up in the demon's eyes. Alastor viscerally felt that small shred of uncertainty that this had all been a trick, some wicked illusion to tear him down and that this wasn't his Vox, vanish completely from the love and infrangible connection between them that no force in this world could be able to replicate. That snake of doubt, slithering in the grass and whispering poison in Alastor's mind, died in that moment.
He blearily felt the ground quake beneath him when Vox shifted to sit closer to him. He twitched, the self-restraint not to hurl himself at Vox and wrap his arms around him caused his skin to fizz as though thousands of bees were brimming beneath the surface.
Vox took another deep, breathy inhale before he resumed. "We talked throughout. You rested your head on my shoulder, and I leaned mine on top." His voice had grown shaky, his hands were clutching the blanket and he had the most downcast, crestfallen expression. "Then you started to hum to the song... I could feel it - against my chest and I thought-"
His voice broke and Alastor had to raise a hand to cover his face, unable to look at the tears that started to flow down Vox’s.
Vox gulped, then sobbed out, shattered and devastated "-and I thought... how wonderful..."
Alastor was shaking, the grip he had on his forehead threatened to burst his skull in his hand and he squeezed even more from the debilitated, agonized sound of Vox’s voice that he could never imagine even in the worst nightmares that plagued his mind.
He couldn't take it anymore. It was too much. It was all too much. He didn't know why Vox was talking about that night and he couldn't stop the trembling in his limbs caused by the tenderness, and affection that spewed from Vox’s words. He didn't have the energy to be enraged anymore, to be vengeful and furious, all of it had been trampled on by the unbearable grief destroying him from the inside out. In just one night his entire world had been turned over and he didn't know how to get back on his feet, he didn't know how he could ever dream of rectifying the past, or of how to navigate this unpredictable, slippery future.
He couldn't do it. Everything hurt, his body, his mind, his soul, his heart. He was going to crumble on the spot, he was going to pass out in the middle of the floor and he was never going to wake up again.
Distantly, he felt something land on his shoulder and he flinched back, incapable of suppressing his body's natural instinct not to be touched when it was so over-stimulated from the agonizing reality descending on his fractured mind.
His heart broke when he saw Vox instantly draw his hand back, his expression stricken and hurt.
Alastor immediately reached to grab his hand, but it was too late.
"I'm sorry." Vox said, his voice a quiet, broken whisper. "Of course... I understand."
Quickly, Alastor spoke up. "No, I didn't-" He nearly seized from panic. He needed to fix this, he needed to wipe that distressed perturbation that he had just caused Vox to feel.
"No. No, you don't need to explain. It's okay." Vox shook his head, pointing his gaze anywhere but at Alastor.
Alastor started to breathe heavily, he didn't know what just happened, he just knew he had hurt Vox and he didn't know how to fix it.
Vox tapped at the mattress with his hands, shifting his gaze from left to right before he eventually said. "I think I'm tired," His voice sounded exhausted, drained, and his expression was emotionless. "I should go to sleep."
Alastor’s words caught in his throat and he could only watch as the other laid down and pulled the blanket over himself.
"I'm sorry." Vox reiterated one last time, before turning his back.
Alastor’s hand hung in the air, he slowly extended it to hover over Vox's arm before he halted. His body was racked with hesitation, Vox had purposely turned away to preserve some sense of composure and Alastor didn't want to shatter that, he didn't want to force Vox to confront him, but he knew the demon was suffering. He couldn't let Vox think he was repelled by his touch or that he wasn't seeking it.
Vox's arm slightly trembled and Alastor didn't miss the way his throat bobbed, or how tears still continued to fall from his eyes that Vox inconspicuously tried to wipe with his thumb, thinking Alastor wouldn't notice.
He had caused that. Slowly, reluctantly, Alastor drew his hand back and made to stand up.
The room spun and his legs were almost audibly shaking but they didn't betray him yet. Alastor gritted his teeth and balled up his fists, drawing drops of blood from the force with which his claws pierced his flesh, and tried to ward off the sorrow threatening to deteriorate him where he stood.
"Vox, it was not my intention to draw away from you, for that I apologize," He began, his voice was tenuous, defeated. "But, I will leave if you wish to sleep. Know this," The shadows above them extended, now covering most of the room as they twisted and engulfed the ceiling and furniture. "No harm will come to you while you're here."
With that one, last vow he turned on his heel. His legs were jelly, his mind was a puddle of despair and if anyone had asked him his name at that moment he would have stuttered, unintelligible and utterly lost. When he received no answer, he closed the door, wordless and cursing himself for he knew Vox probably couldn't speak up even if he wanted to.
He started to walk down the hallway, the shadows pooling around the corners writhing from the inner turmoil in Alastor’s soul. His gaze was fixed on the floor and he strode with no clear destination in mind.
Suddenly, something landed on his shoulder and he whipped around.
His shadow immediately drew its ghostly hand back at the menacing look on Alastor's face.
"What?" he gritted out.
The shadow raised its arm and pointed in the opposite direction from where he was going, towards his room, with a saddened, dejected look on its face.
Alastor could only laugh, a bitter, deprecated cackle escaped him and he whirled on his shadow. "You want to be a knight in shining armor? Go ahead, don't let me stop you."
His voice was gravely, fierce, and he gave his shadow one long, last intimidating look before he spun around, resuming his previous pace. He didn't have time to surrender to the darkness and disassociate himself completely from his surroundings before a stinging pain rose in his ear.
His head was harshly yanked backwards, causing him to stumble. He got his footing and sent his shadow a death glare so unnerving it nearly caused the lights in the hallway to shatter.
With staggering speed, he grabbed his shadow by the ear and pulled its face closer to his. "What do you think you're doing?" The grip he had on the shadow sent a wave of pain through his own body, but he didn't care, if anything he reveled in the agony that would distract his mind if only for a short while.
Surprisingly, the shadow didn't protest his hold. It simply pointed back at his room again, then clasped its hands together before finally pointing at Alastor.
He needs you.
Alastor scoffed, spiteful and disgruntled. "Don't you think we've done enough damage?" His grip on the shadow's ear tightened and he barely managed to stifle a wince. "I'm the last person he should be putting his trust in."
All of a sudden, the rearing agony, the excruciating sorrow and the mountain-toppling fury vanished at finally saying what he had been battling with in the deepest corners of his mind ever since he found Vox in that dreadful room. Vox had put his trust in him and Alastor had taken it and discarded it without a second thought. Another soul-crushing, stabbing gust of pain shot through every cell in his body.
His shadow simply shook its head, or tried to. Alastor didn't have enough energy to argue with it, he didn't have enough energy for anything anymore. With an acidic huff he released the vicious grip he had on its ear and proceeded to walk forward.
He only managed to cross a couple of steps before he was violently pulled back by his antlers.
He yelled, indignant and furious. The world spun and he blindly reached to grasp the hand twisting his head. Once he got a hold of the wraith-like arm of his shadow, he wrenched it towards him and slapped it across the face.
The biting sound reverberated through the vacant hallway and the stinging ache shot through Alastor’s whole cheek, but he didn't falter, on the contrary he raised his hand and hit it again, this time with much more force.
His shadow keened and curled in on itself as Alastor basked in the fire that spread across the entire side of his face, burning, delightful, agonizing, appropriate. He could almost pretend it was atonement if not for the fact he knew he wasn't deserving of it.
The shadow simply stared at him, hands raised in a weak attempt to shield itself and its eyes radiated the most aggrieved, hurt look Alastor had ever seen on it.
He hadn't ever hit it before, not like this, and he would have sympathized if his own heart wasn't shattered beyond repair, leaving no room in his wicked, reproachful soul for any form of compassion. The entirety of the small amount of kindness that he was capable of amassing had already been depleted and transferred to one person that both represented Alastor’s salvation and doom in equal measure.
He was breathing heavily, the conflicted storm of emotions stewing in his core. His grip on his shadow's arm was vice-like and he barely managed to rasp out. "He doesn't need me." He felt like his vocal cords were disintegrating from the strain of trying to form words. "He doesn't want me and he doesn't need me."
Yet, even as the words escaped his mouth he couldn't shake off the feeling of wrongness that settled on his tongue. His shadow also sensed the untruthfulness of that statement and its despondent frown deepened. Alastor felt disgusted.
How dare he?
How dare he think so little of his friend? His friend who had defended Alastor’s loyalty even when he had just woken up in an unfamiliar room, captured and in unimaginable pain, and stared straight in the face of his tormentor, ready to wage through whatever repercussions he had earned with his statement. His friend who had instantaneously tossed aside his own chance at freedom and implored - begged - Alastor to abandon that basement. Confused, afraid, hopeless and he hadn't wasted a single second to try and save Alastor, even if it meant his own eternal demise, even after he had believed he had been forgotten, even after so many years Vox had gently cupped his face and he had tried to protect him. Vox who was brilliant, and charismatic, and respectable, and considerate. Vox who Alastor had trusted like no one else before, who had made living in Hell an excitable and wondrous experience, Vox who was gentle, and cunning, and affectionate, and thunderous in all his splendor and grace. Vox who spoke with such beauty, reverence and love for their past, for the delicate marvel that they called a relationship. Vox who still cared about him.
Vox who still cared about him.
He felt bile rise in his throat and looking at his shadow he knew it had felt the same wave of torturous grief wash over him. Its face was the definition of despair and it released a tiny mew as it tilted its head downwards. It raised its arm, shaken and scared, and pointed again towards the room Vox was staying in, then it aimed a finger at its temple, then pointed it at Alastor before sliding it down to wiggle it in a circle around its heart, shaking his head and eventually pointing back at the room.
He thinks you don't care about him anymore.
Alastor would have dismissed the gesture if he wasn't so painstakingly, heart-wrenchingly aware of how true it was. His mind felt like it was crumbling. He had abandoned Vox again. Vox who had woken up in a strange room once more, not knowing where he was and with no one around, who had just escaped imprisonment and years of torture, who just needed a kind touch, a gentle hand, someone to embrace him, and what had Alastor done?
He had greeted him with a brimming smile on his face as he pretended none of Vox's suffering had ever happened. He had told him his rescue had been just an accident, he had addressed him as if he was nothing more than a patient in a nurse's office, fleeting and unmemorable, as if he wasn't the most important person in Alastor’s life. He had seen an open, gushing wound and instead of bandaging it or stitching it to soothe the blood flow, he had slapped a bandage on it and called it a day.
The room felt disorienting, the walls around him started swirling, his shadow's face blurred out of focus and he felt tears well up in his eyes. Now, he knew why Vox had brought their last night together back to life. He had been trying to decipher whether Alastor's feelings were still persevering in a desperate, hopeless attempt to be close to him, to be held, to be given a gentle, non-violent touch after being deprived of it for seventeen years. And not only had Alastor been withholding that from him, he had actively recoiled from his touch, as if he was something filthy and gross to be wary of. Vox’s expression when Alastor had done that, which he would never be able to cleanse from his mind, spun in his head like a movie.
He was going to pass out, it was too much, the weight of his failures was dragging him towards the ground and somewhere deep inside he hoped it would bury him so deep the horrid images in his head would cease forever, finally at peace once the last gust of air left his lungs.
He was shaking, his grip on the shadow was frail and desperate as he tried to cling to the only anchor he could find. Reality started to spiral around him, all of his emotions had launched to their maximum intensity and had stacked together, slowly accumulating throughout the night until they were so heavy Alastor felt like he was drowning. Distantly, he felt wetness on his cheeks, a sensation that hasn't greeted his mind in a very, very long time.
He looked straight at his shadow's eyes, lost, helpless, and he finally released the painful admission he had been trying to deny this entire time.
"I don't know what to do..."
His voice was broken, a pitiful, choked sob escaped him as he said those forbidden words.
He was gripping the shadow with all his might as tears started to cascade down his face, impossible to restrain anymore. He was tired. He was so tired and he would have done everything in his ability to take Vox's place, he would have gladly spent the rest of his life in his stead if only it meant he had kept Vox safe. But, he couldn't, and the powerlessness that it caused to course through him was annihilating him on the spot.
He was brought back to reality when he felt a soft touch take hold of his hand.
He looked down and saw his shadow intertwining its fingers with his. He lifted his head and was met with a humane, supportive and pitying expression that Alastor didn't deserve to be aimed at him.
He didn't have the strength to be angry anymore, all of the welled up rage that had ravaged his body had evaporated, leaving in its place only grief. He didn't protest when his shadow started leading him by the hand back towards his room.
His legs felt like jelly, weak and moving sorely from muscle memory. He simply followed the shadow, taciturn and pliant. His eyes were drooping, exhausted, and before he knew it the sight of his door greeted him.
Vox was only a few meters away and that thought caused a soft gasp to escape Alastor.
He swallowed, not knowing what to do next, utterly lost in his own misery and regret. Fortunately, his shadow stepped in front of him and placed its hands on his shoulders, a clear indication to direct his focus on it.
Slowly, it raised its hand and pointed towards his head, then made an X motion with its arms, before finally laying its palm flat on Alastor’s chest, where his heart would be.
Don't use your head. Use your heart.
He blinked up at it. The silence in the hallway was tense, penetrative, almost cavernous.
This wasn't about him. Not in the slightest. This was about the poor, wondrous soul residing in his room who desperately needed someone to be with him, who had been bottling up his own tears to avoid causing Alastor discomfort, who was currently laying alone, in agony and in pain, and craving any drop of affection that Alastor could give him.
His shadow leaned back, leaving Alastor to stare at the door, appalled and disappointed at his actions. Then, in the blink of an eye, his expression shifted from desolation so strong no sorrow ever experienced could match it to unwavering resolution. He straightened up, squared his shoulders, relented in his fight against the tears still streaming down his face and took a long, deep breath.
He had been given a sword, one to prevail against the unending storm of emotions inside him and quell it into a gentle breeze, soon to be forgotten by the world. A whisper in the air, a ghost of a touch, a song among the trees, a knight in his dotage loyally guarding a forsaken castle, frail and decrepit yet eternally devoted to the pledge of his life.
He would become a corpse, an empty, lifeless husk if need be if only to keep the shadows at bay. He eradicated any thoughts still laying waste to his mind and turned the knob.
The door opened with a quiet creak. Alastor stepped into the room, one foot in front of the other, and proceeded to slowly close the distance between him and the priceless, irreplaceable figure on the bed.
Vox's back was turned to him and Alastor sucked in a breath, the sound piercing the deafening silence of the room.
An endless abyss, converging on him from all sides, pricking his skin and sending a bone-chilling shiver down his spine. He was melted with it as he traipsed down the never-ending stairs, a suffocating, unfaltering darkness that reeked of peril and malice and in the far distance a red, gleaming, erroneous light...
He was in his room, his shoes clinked on familiar, wooden boards and the air was perforated with an aroma of pine, whiskey and old books. The lights on the walls were gentle, comforting and they welcomed Alastor with protective arms as he made his way towards Vox.
Something hid at the bottom of the stairwell, something wounded, hurt, soundless and afraid, a loneliness so profound it nearly knocked Alastor on his knees. Bright, aggravating red lights invaded his eyes, disorienting him...
He continued walking towards the bed, ignoring the flashing images that sent pounding waves of dread through his body, his shadow behind him and the only thing that had ever mattered in his life in front of him. His fingers were trembling as he now stared at the laying person on the bed.
The man was chained to the bed, turned away from the door, his skin littered with cuts, claw marks and bruises all varying in severity and all gruesomely mortifying. He had been beaten, assaulted and tortured. The physical, sickening proof of his torment caused nausea to rise up in Alastor’s throat. His gaze lifted up, his heart squeezing from shock and horror as his eyes landed on the person's head...
Alastor tried to even his breathing as he tentatively sat on the edge of the bed. Vox's chest was softly rising and falling, his wounds had been cleaned and bandaged and his antennas and screen had been restored. Light emanated from his monitor, casting the distant furniture in a tender, blue glow.
He was still awake.
The person was shivering, cold and frightened. Alastor reached a trembling hand to tap his shoulder only to instantly draw it back when the man violently flinched from his touch...
His hand met soft cotton and it momentarily quivered when the man recoiled fro-
...
...When Vox didn't flinch from his touch.
His breathing was calm and he was relaxed on the soft mattress and beneath the comfy covers. The feel of Vox's arm beneath his fingers set Alastor’s heart ablaze and he felt himself soaring from delight. His skin was warm, and he hadn't even tensed when Alastor laid his hand.
Alastor knew he hadn't been able to compose himself sufficiently before entering the room, but that was unimportant. He squeezed Vox’s arm, gently, just to get his attention and when the other lifted his head Alastor felt as if time itself stopped.
Something ignited when their eyes connected.
Vox’s face was flushed, puffy eyes framed with dark bags under them, but Alastor knew that he himself undoubtedly looked worse.
But, it was all reduced to the ashes of insignificance by the arcane silence that spread between them which spoke of longing, pain, care, sorrow and affection so profound and everlasting no words ever spelled could properly relay it.
They both understood the weight of Alastor’s return, that was unquestionable, and they both heard the unspoken dedication, the impossibly still undefeated love.
Then, looking at the desolate expression on Alastor's face, at the guilty, tear stained tracks on his cheeks and the glistening hue in his eyes that radiated hurt and devotion, Vox soundlessly threw himself at Alastor and tightly wrapped his arms around him.
With a gasp that bordered on a sob, Alastor returned the embrace, holding Vox so closely no power in Heaven or Hell could have taken him from his grasp.
If Vox still had his claws he would have shredded Alastor’s coat from how fiercely he was clutching at it. He buried his head in Alastor’s neck, yearning and desperate to be as close as possible to him and with a precipitating, raspy exhale he began to cry.
Alastor only held him tighter as Vox started shaking in his arms, racked by uncontrollable, long-overdue sobs. One of his hands was dutifully wrapped around Vox's back, while the other cupped the back of his head, supporting him.
"I've got you." He heard himself saying as he had already given up on trying to hold back his own tears. Nothing else mattered anymore but the life-saving blessing in his arms. "I've got you. I'm sorry... I'm so sorry. I never forgot you, I never forgot."
His words were hurried, broken and finally honest. What he had wanted to say from the very beginning since his eyes had landed on Vox was being spewed out in the open with no reservations.
Vox only nuzzled closer, as if he would have crumbled if he didn't hold Alastor. The overwhelmed, tragic sounds he was making crushed Alastor’s soul and he felt his heart finally and completely break when he heard Vox softly, anguishedly whispering 'Thank you' in Alastor’s ear over and over.
Alastor glided his palm across Vox's back, soothing, comforting as he too started shaking. His chest was racked with sporadic, turbulent sobs that crashed with Vox's, his ears were ringing and he could hear his pulse in his head. The bittersweet, martyrizing irony was almost tangible, here he was on the worst day of his life, thanking fate for returning the most important, astonishing, breathtaking person essential to Alastor’s existence. Everything that had mattered to him, that he thought had been ripped away forever, was back in his arms, fitting so perfectly it was almost like he belonged there. Inwardly, Alastor allowed himself to believe that.
"You're going to be alright. You're safe... I've found you, I've finally found you." He was beyond mustering enough strength to even try to keep his voice from shaking. Absentmindedly, he lifted his head from where it was nestled against Vox's and laid a deep, gentle kiss on his temple.
Vox only cried harder from the unreserved affection Alastor was giving him and in response Alastor summoned his shadows. They coiled around Vox's body, non-restrictive, gentle and they twisted around his limbs so delicately and carefully Alastor barely felt they were there. They only held Vox, serving as a makeshift shield around him, softly, tenderly squeezing once in a while, mindful not to suffocate him. They simply caressed him, their touch feather-light, compensating for Alastor’s inability to entirely envelop Vox himself.
"Alastor..." Vox’s voice was hopeless, disbelieving, grateful and brimming with fondness.
Alastor pressed two more kisses to his temple. "You're out of there and you're never going back. It's over." As the words left his lips, Alastor questioned whether some of their intention was actually aimed at him and he felt something in his chest finally settle. "It's over, now."
He continued to hold Vox in his arms for quite some time, unyielding and protective, whispering soft, assuring comforts as the other's racking sobs slowly started to lull.
He didn’t know how much time had passed, his embrace on the demon hadn't faltered even for a second. At some point Vox had stopped violently shaking, his form now lax and tired, and his arms had fallen on the mattress, too exhausted to keep holding onto Alastor as he surrendered all of his weight on him, knowing Alastor wouldn't drop him. His sobs had quelled into soft, quiet weeps and gasps against Alastor’s neck and only then did Alastor notice how heavy his own eyelids had become.
It seemed all of the stress and mind-numbing terror accumulated throughout the whole night was weighing down on his consciousness now that they were alleviating and Alastor blearily felt his mind begin to slip. The short reveries lasted only for a few moments, but they were enough to persuade his attention to eye the bed, something soft to lay his head on and let it sweep him into a resting, peaceful sleep.
Tired and sore, he flicked his wrist and the shadows gently, slowly started maneuvering Vox into a laying position. The care with which they placed him on the bed could have rivaled Heaven's definition of love should they have witnessed it.
Dazedly, he quietly took off his shoes and coat, then he lifted the blanket and gingerly snuggled under it, next to Vox, before laying it on top of them, snug and comfortable.
He slung an arm under Vox’s neck and gently scooted closer to him. Their chests were pressed against each other and Alastor could faintly feel Vox’s warm breath on his shoulder, thankfully now relaxed, serene, almost tranquil. He snaked the other arm around Vox's back and held him close.
He would have gladly slept on the floor, or not at all if he had to, but he didn't want Vox to wake up alone in a strange bed and an unfamiliar room again. Therefore he hugged him tight, vigilant even during the late hours of the night when not a living soul was awake, partly out of the deep, unquenchable need to keep Vox safe, and partly because he didn't want to let go of the feeling of holding Vox in his arms again, so familiar and heavenly it greeted the memories permanently rooted in his brain from all the times he had done it before as though they had happened yesterday.
Yet, despite his determination to stay in this reality his exhausted mind was too gullible in the face of the darkness that promised a world of dreams and respite and before he knew it he had succumbed to that imposing, nurturing void that descended on him, knowing everything his heart could long for would be waiting for him in his arms when he wakes.
Notes:
Hi!
OK I know some of you might have been hoping for an A.I. or a clone type of plot twist but for me, having not-Vox be just a regular human was so much more chilling. It only shows that there could be monsters anywhere around us. It could be a neighbor, a friend, a coworker, the guy mowing the lawn, it's someone who's had a life, who's had parents, who's went to school. And that in and of itself is far more horrifying than having the monster be a type of robot who can't experience feelings, instead of a human being who is capable of it and still does all those despicable things anyway.
Also, I know there's a lot of angst and hurt (sorry) but the comfort is only going to increase from now on
I also just want to say I know Al seems quite emotionally inept at the beginning but I had to take into account they haven't seen each other in like 17 years, as well as the fact that they're literal demons. Plus they might seem a bit out of character and sappy but it's a sappy chapter and they'll be back to normal in later ones
Chapter 4: And I knew that spark of love was still burning
Notes:
I just want to say thank you to everyone who's left kudos and comments on this fic, they mean more than you know. Every single one of them is deeply appreciated and is helping me continue writing this
I kind of had to cut this chapter in half because it ended up being too long, I promise future ones will be a normal-length (maybe)
Also this is the longest fic I've written so far :)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Warmth.
That was the first thing he felt once his mind gradually started waking as the beginning whispers of consciousness prodded him back to reality.
He was holding something warm in his arms.
Something soft, tender, and so achingly familiar.
He must be dreaming.
His delirious mind must have transported him back in time, back to the years filled with laughter, friendship and joy. Back to the years where waking up with a treasure such as the one he was currently holding - whose presence Alastor would never mistake even when his senses were dull and drowsy, even when his eyes met nothing but the pitch black void of a restful repose, even when he had thought he had lost it forever - was a habitual morning routine.
An overwhelming sense of deja vu passed through him and his arms subconsciously tightened around the figure, carefully and lovingly, as his eyes slowly blinked open, heavy and sluggish.
Two shiny antennas greeted his blurry vision, slightly tipped downwards, and Alastor had to fight every cell in his body not to kiss them - a strenuous and difficult task since all of his natural instincts are perfectly acquainted with the motion that Alastor had done countless times before.
A slow, serene exhale escaped him. The sky had brightened, as much as the suffocating, smoggy clouds of poisonous gases and the blood-red infinity allowed. He didn't know how long they had been asleep, but judging by the angle and luminosity of the light beams cascading through the open window, Alastor surmised it was nearly noon.
He must have been thoroughly exhausted. Even the loud, raucous streets from the city had long begun their ear-splitting, infuriating song of endless honks and passionate cursing. Truly, there is nothing like getting into a wanton brawl with an equally unfulfilled stranger and wake up everyone within a ten mile radius to start the day.
Alastor smiled wider. The evident misery running rampant throughout Hell while he was holding everything he could ever want in his arms was causing his body to quake from glee.
He stayed like that for a while, the silence was peaceful, his languished eyes blinked in the face of the morning sun, his breathing steady, a stark contrast to how his chest had been nearly destroyed from fear, anger, grief and animus the day before. His thumbs gently caressed Vox’s form, comforting and mostly intended to serve for Alastor’s own self-indulgence as he refrained his ministrations to the minimum disturbance so Vox could continue sleeping in his arms.
Alastor spared a glance down at him and he could have surrendered himself back to the dreaming world from the tranquility that radiated from Vox’s face. His body was lax, utterly and completely certain that he was safe in Alastor’s arms, his eyelashes lay softly against his skin and his breaths were small and warm against Alastor’s chest. He could almost viscerally feel the memory rooting itself in his brain and he made an internal promise to visit it again later. And again and again and again.
Several minutes or a couple of hours could have passed, their time together was spent unimpeded and Alastor's breath hitched when Vox eventually started to stir in his arms.
He eased up his hold, enough for Vox not to feel restricted, but still firm enough to be reassuring. A breathy exhale against his arm was the only warning he received before a throaty sound escaped Vox as his eyes blinked dozily.
He slowly got readjusted and when he fully opened his eyes it felt as though the world itself stopped spinning. Stunning, rich, crimson eyes graced the room, capable of bringing the universe to its knees just from the sheer magnitude of allure they held.
No matter how many times they had greeted him before, they never failed to cause Alastor's heart to skip a beat and he blearily realized he had stopped breathing while Vox slowly got acquainted with his surroundings. Quickly, he started to tenderly caress Vox’s form with his thumbs, a comforting, relaxing gesture to let him know he was safe.
He started to scoot back even more to give the other space and he managed to catch a glimpse of the sleepy, tired look on Vox’s face before he was swiftly pulled back, their chests once more pressing against each other. Vox tightened his hold around Alastor, who only obliged in equal, bringing Vox closer to him as much as their bodies allowed.
Inwardly, he was relieved that Vox recognized where he was and with whom, but somewhere deep down a sharp pang of despair shot through him at the realization that Vox had probably been waking up either completely alone in that room, or he had been forcefully woken by greedy, ill-intentioned hands who's only promise was the pain they were going to deliver. Alastor had to repress his teeth from gritting at the knowledge that for seventeen years Vox hadn't been held like this, that not a single person had offered him comfort, or solace, or an inkling of consideration. Not once.
Fighting every cell in his body howling for retribution, he stifled down the anger boiling under his skin in favor of replacing it with assuring serenity for he knew Vox needed that far more than Alastor’s fury. With an internal vow to himself, he rescheduled that stubborn desire for vengeance for a later time.
Vox only nuzzled closer from the unreserved affection of Alastor’s ministrations. Looking at how the motion was affecting him, Alastor began to stroke his arms, gently, but firmly enough to relay a comforting sense of security.
He gulped, clearing his throat, and said "Good morning."
His voice was raspy from sleep, but he knew he wouldn't be judged for it. Not when Vox tilted his head just enough to reciprocate. "G'morning." His words were slightly muffled from the way his face was snug against Alastor's neck and slowly Vox started to brush his arms up and down Alastor's back, needy, indulgent and soft.
Alastor had to blink heavily several times, the familiar motion struck him like a tidal wave and his whole body suddenly got racked with guilty bafflement at how he could ever have mistaken Vox for someone else. The person that pretended to be him, whoever he was, had never been so soft or gentle, and Alastor had spent so many dreadful years wallowing in self-hatred and wondering why Vox had stopped feeling comfortable in his arms.
But, now he knew. It hadn't been Vox. For years Alastor had sacrificed his affection, his care, his love to somebody who had not only never felt it for him, but who had been torturing the true recipient of that unfaltering devotion for seventeen years. Who had lied, and pretended, and had covetously stolen all of the adoration Alastor had given him while actively hurting the person it was aimed at. Who had kidnapped and exploited the person whose love for Alastor had impossibly persevered through all of that torment. Who had tainted Vox's name and used Alastor's feelings against him, who had used Vox's face to twist Alastor’s vulnerabilities and hurt him beyond forgiveness.
Whose life had been spared because of those feelings.
Alastor tightened his hold on Vox, as though he could erase all those years of suffering, as though he was afraid of history repeating itself by snatching Vox away from his arms. Vox only reaffirmed his own grip on Alastor, holding him firmly and closely. No words were exchanged, no sentences that would greet their minds could have justified themselves for breaking that beautiful silence born out of love, devotion and tenderness.
Vox was back in his arms.
He was truly back in his arms and Alastor’s misguided, paranoid mind still found it difficult to believe the demon was actually there. At some point in his life he must have done something right to deserve this, to have the person he couldn't live without, the person that made his life worth living, back in his hold.
Absentmindedly, he couldn't stop himself from laying a gentle kiss on the other's forehead and his body slightly tensed from worry that he had overstepped, but that doubt was effectively squashed when the demon started to stroke Alastor's back more assuredly.
A shuddery breath left his lungs and he repeated the motion. The feel of Vox's screen, smooth and warm against his lips ignited every nerve in his body to dance with joy. After that, he allowed his lips to linger on the other's forehead, not kissing, not taking or pushing, simply resting there and Alastor had to close his eyes to fully bask in the sensation.
"I knew it would be you."
Vox's voice spoke suddenly, his tone husky. Alastor opened his eyes again. "I didn't think anyone would find me, but if they did I knew it would be you."
Alastor wanted the bed to swallow him whole and he instantly scolded himself for falling back into that line of thinking. No matter how painful it was to raise the subject he knew he couldn't avoid it, he had tried that and it ended miserably for everyone. There was no running from what had happened, the only option he had was to trudge forward and he was ready now to take Vox's hand and guide him along that beguiling path.
"I'm sorry I didn't find you sooner." His own voice was quiet, the radio effect barely present. "If I knew I would have taken you away from there in an instant. And I never forgot. I never forgot you."
He knew he had most likely already said those words, but from the fogginess accompanying the memories from the previous night he felt he needed to say the words again, even though he would never truly be at peace no matter how many times they would be uttered.
His hand unconsciously cupped the back of Vox's head again, as though it could protect him from any danger that dared direct itself towards him. Alastor held him closer, he didn't know how his words could ever properly relay his regret or care for the other, but he would reiterate them every day if he had to and his heart bled when Vox tightened his own hold on him. It bled and bled and bled from the inconceivable reality that Vox might believe him, that Vox still cared as much as Alastor did, even after so long.
"I know. I know, now." Vox spoke. Alastor felt the wound stitch itself back together from the sincerity in Vox's tone. He let a few seconds pass before eventually adding "It still seems unreal," His voice was quiet, hushed. "You feel like a dream."
Alastor felt his very soul shrivel up and he had to close his eyes and take a long, deep breath lest he risk the flood of uncontainable grief from being reborn again. He tenderly kissed Vox's forehead once more before parting with it and reluctantly lowering himself down to look at the other's face. He didn't falter even when Vox's grip slightly clenched on his shirt before the demon quickly loosened it, the warm impression in his back where Vox had held him laid waste to his will.
He gently cupped Vox's cheek, directing his eyes towards him and said "I'm real. It's all real." He hoped the words properly conveyed the unquestionable truthfulness they held, but he couldn't stop the stream of declarations. Not when Vox was right in front of him, his face inches away from Alastor's. "You are my dream. My dream that has come back to life and I would do everything in my power to protect it. To protect you."
He brushed his thumb against Vox's screen, the motion sending a fluttery feeling through his entire arm and he could have melted on the spot from the warmth and familiarity that exuded from it. He continued to smile, a reassuring, pleasant smile even as Vox's eyes raked across his face.
"Still?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper. "After all this time?"
Alastor didn't need elaboration to what the question meant, especially since he himself was elated and over the moon that Vox still had feelings for him, astonishingly immutable in their nature. "I could say the same thing about you."
Vox puffed out a laugh, slightly earnest. "Me?" Another huff escaped him. "Al, you're the only light in my life that has ever mattered. I wouldn't be alive if I didn't have the memory of you."
His voice started quivering at the last words and Alastor felt his heart starting to break all over again. He snaked his arm further along Vox’s back and pressed him even closer. Their faces were a hair's width away and it took all of Alastor’s self-control not to close the distance between them.
He didn't know what to say, no words that could greet his mind would properly articulate the severity and depth of his feelings for the other. So, instead he answered Vox’s previous question.
"Still." He spoke as he continued to gently caress Vox's face. "I never stopped. I never could."
He didn't even need to utter those three words that both ravaged his soul with pain and sorrow and kept it from crumbling to pieces. They both heard the unspoken sentence, they both felt it from the way Alastor was assiduously holding Vox in his arms, from the tender, heartwarming way his eyes traveled over his face as though he was bewitched, from the soft, loving way his thumbs brushed against Vox's form. The words weren't spoken, but they were screamed, they were wailing in the air like a long-forgotten, newly-resurrected spirit of devotion.
Vox's eyes started to glisten and he quickly closed them. Then, before Alastor could properly brace himself, Vox leaned in and effectively pressed their foreheads together.
His breath hitched, the unabated affection Vox was giving him threatened to ruin him on the spot.
He gulped, trying to tamp down his own frantic emotions that spiked every cell in his body to dance with euphoria. Vox's monitor faintly buzzed with static and Alastor felt his hair flutter from it. The only thing preventing him from summoning his shadow's and entirely enveloping Vox was the restriction of how Vox might be viewing the situation. Alastor could barely fathom his perspective, to be told that the person he loves still reciprocated his feelings, after seventeen years, after not even being aware of his existence. But, then again, the position he was in wasn't entirely unfamiliar for Alastor either, all too aware of his own indefatigable love for Vox.
So, he continued to hold him. He would gladly reaffirm his longstanding feelings for Vox every second of every day if he needed to, just for a fraction of this affection, just for whatever inkling of happiness it could bring Vox.
Vox circled his own arms around Alastor, trying to press him as close as was physically possible. They held each other like that for a while, bodies firmly snug, their foreheads leaning together and the warmth that exchanged from Vox's body into Alastor's nearly broke his fragile will from the unexplainable delight the sensation caused.
He didn't know how much time had passed, both of them completely lost in the insurmountable feeling of care and love, but eventually Vox's stomach began to rumble.
Alastor clutched him briefly before he said "As wonderful as this is, my dear, you must eat."
He could feel Vox silently grumble. His forehead pressed even further against Alastor, his face slightly nuzzling against Alastor’s nose. "This is better."
Alastor laughed, short and heart-wrenchingly pure. He gently squeezed Vox's arm twice, before slightly lifting himself up to kiss his forehead again.
"We have time for this." Reluctantly, he unwrapped his arms from around Vox and pulled away, but not before laying a tender kiss on Vox's temple. "We will have all the time in the world for this."
Even sitting up, Vox's arms still clung onto his form, but the demon hesitantly let go after a few seconds. The delay didn't pass unnoticed by Alastor and he quickly took one of Vox's hands and brought it to his lips.
"There's most likely breakfast in the kitchen downstairs. I won't be long." He finished his statement with a shy kiss against Vox's knuckles.
The other simply squeezed his hand back and nodded his head, voicing his understanding.
Alastor made sure to bring Vox a glass of water before he exited the room with another promise to return quickly.
Once the door was closed he took a deep, calming breath and summoned his shadow. It reappeared next to him and he beckoned it forward. "Come along now."
He tried to melt into it and disappear into the shadows but was unexpectedly staved off. He blinked and looked up at his shadow with a bewildered, slightly offended expression.
Its arms were crossed and it was looking at Alastor with a tense grimace, one eyebrow raised.
He rolled his eyes. "What is it this time?" His tone was tinted with annoyance caused by the completely unnecessary delay.
His shadow simply raised its chin and extended its hand, palm up. Raising both its eyebrows in expectation, it flexed its fingers and extended them a few times.
Alastor had to resist the urge to grab it by the ear and drag it through all the flights of stairs and back again. "Honestly? You don't need an apology."
His tone was flat, but his shadow simply shrugged its shoulders and flexed its fingers again.
I want it.
An exasperated sigh escaped Alastor and his hands clenched, but the wave of irritation was quickly extinguished by the knowledge that if it hadn't been for his shadow then the wonderful sight that greeted him this mourning would never have happened. If it hadn't been for it then he would never have held Vox, or kissed him, he never would have mustered the courage to give Vox the comfort he so desperately needed and he never would have heard that Vox still cared for him directly out of his own lips. In return he had disregarded it, he had hit it and he had demeaned it.
A pang of self-disgust struck him and he released another long, ragged breath. He stepped forward and opened his mouth to speak.
"Fine. I'm so-" He cut off his words with a scowl and looked away. Gritting his teeth, he tried again, tamping down the bubble of self-respect threatening to burst. "I'm so- I am sorr-"
He trailed off, embarrassment flushing his entire face red. His shadow simply flopped its hands to its sides with an audible slap. It raised its hands in incredulity.
"Be patient, I'll manage it." He scolded it, and squared his shoulders, but just as the words formed on his tongue they slipped back down to his throat, creating an impervious lump that prevented any apologies from passing through.
His shadow tilted its head, flummoxed and affronted, before raising its hand to point in the direction of the door.
You said it to him.
Alastor squinted his eyes and stared directly at the ceiling, feigning ignorance. "Did I?" His tone was mockingly sing-song and he put a finger to his chin to potentiate his sardonic words. "I can't recall."
He remembered perfectly, he just couldn't resist the temptation of provoking the flabbergasted, utterly pissed off expression that his shadow directed at him. It balled up its fists and Alastor was pretty convinced that if its ears were capable of creating stream they would be heating up the whole room at that moment.
His smile stretched at the rather adorable display of redundant irritation, but he conceded. He flicked his hand to lessen its ire. "Oh, pipe down. Alright. I'm..." He swallowed, but he endured, despite feeling acid raining on his tongue. "...Sorry."
The last word was enunciated slowly and uncomfortably. His shadow simply raised an eyebrow again, thoroughly unimpressed and unconvinced.
Eventually, it sighed soundlessly and released the blockage to let Alastor merge with it.
He simply chuckled. "So petty. Are you happy now?"
His tone was patronizing and he refrained from throwing his shadow through the window when it lightly smacked his ear in retaliation.
With another sigh he shook his head and melted into the shadows. He would let this type of insolence pass, just this time. The day had put him in a delightfully forgivable mood.
Hoping not to keep Vox waiting too long, he quickly traipsed through the corridors and staircases. A few meters short of the kitchen, he hid behind the corner next to the door that led to it. He knew sneaking around and lurking in the hopes of slithering by unnoticed was dramatic and excessive, but he didn't have the sufficient patience to dawdle with unnecessary chatter. He would much rather spend his time with the person waiting for him upstairs.
Inching closer, he discerned the voices coming from the kitchen. A flurry of sounds greeted his ears and he deduced that approximately three residents of the hotel were inhabiting the room.
"I'm just saying, that maybe we could try something else for breakfast." Charlie said, tone cautionary and skittish and she quickly amended "Not that we don't like pancakes dad, they're absolutely great, but we could try a different dish sometime?"
The pan was searing, a sudden whooshing sound echoed and judging by the distance Alastor surmised Lucifer and Charlie were cooking breakfast for everyone again.
"Sure, if you want, but it does seem like everyone enjoys them." Lucifer's voice grated on Alastor’s ears and he had to resist rolling his eyes at the man's obliviousness. Of course, no one would tell him no, but it seemed being the King had rendered him inexperienced with such a concept. "Charlie, you don't need to worry about me, I'm more than happy to help."
A nervous, knackered groan followed and Alastor peeped his head over the doorframe only to see Charlie sending Vaggie, who was sitting on the kitchen table with a squeamish look on her face, a despondent, pleading expression.
Both of them quickly resumed their previous obligations after a pause where they realized there would be no persuading Lucifer on the matter. Vaggie's task was to pretend to be zoned out as she silently brooded, her gaze lost somewhere beyond the unimpressive view the window granted.
Still in his wraith-like form, Alastor used the thin opportunity to snatch one of the bottles of maple syrup, a handful of berries and a banana from the table and with masterful skills he snuck across the tiles towards the stove and swiftly plucked the plate of pancakes that Charlie had made. Silently, and stealthily, he reached towards Lucifer's plate and placed it on Charlie's side, not wanting all of her hard work to disappear in the wind.
When his scheming had gone unnoticed he darted out of the kitchen, not risking the chance of being spotted, and flew towards the staircase. He barely managed to hear a baffled Huh from the King as he made his way upstairs towards his bedroom and he inwardly smiled.
A short trek upwards and he soon found himself in front of his door. He turned the handle and entered, plate in hand and a jovial smile on his face.
"It's only me." He closed the door and took a few steps forward. "I hope I didn't make you wait too long, I was-"
He stopped in his tracks, the words lost on his throat at the sight of the bed completely empty, Vox nowhere in sight.
Panic gripped him. The cable that had been charging Vox up was discarded on the mattress and he faintly felt the plate shake in his hand. His breathing quickened its pace and he raked his eyes across the whole room, fiercely trying to subside the sudden, inexorable fear that spread through every cell in his body.
"Vox?" His voice was strained, worried, and his anxiety only grew at his failure to find Vox.
Just when he thought his heart would burst through his ribcage, his gaze landed on a sliver of blue light hidden behind the other side of the bed. It was barely visible, but Alastor wouldn't mistake it even in his wildest, most torturous dreams.
He sharply inhaled, his body moving on instinct. Swirling around the bed, he found Vox sitting on the floor, his back pressed to the edge of the bed. He dumped the plate of food in his shadow's hands and hurriedly went to kneel down next to Vox.
He gently laid a hand on his shoulder. "Are you alright, my dear?" He attempted to mitigate the trepidation in his voice and instead replace it with non-threatening reassurance.
Vox's face was pensive, his gaze directed at the floor.
"I... tried to get up." His tone was hushed as he put his own hand on top of Alastor’s. "I wanted to stand up, but I can't. I can't. My legs, they..."
He trailed off and Alastor felt a stone drop in his stomach. He softly squeezed Vox’s shoulder and finished for him.
"They're atrophied."
He spoke matter-of-factly, and once the words escaped his mouth he felt a shiver run down his spine at the horrifying realization. If Vox had been connected to the power generator the entire time then he hadn't been allowed to walk. For seventeen years he hadn't been given the liberty to even stand up and it was no wonder his legs couldn't function from the disuse.
Vox nodded, finally looking up at Alastor with a desolate, yet resigned expression.
"Okay." His voice was quiet, intended to soothe Vox's nerves and convey his understanding as he slung an arm around his waist to help him up.
Vox circled his own arms around Alastor’s shoulders for support. All of Vox's weight fell on him and he had to stifle a grunt as he helped the other stand. He started to lead them back towards the bed but halted once Vox tightened his grip.
"No, wait." He was breathing more heavily, the physical strain taking its toll. He gulped before he said "I need to see- Please, I just want..."
Vox's voice was raspy and he cut himself off, his breaths labored and deep. Alastor followed his gaze to try and deduce the meaning of his words and he felt his heart slightly break when his eyes landed on the window.
Unconsciously, he squeezed Vox’s waist, mindful to avoid his injuries, comprehension evident with every twitch of Alastor’s body.
Wordlessly, he took a step forward, his grip on the other relentless and firm, leading him away from the bed that he clearly didn't want to be anywhere near at the moment. Vox's hold was unyielding, his body stiff as he tried to will his legs to move.
Alastor helped him every step of the way. He watched with rapt attention in case Vox happened to slip from his grasp and noticed how the demon had little trouble with shifting his legs back and forth, but once he needed to surrender himself onto them they quickly collapsed beneath him, unused to the weight.
They were nearly at the window and by that time Vox was heaving as though he had run a mile and back. His legs were shaking like a leaf and he was clutching onto Alastor's shoulders with all his might.
He knew Vox was exerting himself, and the consequences that would follow would cause him even more pain, so Alastor summoned a few tentacles from the floor and directed them towards the demon. He watched as the smooth, dark mass of shadow coiled itself around Vox's legs, gentle, but strong and he heard the other release an audible exhale as he relinquished his full weight onto the tendrils.
His warm breath tickled Alastor's skin and he had to stifle a shudder from the electrifying sensation brought on by their close proximity.
Vox eased his hold on Alastor, now having been granted additional support. The shadows were tenacious, and they helped keep him standing the rest of the way towards the window.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, they reached it and Vox rested a hand on the windowsill.
Alastor watched as the other simply stared out the window, his expression unreadable. A deep silence stretched through the room, non-restrictive yet not exactly comfortable. A small, wounded piece of Alastor’s soul silently started to weep from the sight before him.
He had to blink several times to restrain the glistening his eyes had welcomed. Here he was, the most important person in Alastor’s life, his body pressed so closely, his own grip on him so protective and caring, and yet his breath caught in his throat.
Vox hadn't seen the outdoors for nearly two decades. He was pointedly looking out the window, his eyes grazing across every inch of the city, as though he could have devoured it.
Alastor however could only look at Vox. Still achingly disbelieving at the impossible fact that the demon was here, in his arms, and he found himself unable to turn away.
At that moment he was immensely jealous of Vox’s ability to record his experiences, for if Alastor had that privilege he would never be able to part with the image in front of him. He would have gladly spent the rest of his existence reliving the memory, Vox holding him, his screen shining a fair, unearthly shade of blue so inharmonious to the crimson, fiery shade of Hell, Alastor’s own body shivering from the feeling of being pressed so firmly against Vox, goosebumps trailing along his skin from the sensation of Vox’s chest rising and falling against his own.
He was here. He was actually here and Alastor’s heart leapt with joy, a blaringly elated emotion he hadn't felt in so long. An emotion he only felt when Vox was near him and Alastor could have crumbled on the spot from the sense of nostalgia it evoked, a feeling whose existence he had nearly forgotten, lost to the fraudulent whims of time.
He would never grow tired of it. He knew his soul would uphold its promise to treasure every moment with Vox from now on, the scars left by his absence indelible and unforgettable.
He didn't know how much time passed, mesmerized, completely lost in his reverence and adoration of the other. He nearly didn't hear when Vox spoke again.
"It's brighter than I remember it."
Alastor jolted out of his stupor and redirected his gaze to look at the city.
An amused hum left his throat at the sight, his eyes squinting. "The city is powered by V Tower. Though," His tone was contemplative, almost conspiratorial. "It's far less bright than it was yesterday."
Vox turned to him, and Alastor felt his breath hitch when their eyes made contact. Vox's face was questioning before all of his features morphed with morose understanding.
Sparing him from acknowledging the exact extent of how much had been stolen from him, Alastor continued "Do you see those dimmed patches of land?" He raised his finger to point towards the lightless neighborhoods adorning the periphery of the city, where plenty demons inhabited it, the majority being of poor financial standing. "The unfortunate souls who live in those buildings had light yesterday. And I don't doubt those deplorable wretches that control the electricity are coveting it for themselves."
He didn't need to voice their names, both of them knew exactly who controlled the power grid. It seemed that Vox’s absence from their prison cell had caused tremendous damage to their resources.
He smiled, the gratifying feeling only intensified by the indubitable assurance that Vox would never be returning to that Tower.
Vox’s eyebrows were creased, his expression grim. "So that's it then?" He tilted his head, indicating towards the big, purple and blue establishment that trumped all the other buildings in comparison with its height and nauseating grandeur. "It was mine, once. Now it's..."
His voice trailed off as he slowly shook his head, lost for words.
"Hideous?" Alastor supplied. Vox puffed a laugh, a stupefied, floored look on his face. Alastor didn't doubt that Vox shared the same opinions as him of the Tower now that he had gotten a look of what they had done to his company. "Ugly? Pretentious? Garish? Utterly tasteless?"
"Yeah, that's one way to describe it." Vox said, his lips slightly upturned in disapproval. Alastor empathized, if he had a company and somebody had redesigned it to look like this he would scatter their remains throughout the entire city.
The impersonator never shared Alastor's deplore for such tacky ostentation, on the contrary his disparaging behavior in regards to Alastor’s 'old timey' tastes was one of the things that further distanced them from each other. But, his Vox does share the same mindset, and something in Alastor’s chest settled and relief flushed through him at the prospect that Vox hadn't changed, that he hadn't permanently downgraded like he had thought.
He looked at Vox again, his body itching to lean even closer towards the demon.
"We'll get it back." He promised, his voice as strong as steel.
Vox turned to him, his expression peculiar, solemn perhaps, and responded "It doesn't matter. It's not exactly mine anymore, look at it." He turned his head back towards the Tower. "There's nothing there that's mine."
Unfortunately, Alastor had to agree with him. He huffed "Thank goodness. You have much better taste than that, my dear, if I do say so."
Vox's lips curved in a small smile and he redirected his gaze back to Alastor. "It's not important." He said, quieter this time, almost timid. "I already have everything I need."
His eyes bore into Alastor with such fondness and sincerity that he physically felt his pulse beating in his ears.
"You deserve more." His own voice lessened in volume, the static effect lacing it barely present. He caressed Vox’s form with his thumbs where he was holding him as he reiterated "You deserve so much more."
Vox's eyes crinkled, making them sparkle almost effervescently and Alastor had to stifle a gasp from how beautiful he looked. "I shall rephrase that, then." He tightened his own arms around Alastor. "I already have everything I could ever want."
This time Alastor laughed, a small, delightful sound even to his own ears for his entire body was racked with nostalgic adoration from the thousands of times when Vox had made him laugh. He wanted to preserve this moment, to bottle it up in a globe and shake it forevermore as the memories fell on his skin like snowflakes.
"I've missed how soft you can get." His voice was shy, bashful even, so unlike the persona he had been donning for the last - it seemed - seventeen years. Then, he felt his expression turn glum, poignant. "I've missed you."
If he was at all stunned by his admission - so straightforward and blessedly unlike the shallow pretense he had masked behind when he first entered the room yesterday, glad that they had moved past it - that he surrendered without thought, his emotions refused to allow him to feel regret for it because the openhearted candidness that shined through with those words could have toppled mountains.
Vox's expression was the absolute definition of wistfulness. His brows were knitted and his eyes danced across Alastor's face as though he could have gotten drunk from the image of him alone. There was no sound to be heard in the room, and after a few moments of peaceful, undemanding silence Vox closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against Alastor's.
"I missed you too." His voice was barely above a whisper and Alastor had to shut his own eyes from the overwhelming tornado of delight that pillaged his body. "I missed you so much, Alastor."
Alastor pushed his forehead, leaning into the touch, desperate for more. He tightened his hold on Vox, his body starved for the demon's presence, love and happiness overflowing him like a river washing through a desert.
The time they passed like this was interminable, safe in each other’s hold, their bodies enveloped in one another.
Eventually, Vox started to shift in his arms, testing new positions to make himself more comfortable. Alastor felt a pang of guilt and unease slap his soul and he reluctantly drew back, knowing Vox was probably starting to feel pain from the inconvenient position.
His forehead was warm and he instantly felt the need to retreat back towards Vox. Instead, he softly kissed his screen, on his cheek, and said "Let's sit down, shall we?"
He started to navigate them towards the sofa, but Vox slightly pushed back. Alastor stopped to look at him and his lips pursed in understanding when the demon tilted his head towards the bayou.
Alastor commanded his shadows to steer them towards it, providing gentle and considerate support for Vox the entire way there. Oh, how he had missed communicating with someone so easily, to relay messages and intentions without even uttering a word for both of them knew each other's mannerisms and ways of thinking far too well.
Alastor led them towards the table, but upon noticing the large number of bloodstains on its surface he elected to walk them towards the nearest willow tree.
He helped Vox sit down, before he joined him on the ground, their backs propped against the bark. The branches hung low, mimicking a makeshift dome around them and providing a pleasantly quaint atmosphere.
He watched as Vox wove his fingers through the grass. He played with the leaves, poking their sharp ends and fiddling with them, as though he had never touched grass before.
Alastor felt his heart slow down, unexpected tears threatened to well in his eyes. He wanted to reach out to him, to wrap his arms around his shoulders as pitiful recompense for the horrors that had been inflicted on him. He wanted to cover him in a blanket and hold him for the rest of time, to softly kiss him as though it could fix the past because he found it increasingly more difficult to look at Vox and not acknowledge what had happened. He was as wonderful as Alastor remembered, but he was hurt, he had been hurt so badly and Alastor would never be able to erase his screams of pain out of his mind from when Vox showed him his memories. He hated the powerlessness that coursed through him from his inability to change it.
'This is not about you' a small voice whispered in his head, an echo from last night's thoughts that reminded him of what he should do, what he could, what Vox needed.
So, he signaled his shadow over and took the plate and ingredients from its hands. Guilt might have made itself a permanent resident at the back of his mind that would accompany him forever, but it was inconsequential in the face of his devotion to the person sitting next to him.
He didn't rush Vox however, instead Alastor fiddled with the berries, rearranging them in an aesthetically impressive order. After a little while, Vox laid his back against the tree and closed his eyes, no doubt inhaling the rich smell of pine and after-rain humidity the forest granted.
Alastor lightly nudged his arm with the plate. Vox turned his head towards him and his eyes glinted when he saw the pancakes.
"Here," He said at the same time his shadow returned with another glass of water. "I hope you still have a penchant for sweet things."
"Oh, believe me, that hasn't changed." He said with a soft gasp in his tone as he gingerly took the plate from Alastor. "Thanks."
It was clear that Vox attempted to maintain an air of composed patience, but after the first tentative, nimble bite his hunger seized control. Alastor refrained from engaging him in conversation, aware of how starved and malnourished Vox was. When half the plate was empty however, Vox spent a good minute stacking berries on a pancake and folding it with care before he extended it towards Alastor.
No maple syrup, he noted and his heart warmed that Vox omitted that ingredient, knowing Alastor didn't enjoy sweets. With a sheepish, flattered smile he accepted the pancake, his own stomach grumbling with hunger. Vox knew Alastor hadn't eaten since yesterday, and he felt his expression morph with pure adoration when the demon settled the plate between them.
Alastor had no intention of taking any more of the food, so he silently enjoyed the taste of berries in his mouth, the pancake serving as a sponge to deliciously soak in their flavor. Vox was still indulging in the food, so Alastor found another way to occupy himself, not wanting to cause him any pressure or sense of awkwardness.
He reached a hand towards one of the swinging branches of the tree and plucked a loose strand. He twirled the branch in his fingers, bending it in the proper position before tying a knot with the ends.
He refashioned it a few times, folding the leaves and embellishing it with his soft touches until Vox was finally done eating. When the demon looked up at him, eyes wide and blissful, Alastor gripped the crown he made and gently put it on top of Vox’s head.
It fit around his antennas perfectly and Alastor smiled wider at him. "The return of the king." He said, his voice teasing and lovestruck.
Vox’s eyebrows pinched in confusion for the briefest moment before his face slacked, having caught the joke and he laughed.
It was the most beautiful sound Alastor had ever heard.
Vox had always been infatuated with Tolkien's work. Alastor still remembered how crazed and exited he had been once he had found out the books had been adapted into movies back on Earth. The television enthusiast that he was, he had dedicated an entire month striking deals, bribing people, threatening them and on several memorable occasions nearly strangling them with his bare hands just to get the whole set smuggled down to Hell.
"It's barely been a day and you already made a Lord of the Rings reference," Vox beamed, a few last laughs escaping his throat. "I don't suppose you watched the movies, yet?"
Alastor waved the question off. "You know me better than that, I have no reason to watch them if you aren't pestering me." He leaned closer towards Vox, his eyes locked onto the demon's face, helpless to turn away. "Besides, what would be the point without you?"
He watched with glee as a furious blush darkened Vox's screen. The demon lowered his gaze, suddenly bashful and muttered. "I remember you've read the books at least a dozen times. You're not saying you tried watching the movies just for my benefit?"
Vox's tone was equally as flirty as Alastor’s and he felt fire tingle his skin. It was delightful.
He remembered each and every instance where Vox had nagged him to watch the movies. Every single time Alastor had reluctantly agreed, but once they had sat down on the couch together, his head nuzzled against Vox's neck and their arms embracing each other, any deliberation had abandoned his mind. That was precisely the reason Vox needed to ask him over and over, because every time Alastor would fall asleep on his shoulder, barely halfway through the movie. Not that he had actually paid any attention, all of his focus had been stolen by the person in his arms.
"You know I did." His eyes bent into half-moons of fondness as he addressed Vox. He shifted his hand, reaching towards Vox's own, and he shyly placed his pinkie finger over his. His voice dropped into a sly tone and his smile twisted in amusement. "And it's a lot more than a dozen, now."
Vox audibly gasped, his smile broadening. "Oh, god, you're perfect."
This time Alastor laughed, a genuine, unreserved expression and he fully placed his hand on top of Vox’s. He brushed his thumb against the back of Vox’s hand, tracing gentle patterns on its surface. He didn't have any intention of divulging that the only reason he had revisited those books was to reawaken Vox's interest in them, or rather the person who pretended to be him, just to get a fraction of the care and closeness they shared while watching the movies. He knew now how futile his efforts had been.
Vox spared him from the strenuous task of balancing those thoughts when he inquired "Alastor, can I ask something?" The question was rhetorical, and Alastor said nothing as Vox's expression twisted with confliction. When he spoke again his voice was careful, measured. "What exactly... happened between you two?"
He didn't need to elaborate, they both knew who Vox was alluding to. Alastor took in a long, deep breath, steeling himself for the conversation he didn't know how to navigate. Vox was most probably plagued by the lack of knowledge as to what the impostor had done while using his image, his face. It was completely expected and reasonable for Vox to be concerned.
"As I said, I thought he was you." His voice was quiet, a pitiful attempt to ease Vox's worries.
"I know, but," Vox tried again, mulling over the correct way to phrase his words. "Does... he resemble me that much?"
Alastor would be an oblivious fool not to detect the slightest trace of hurt in the demon's voice. The sharp pain in his chest was only exacerbated by the prospect of Vox actually believing the uttered statement.
No more eluding the topic. With another steadying breath, Alastor began. "Quite the opposite." Vox's face lifted, some of the trepidation evaporating from his features. Alastor continued stroking his hand while he confessed. "Do you want to know the awful truth?"
Vox's expression was unreadable, most likely waiting for Alastor to elaborate. Though, there was the barest hint of hope in his eyes and that realization slightly calmed Alastor.
"He didn’t resemble you in the slightest." He bit his cheek, hoping the small sting of pain would ground him. "That's what I can't erase from my head. He wasn't at all like you. He didn't ask -well, demand-" A small giggle escaped him. "To watch the movies. He didn’t hand me pancakes when he was far hungrier than me. He didn't flatter me every chance he had." Gradually, his voice melted with each instance he listed where Vox had shown his love. "And... he never held me as softly as you do. He never looked at me the way you're looking at me now."
He squeezed Vox's hand, whose expression had both fallen and somehow brightened with every word Alastor said. Vox leaned his head on the bark and clasped Alastor’s hand back.
"That's the worst part. I knew you - he - had changed and I didn't question it. I didn't even question how it was possible that he had replaced his head, I simply took his word for it. For the longest time I believed the change derived from the new upgrade," He lifted a finger and circled it towards his head. "I thought maybe some new program was the causation of it, that something had gone wrong with the installation which resulted in your personality being irregular. So I waited. I hoped that you would eventually revert back because... well, what else could I do?"
His voice deteriorated to a whisper with the last words and he gulped. "He was... distant. Over time, he grew more impatient, more intolerant. He became crude, manipulative is the correct word I suppose, looking back now. I don't know how I could have ever believed he was you." He turned his gaze downwards, unable to look at the aggrieved expression on Vox's face. "Eventually, I realized you wouldn't love me again, the way you did before, and I didn't know why. In the end, we parted for good. That was ten years ago, I believe."
Ten years since that conclusive, violent night that had haunted Alastor for the past decade, but he opted not to mention that part, not yet.
A disquieting silence stretched between them, and after a few uneasy moments Alastor finally lifted his head. His breath hitched from the saddened expression on Vox's face. Even now, the demon was sympathetic to his hardships, despite having endured far, far worse.
Vox shifted and only now Alastor noticed how tightly they were holding hands.
"What happened ten years ago?" Vox’s voice was considerate, gentle.
Oh, how clever he was. Alastor had to stifle a huff as he recounted the events, the betrayal. The night that prompted him to seek solace elsewhere, the night that led him to Her arms in the hope of leaving this place, a pathetic attempt to forget what had happened, to forget what he had lost. To forget how Vox had stopped loving him.
But, he couldn't tell that to Vox, not now when he was experiencing pain so unfathomable Alastor wouldn't be able to understand it even if he relived that dreadful night a thousand times over.
"Can I-" He released a sound that was on the border of a sigh and a grunt. "Can I tell you that story another time?" When Vox's face shifted with concern, Alastor reached a hand to cup his cheek and supplied "I'm alright now, but I would prefer to tell you some other time."
The distress didn't dissipate from Vox's plaintive expression, but he nodded nonetheless, successfully gauging the uncomfortable disinclination in Alastor’s voice and body language. "I understand."
Alastor could have devoured him on the spot. The unconstrained respect and consideration Vox harbored for him could have brightened the night sky from how intensely they shined through.
Alastor smoothed his hand across Vox's cheek, unable to muster the words to express his gratitude. Vox clasped his other hand over Alastor's and closed his eyes, melting into the touch.
Yet, an uncomfortable feeling still lingered in Alastor's stomach and his eyebrows creased in disquietude.
"You don't remind me of him." He said flatly, slightly stilted. "I admit, I myself am surprised, but when I look at you I don't see him. When I touch you I don't feel like I'm touching him." He slowly closed the distance between them, and softly touched Vox's forehead with his own again. "Not one single bit."
It was the truth. He had expected to be hesitant to touch Vox, to even be near him in the fear that old, forgotten memories would resurface. But, there was not one shred of the person Alastor had spent all of those miserable years with. This was his Vox, exactly as he remembered him, exactly the one he fell in love with.
Vox blinked at him, the close proximity narrowing his features so that he looked like one giant, curious, blue-red eye. He looked lovely and Alastor nuzzled his nose against his screen.
With a consoled exhale Vox said "I wanted to ask that, but I wasn't sure how. It's..." He caressed the length of Alastor's arm, delicate and appreciative, as he spoke, voice hushed, soft. "Fuck, that's a relief."
With a breathy exhale Vox slid his hand up towards Alastor's neck, gently pressing their foreheads even closer. Alastor could feel his own pulse beating against the demon's hand and he grew jittery when it started thrumming even faster, his body lighting up from the unabated affection Vox was giving him.
He hadn't experienced this feeling in a long time. There had never been anyone else who had been capable of igniting that warm, fluttery flame in his chest and its resurrection after so many wasted years caused a tiny bleat to escape him.
Vox softly chuckled, awed. "I've missed that too." he said as he grazed his fingers over the buzzed hair above Alastor's nape, his touch feather-light.
Alastor couldn't even find it in himself to be embarrassed. He was safe here, with Vox, another sensation that his heart had been denuded of for nearly two decades.
Vox's touch was sending shivers down his spine and against his better wishes his ears started to flick, softly thumping against the other's screen, powerless against the love that he was being drowned in.
Vox laughed again, the sound bordering on a delighted giggle and Alastor could have permanently lost himself in the amount of joy that coursed through him. He nearly didn't notice the hand with which he was caressing Vox's face had gotten slightly wet.
His eyes blinked open, bleary and half-lidded, and his heart almost skipped a beat when he saw tears gliding down Vox's monitor.
Knowing they didn't derive from pain, but presumably of the overwhelming emotions that currently overflowed Alastor’s own body as well as Vox's, he gently wiped them away. A shuddery gasp escaped Vox and the demon wrapped his arms across Alastor’s form, tugging him closer.
Unlike the previous night, Vox didn't sob in his arms. Instead, he silently cried against Alastor's shoulder, who was on the verge of crumbling himself. They held each other for a while, content with the feeling of being in one another's embrace, utterly and completely safe, protected. The room was quiet, the forest creaked and ruffled around them and the grass cushioned them in a soothing, spindly manner.
Alastor could feel the uneven way Vox's chest shuddered against his, his breathing raspy and sporadic. He tightened his hold on the other, losing the battle against his own tears.
"I'm sorry." He heard himself whisper, a repetition of his words from last night. But he couldn't fend them off, he couldn't just wave at the possibility that Vox would think he hadn't cared, no matter how insubstantial and minute it could be. His voice was shaky as he continued. "I should have noticed. I should have searched for you. I should have done something. I'm sorry, Vox. I'm so... so sorry."
His body began to tremble and he cut off his rambling when Vox lifted his head to face him.
His eyes were puffy and darker around the edges, riddled with exhaustion, but his gaze was piercing, steadfast.
"No." His voice was forged from the same unbending steel, valiantly fighting the shaking that threatened to break it, as he addressed Alastor. "No, you can't do that. You can't blame yourself, it's not your fault."
Alastor looked away, unable to endure the unwavering commitment in Vox’s eyes. He was brought back by two gentle hands landing on his cheeks, directing his gaze back towards Vox.
"You were deceived by him. The same way I was." Despite the firmness in Vox's tone, he still sounded so achingly soft and comforting. "Would you say I could have stopped him, but I chose not to?"
"No." Alastor stressed, without any delay or ounce of deliberation.
Vox's expression warmed even further. "When you found me you got me out of there and you didn't hesitate for a second. Correct?" For some reason Alastor felt like a child being chastised, but he nodded. "And you've taken care of me ever since. Yes?"
Again, Alastor nodded, his eyes locked onto the other's screen. This was not how the situation should be panning out, Alastor was not the one in need of comfort and reassurance. His daunting, unhelpful thoughts got halted when Vox softly squeezed his hold, noticing the ostensible lack of conviction on Alastor’s face.
"You saved me." he said, expression twisting with sorrow and adoration. "You. Saved. Me. The only reason I'm not still in that room is because of you."
Alastor felt his throat close up. For all the self-deprecation and unending grief that ravaged his soul, Vox’s last words somehow managed to allay their destruction. His voice rang in Alastor's head, gradually dousing that scorching fire of despair as mightily as the hand that carved the very mountains and fissures onto the Earth's terrain.
He felt something deep inside him pacify, clearing up his vision and gracing him with the ability to properly see colors again.
Vox brought their foreheads back together, his voice quiet as he concluded "It is not your fault."
Alastor flung his arms around Vox. He didn't spare a single thought as he buried his face in the other's shoulder, his hands desperately clutching onto Vox's clothes.
Vox returned the embrace with equal vehemence, holding onto Alastor as though his life depended on it. Shuddery gasps and hiccups escaped both of them and after a while Alastor felt a second pair of arms envelope them.
He poked one eye open only to see an inky blotch of shadow glued to Vox's back. A tiny wheeze left him at the sight of his shadow devotedly wrapping its own arms around both of them, its face nuzzled in the crook of Vox's neck, expression somber, yet serene.
Vox made a noise of gratitude and appreciation as he lifted a hand to grasp onto the shadow's arm, reciprocating the affection. Alastor could feel where Vox was soothing his shadow's arm, he could feel the pressure of Vox's back on his own chest from where his shadow was assiduously pressed against it and he could have screamed from the intense delight the added sensations brought him.
"It's rather incorrigible." Alastor whispered - referring to his shadow - slightly wobbly as the tears still ran down his face.
Vox only tightened the hug around both of them. "Some things never change." His own voice was unsteady, begotten from the heart-aching, raw love that permeated the air and seeped into every branch and leaf of grass around them.
The time flew by unremarked, as though the universe itself had blessed them with a preservative, shielding bubble devoid of any outside pressure or sense of responsibility. Alastor's mind had grown numb, forsaken by any thoughts that could potentially further enervate it, as he allowed himself to drown in the feeling of being in Vox's gentle, loving arms.
There was no one else Alastor was comfortable enough with to allow himself to be so emotionally vulnerable around and the freedom of being embraced - of being loved - by Vox was the most natural, ethereal feeling that could ever grace his wounded, yearning soul.
Eventually, after Vox's tears had subsided, Alastor heard him suddenly mumble "You need a crown too."
He huffed, slightly watery. "I'm afraid my ears are a formidable obstacle." His voice was hushed against Vox's shoulder, no radio interference tainting it.
Vox slowly rose from his position, meeting Alastor's gaze.
He looked drained, cheeks wet and eyes sunken, as he studied Alastor's face for a few short moments before he resolutely said "I'll make it Elvish."
Alastor opened his mouth to chirp back a witty retort, but Vox was already reaching for a handful of the branches dangling next to them. He settled them in his lap, and wordlessly set to work.
Alastor watched him silently, slightly entranced by the other's dexterous, patient movements. A comfortable, uninterrupted peacefulness accompanied them while Vox fiddled and looped the strands through one another, careful not to rip any leaves or break the branches.
After some time, the demon lifted the crown and - with several meticulous adaptations where he coiled it over and around Alastor's ears - positioned it on his head.
Alastor forcefully willed his ears to perk up - only now noticing how far back they had been pushed from the racking anguish pulsating in his veins - to allow Vox better access. If he narrowed his eyes, he could faintly see his reflection in Vox's screen. The demon had wound the delicate branches in creative knots around his ears, a single strand connecting the two halves as it was tied around his antlers, keeping the crown steady. The branches curved along the sides and back of his head in elegant arches and the leaves poked out in a gentle, yet chaotically imposing fashion. The ends of the strands hung in rivulets as they followed the fall of his hair, perfectly in sync.
He could say in utter certainty, that this crown was far more beautiful, and much better crafted, than the one he gave Vox.
The demon sat back, admiring his handiwork and Alastor coquettishly tilted his head, waiting for the other's feedback.
With a fond, amused smile, Vox slowly nodded as he said "You look amazing."
"Why, thank you." Alastor gushed, overly-performative, undeniably enjoying himself even though he was pointedly aware of the weariness and tear-stained look on his own face. "I had an excellent designer."
Vox chuckled, the tears no longer flowing down his screen. "I wonder who this talented creator could be?"
His voice was light, playful and Alastor matched him in equal, relieved that the overbearing sadness had been temporarily thwarted. "Oh, he's this lovely, darling old man who's positively riveting and an absolute delight to be around."
The demon lightly smacked Alastor’s knee, mouth agape. "I'm not that old." His expression was jokingly affronted and his tone light-hearted.
Alastor smiled back, magnetized by the serene cheerfulness of the scene. He was aware they looked absolutely ridiculous with their crowns and the shameless grins on their faces that combated the grief and pain they both felt, not to mention their back and forth was overly immature, but he didn't care. Who else would he be relaxed enough with to indulge in such theatrics if not Vox? And in that moment Alastor felt something that hadn't greeted his heart for nearly two decades.
He felt at home.
Yes, he might be in a strange, unpredictable hotel filled with people he didn’t know or trust, unable to leave it due to his deal, a precarious, unforeseeable future looming over their heads, but right here and now, in Vox's arms, he finally felt at home.
Slowly, he closed the distance between them and pressed their foreheads together again. He smirked "Old enough to go to sleep early with me?"
Vox's lips upturned and his eyes brightened. "Perhaps." His voice was mellow and before Alastor could say anything, Vox placed his hands on his shoulders and lowered them both down until they were firmly laying on the ground.
They were face to face, both slouching on their sides. Knowing that Vox probably wasn't very keen to reconvene with the bed, having been chained to one against his will for so long, Alastor snapped his fingers, soundly locking the door to the room and at the same time summoning the shadows that served as a canvas above the bed to slither down the walls and towards him and Vox.
They snaked across the grass, dark tendrils, pitch black, their movements menacing and sharp, and to anyone else they would have been bone-chillingly terrifying. Vox watched then gather around them with a fond, relaxed smile.
The shadows spread beneath them, obscuring the grass like an eclipse, ensuring that no pesky bugs or sharp thorns littered the ground. Two of the tentacles carried the pillows and blanket from the bed which Alastor took and positioned under their heads before he flipped the blanket and draped it over their bodies.
Instantly, Vox shot towards him and wrapped his arms around Alastor, as though he had been waiting with bated breath for him to settle back down.
Alastor returned the embrace, eagerly clinging to Vox and tenderly nuzzling his screen. A soft, balmy hum left his throat from the sheer, undiluted pleasure that tingled his entire body.
They didn't say anything after that, thoroughly lost in the sensation of being in each other's arms. Eventually, Alastor’s mind began to drift off, Vox's numbing, soporific ministrations as he brushed his fingers against his back slowly lulled him to sleep.
He didn't want to part with this experience, he didn't want to succumb to the exhaustion descending on his tired mind. His hands slumped against Vox's form, too drained to continue their soft caressing and he sluggishly gulped when his eyes began to droop, his vision blurry and far-away.
Distantly, he felt Vox's form grow lax in his arms, having surrendered himself to a peaceful sleep, knowing he was truly, and finally safe. Only then did Alastor permit himself to follow in Vox's path and welcome the darkness.
Notes:
Did I make Vox a nerd? Yes. Am I projecting? Absolutely. Do I care? No.
This was a relatively soft chapter, I sure hope nothing bad happens :)
Chapter 5: A new status quo
Notes:
Hello! I just want to say I'm sorry for the slight delay, this chapter kind of got ahead of me, I intended it to be like 7K, evidently I failed miraculously. So if there's any spelling mistakes ignore them, I'll fix them later because I didn’t want to hold up the chapter any further.
TW: Transphobia, aphobia, past and threats of sa, self-harm, blood, gore and graphic violence. (The entire chapter is just a massive trigger warning)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
A timid tapping on his shoulder nudged Alastor awake.
He blinked, his eyes groggy and his body sluggish as he readjusted himself to his surroundings. The sun had set, the fateful night sky taking its place and silencing the birds chirping their songs in jovial imperturbability. He twisted his head, slightly lethargic, and was met with the ghostly face of his shadow. It was still gently stirring him awake, doing exactly what he had asked it to before he had gone to sleep.
It was time.
He slumped back down on the prickly, yet oddly soft grass and lovingly gazed at the sight before him.
Vox's face was merely inches away from Alastor's, the brightness of his screen dimmed and his expression slack and peaceful, soundly asleep. Alastor felt his eyes crinkle as his smile quirked from the endearing image. He mildly squeezed Vox’s form, almost imperceptibly, careful not to wake him.
He didn't want to part with this image. He wanted to immortalize it and if he was capable of surrendering himself to the petrifying stillness of spending eternity in Vox's arms, the calming tranquility of his hold so secure and tempting, he wouldn't even hesitate.
But, the night was calling for him.
With a resigned exhale, Alastor shifted away from Vox's arms, valiantly ignoring the twitch of agony caused by the warm impression that Vox's body had left on his. He moved slowly, tactfully, knowing the late hour wasn't rushing him.
After a minute, his arms had successfully slid away from Vox, leaving the other slumped on the ground, his body lax and his expression content, serene. Alastor released a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding, thankful that he hadn't woken Vox up not just because he vitally needed to rest, but also because Alastor knew the demon would fervently disapprove of what he was about to do.
Tentatively, Alastor disassembled the crown on his head, cautious to preserve its integrity. After he unfurled a few knots, he gingerly laid the headwear on his pillow, obeying the whispering voice in his head to treasure it for no reason other than because it was Vox who made it for him.
Alastor granted himself a moment, one short moment, to simply look at Vox. He had to bite the inside of his cheek from how peaceful Vox looked, snug under the blanket, his chest delicately rising and falling, and Alastor could have screamed from the amount of raw, undiluted trust Vox harbored for him. For nearly two decades he had been held a prisoner, tortured and violated in ways Alastor’s wayward mind couldn't even comprehend and yet here he was, leaving himself vulnerable and completely under Alastor’s protection, utterly certain he would keep him safe.
Something inside Alastor’s chest tingled, warm and fluttery as a desire to shield Vox and do his faith justice overflowed his body, rooting him to the ground with the reluctance to never leave Vox's side.
Slowly, he lowered himself down, his movements almost shy. Closing his eyes, he rested his forehead against Vox's upper arm, a combination of lavender and pine from the forest wafting from his body.
Alastor inhaled deeply as he inched his face slightly closer. His skin gently grazed Vox's shirt, the touch as feather-light as a summer flower's petals blowing in the restless, nurturing wind on the early days of autumn, softer than a single sunbeam filtering through the treetops, giving light in the midst of an other-worldly, sinister darkness and warming up the leaf-laden forest floor before the summons of time stole it away.
The fleeting touch was mostly intended for Alastor’s own self-indulgence, an insatiable need to reconfirm Vox's presence since his mind still had difficulty comprehending the demon's existence. Yet, with every shared caress, every tender kiss, Alastor felt that disbelief slowly start to peter out.
The touch was gone as though it never happened, not a witness to tell the tale, not a crease on Vox's shirt.
Alastor pulled back with reluctance, his body hesitating for the briefest of moments, the ache to feel Vox against him almost viscerally painful.
His eyebrows pinched, his expression plaintive as he looked down at Vox's sleeping form. His heart clenched at the images of what had been done to him, the sound of his screams still echoed in Alastor's ears and he heavily doubted he could ever forget the sound.
Perhaps, it might have been Alastor's devoted reverence and unquenchable adoration of the demon, but he just couldn't comprehend how anyone could dare lay a hand on him, to even consider breaking his screen or damaging his skin or be the causation of his pain.
It was almost sacrilegious. For seventeen years, they hadn't even given him water, nor food, they had stolen his skills to teleport, they had ripped away his claws, they had betrayed his trust in the most reprehensible, diabolical way imaginable, they had removed his ability to walk, to speak, they had taken his dignity, and they had done it all for increasing their own power. And yet...
It hadn't been enough. No, they couldn't leave him alone, they just couldn't resist the opportunity to hurt him further, to treat him as though he wasn't even human, to torture him to satisfy their sadistic tendencies simply because they could. Alastor was a selfish, irredeemable, rotten man, but whatever kind of monster still lurked out there capable of committing such horrors on his friend weighed heavy even on his wicked mind.
And it was a problem in need of fixing.
Slowly, Alastor stood up. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself and silently walked away from Vox, his footsteps mindful not to disturb the dormant stillness of the atmosphere. Reaffirming that his shadows were dutifully vigilant and would protect Vox in his absence, Alastor briskly traipsed across the room to put on his coat and pick up his staff.
He walked over to the corner of the room and knelt down. Keeping his movements as quiet as possible, Alastor lifted one of the wooden boards of the floor and stuck his hand inside the secret compartment. When he lifted it, a slender, lethally sharp dagger was clutched in his hand.
He twirled it in his fingers, discerning its weight and inspecting the way the light bounced off the angelic steel. It was elegant, the blade barely had a scratch and the hilt was decorated with a remarkable, stunning crimson gem that beautifully dispersed the light. In that moment, he was immensely glad that he had managed to snatch the discarded blade from the battlefield without anyone noticing. What Carmilla didn't know wouldn't hurt her.
He repositioned the board and stood up. Pocketing the dagger, he dusted off his shoulders and resolutely departed from the room.
Once in the hallway, he locked the door as inconspicuously as he could. With an audible exhale he took a couple of steps away from his room before he snapped his fingers, summoning his shadow.
It appeared in a flash next to him, its expression expectant, slightly askance. Alastor’s face was impassive as he raised the same question he asked the previous night after he tried to flee from his own grief.
"Do you want to be a knight in shining armor?" His voice was stony, controlled, emotionless.
The lights in the hallway flickered and after a moment of needless consideration Alastor's shadow soundlessly shook its head, a clear No.
Alastor's smile widened, gleeful and vile, the epitome of barely restrained evil.
"Good."
His shadow matched his expression, its smile broadening in a nefarious, malevolent fashion.
He harshly thumped his cane against the ground twice, the twin beating sounds resounding through the hallway. Following in their path, the shadows around them began to rise. From every corner, every crevice, every crack in the wood shadows slithered forward, loyally gathering around Alastor, pernicious in their daunting malice.
As they snaked through the floor, the ceiling and the walls, the lights began to distort, before eventually falling victim to the void, mercilessly shrouded over. In a matter of seconds, the ghostly, phantom tendrils veiled over every light bulb in the hallway, macabre in their nature.
The nocturnal, baleful pitch black that descended on the room could only be described as the horror people write in stories, the vicious, insidious creatures hiding in the alleyways at night, the dangers mothers warn their children about even when they are too young to understand why, the faithful companion that greeted fragile minds when on the brink of death.
It was the silhouette of a scythe.
Alastor allowed them to coil around his legs and rest on his shoulders, their movements cautious, deferential in the presence of their master. If he focused, he could detect a balmy chorus of voices whispering from within. Some originated from souls Alastor himself had uncaringly snuffed out, some wholly and zestfully belonged to the afflicting darkness, while others were so foul, so vile and insidious the forces of the universe had confined them in their odious prison, never allowed to feel the light lest their touch rob the sun from it.
He breathed in, slowly and deeply, melting into the secure solace the beguiling, unearthly darkness provided. Closing his eyes, he extended his hands, palms up and permitted the shadows further access. They crawled across his skin, weaving through the fabric of his clothes, trailing up his back and engulfing his limbs. Alastor felt the moment they crept up his neck and he shuddered from the levitating way his mind liquefied. Their likeness resembled the cavernous infinity that cowered behind the stars and Alastor smirked because these shadows wouldn't cower, they wouldn't shrink away in the face of magnanimity. No, this darkness was conjured to life with one purpose only.
To kill.
He let the pervasive shadows seep into his skin, small, inky tendrils gently caressed his face, poisoning his flesh like a volcano's earthquake cracks the ground before its eruption and he basked in the feeling. With a content, invigorated sigh Alastor smiled, sharp-toothed and lethal, as he finally opened his eyes and when he did the very air in the room froze in fear.
Two, identical, demonic radio dials greeted the world. The blackness of their periphery could have rivaled the most treacherous chasms of the earth, hollow and fatally bewitching in their endless abyss. The only thing that broke the bone-chilling void was the consistent ticking of a radio dial in its center, every rhythmic click counting down the deficient number of seconds someone had left to live, every single one reverberated through the otherwise undisturbed, sullen, terrified barrenness of the hallway with one clear message.
Kill... kill... kill... kill.
Gone was the gentle, caring soul reserved for only one person in the whole universe. In its place now stood a monster. The one sinners quaked with fear from just by the sheer mention of his name, the one that haunted people's minds even if they only knew him by reputation, the one every resident of the hotel had recoiled from, the one they still couldn't trust since the apprehension from his inconceivable atrocities still lingered deep in their bones.
The Radio Demon stood tall in the midst of his shadows, the extent of his power harrowing in its vigor. He repositioned his hands on top of his cane and flexed his fingers. Suddenly, a bright, green light protruded from his back, engulfing his frame and piercing the life-wilting darkness, the rays of its splendor dispersing through the hallway and bringing the ravenous, blood-thirsty creatures that lurked within to heel.
With a sigh, he took one dangerous step forward. The shadows followed his lead, unquestioning and obsequious. He moved slowly and wordlessly, every beat of his shoes against the ground sending a pounding, echoing reverberation through the void around him. The short trek towards his radio tower passed in a disassociated, far-away daze as the flames of Alastor's retribution began to spread through his entire being.
By the time he had reached his destination, the fire was scorching every cell in his body and lighting every nerve ablaze. Alastor faced the window, ignoring the unremarkable view of the city for his eyes could only focus on the monumental, disgustingly tawdry Tower that sprouted in the middle of it.
His hands viciously clenched around his cane. As much as he was grateful that Vox had returned to him, that the person he loved and admired more than anyone on this plane of existence or the previous was back in his arms, he knew that gratitude was misplaced.
There was nothing to be thankful for. The overwhelming relief and joy he was feeling at Vox’s return must briefly be tamped down and replaced with undiluted fury.
Fury that his best friend had been so brutally abducted, that he had been tortured and exploited for seventeen years. Fury that they had extinguished his hope. Fury that Alastor himself had been deprived of Vox’s presence and affection, that all those precious moments like the ones they just shared had been greedily stolen from both of them. Fury that the person responsible for all of Vox's pain had lied and cheated and inveigled his way into Alastor’s life for the sole, perfidious purpose of sullying Vox's image, of destroying that rare, impossible blessing that is their relationship.
But... that demon had failed, he had manipulated every last shred of his power and influence only to watch his efforts burn to the ground by the sheer magnificence of their persevering, unbreakable love. No gratitude would be gifted to fate, the only thing Alastor would release will be his rage.
The destructive, inexorable anger that had been pushed down in favor of preserving the tranquility and comfort of Vox's mind and mitigate his worry was clawing out of its cage. Alastor felt his entire body quiver from the all-consuming fury and he made an internal promise to permanently extinguish the people responsible for its inception. He irrevocably nailed that vow deep inside his soul.
He was going to tear that entire Tower apart. He would never relent in his murderous rampage until every person complacent in Vox's suffering was buried under the ruins of that grotesque building and the despicable wretches that had put him in that room would greet a fate so gruesome, so horrifying, the average mind would veer astray in delirium just from imagining it.
With another cruel stomp of his cane against the floor, Alastor disappeared into the shadows. He absentmindedly slithered through the floorboards and down the exterior of the hotel. He didn't spare a single glance back, all of his attention narrowed towards one single direction.
That night, Pentagram City had little choice but to prevail against the billowing, calamitous mass of shadow that tore through it. The journey towards V Tower passed in a hazy, fogged up trance. The streetlights and billboards created a flurry, iridescent torrent as Alastor mindlessly passed by them. His mind unfocused, his thoughts quelled by that simmering, destructive fury bubbling inside him. He barely processed the corpses he left in his wake, thoroughly possessed by the vindictiveness causing his blood to boil.
The time that it took him to reach the front doors was indeterminate. He stood before the Tower, body tense, prepared to strike, horns elongated and poised, hands bloody, claws sharp and lengthened as blood dripped from them, pooling on the cobalt floor.
The purple, blue glow radiating from the embarrassingly excessive amount of lights adorning the Tower and establishments around it illuminated Alastor's form much to the plight of the unfortunate pedestrians passing by. All he had to do was stand still and permit his smile to execute its purpose as it menacingly stretched beyond the confines of his face for every sinner in his vicinity to flee from the sight.
Unperturbed at the potential of being spotted, he upheld that blood-curdling, chilling grin and ignored the screams echoing from around him as he disappeared into the shadows again. The writhing, enraged darkness that accompanied him followed suit as he started to snake along the walls of the Tower, knowing the exact floor and room he wanted to reach.
In a matter of seconds, Alastor had arrived at his destination and he didn't spare a thought as he carelessly barreled through one of the windows. Shards of glass scattered in every direction, undoubtedly alerting the residents of the building of a break in.
Alastor paid it no mind, his eyes could only focus on the modern, circular logo with a neon-blue 'V' in its center that had been painted on the doors to His office.
He tapped into his power for one, last, reaffirming confirmation that Vox was still sleeping in their room at the hotel, his shadows on guard and determined to keep the demon safe, before Alastor walked over towards the office.
His expression was apathetic, resolute as he summoned several tentacles from his back and with swift succession rammed them into the slim crevice that separated the doors. He stifled a grunt as the tendrils began to push the doors open, slowly and strenuously separating them, inch by inch.
The effort created a grating, screeching sound that reverberated throughout the dimly-lit corridors, but Alastor didn't falter. Only when he had successfully entered the room did he relent his shadows.
He didn't even flinch as the doors sharply slammed shut behind him with a loud, raucous boom. This visit was long overdue.
A disquieting, suspenseful silence stretched throughout the spacious office. Alastor took a tentative, barely restrained step forwards. Then another and another as he slowly walked along the suspended bridge that led to the bright desk over-flooded with computers and in its center, a person sitting on a lone, luxurious, modernly classy chair.
There he is.
The man's fingers tapped at the various keyboards installed on the surface of the table, dutiful despite the doom that would soon befell him. If Alastor didn't know better he would have mistaken those familiar, blue-tipped claws for Vox's and distantly he wondered whether the man in front of him had falsified those too. But, now he did know better, and he had to stave off the all-consuming urge to forfeit all of his poorly-built restrictions and disembowel him where he sat.
Those hands were the ones responsible for Vox's abduction. It was those very hands that had violently broken his screen, and snapped his antennas, and grabbed him, their hold bruising, and hurt him, humiliated him, abused him and the unfathomable amount of times that they had done so could have disintegrated Alastor's whiplashed mind. He felt bile rise in his throat simply from the image that those disgusting hands had even touched Vox, let alone that they had hit him and caused him pain.
Seven years. That's how long Alastor had wasted with this man. Seven agonizing, miserable years of feeling inadequate, of thinking that Vox had stopped loving him, of being deceived, disregarded and mistreated, unbeknownst that the perpetrator of that pain had imprisoned and was secretly torturing the person Alastor held more dear than anyone in his life.
There were no words invented to appropriately describe the fate Alastor would deal him. No language ever created could have done the horrors Alastor’s mind had concocted justice. Every kill, every slice, every blow he had ever dealt in his life flashed in his head as they united to create a gory, gruesome, unthinkable destiny for the man before him.
His footsteps were silent against the ground, each second that passed felt like an eternity as the man's figure slowly started to grow nearer. Alastor’s fingers flexed around his cane, gripping it tightly, the weight of the angelic blade heavy in his coat pocket. But, he couldn't draw it out yet, despite how much his soul yearned to stain the entire room with this man's blood Alastor needed to fortify his restraint, just for a short while.
The figure was only a few meters away now, the tapping of his keyboard as he obliviously worked the only sound echoing through the office.
"I saw you coming ten minutes ago."
The man's voice spoke suddenly, causing Alastor to halt in his tracks. "Could you try being less discreet."
His tone was riddled with sarcasm and Alastor could have torn apart the entire building layer by layer at the fact that he still used Vox's voice, intentionally mocking him.
Alastor didn't say anything. He hadn't tried to hide his rage or his arrival, but he still waited with bated breath for the demon to make the first move since either he had anticipated Alastor’s visit and was planning something or he had a death wish by purposely ignoring him.
"Nothing?" When the man realized Alastor had no intention to waste his breath on conversation he added "I mean, it's kind of sad. It's been ten years, I would've thought you'd gotten a life since then."
Alastor’s fury precariously rose to dangerous levels with each word out of the demon's mouth. The feeling was raging inside him, almost self-destructive in its ferocity as it viciously clawed at his soul, piercing so deep into his bones they nearly vibrated from the intensity.
He still didn't say anything, he didn't trust himself not to lunge at the demon and rip him apart where he sat.
"You're that mad, huh?" He asked after waiting several seconds for Alastor to respond, to snap, to bark back some kind of insult. "You always loved running your mouth, did I finally manage to shut you up?"
With a huff, the other whirled his chair around to face Alastor. "God, you're even more infuriating in person."
Alastor barely suppressed his breath from hitching. There it was, the face that he had spent seven years with, that he had held in the palm of his hand, that he had grown to adore despite silently disapproving of the upgrade. Now it only caused him to feel anger, boiling, uncontrollable, destructive anger.
It was clear as day that the man was trying to rile him up, but no words that he could ever conjure would even come close to hurting him the way his heart had been shattered beyond repair, not a single ridiculing jab or any kind of belittling degradation could pain Alastor as much as seeing Vox get hit, of hearing him scream, of watching how helpless he had been to prevent it, how afraid he had been.
Some part of Alastor was glad of his cruel, vituperative words for he didn't want a shred of this man's affection even after they had spent years together, he didn't want such a heinous, despicable excuse for a demon to feel an inkling of care for him. Finally, he was looking at the monster hiding behind the mask and he could have sworn the whole world shifted from the new, clarifying perspective.
He watched with a barely restrained need for revenge as the man rolled his eyes. "I'm glad you're here though," His tone was light-hearted, so far from the fear and terror he should be feeling. "You've taken something of mine, I'd like it back."
Alastor's teeth grated. His fingers gripped his cane so hard he worried it would snap. His ears started to ring, his antlers elongated so far he could see their silhouette on the desk in front, and his heart began beating with an unendurable pace from listening to how this man referred to Vox as though he was a mere object, a possession. Alastor's voice was baleful and strained, almost sonorous when he spoke.
"You won't ever lay your filthy hands on him again." It wasn't just a statement, it was a promise. "He's not yours and he never will be."
The demon seemed to sense the unwavering firmness of Alastor’s words because his face contorted into a grimace for a brief moment before he regained control over it once more.
He laughed, contemptuous and nasty. "Maybe I wasn't clear enough," In the blink of an eye every monitor that decorated his desk suddenly sprang with a red, swirling image aimed directly at Alastor. The demon's left eye had also widened, nearly encompassing his whole face as he reiterated "Give. Him. Back."
Alastor didn't look at the monitors and he pointedly avoided glancing at the demon's eye, his focus masterful, for he knew that one wrong step, one wrong, pivotal glimpse and it would all be over. His hypnosis would take over Alastor's mind and Vox would be left completely alone, defenseless in his hurt and battered state.
The room now gleamed with an aggravating, erroneous, scarlet color and Alastor had to stifle a gasp as his memories momentarily transported him back to the basement. He blinked, trying to dislodge the intrusive images, Vox's body curled in on itself, shivering from the cold, his skin bloody and clammy, ravaged with cuts and bruises.
Alastor knew he would never be free of it, and that acceptance only amplified his determination.
"Really?" He raised an eyebrow, tone patronizing. "I seem to recall that little trick failing the last time you attempted it as well. You've never been good at learning from your mistakes."
He didn't dwell on the falseness of that statement, not providing the demon further insight into how easily he could take control and why it hadn't worked ten years ago. Instead he narrowed his gaze.
His glare was unyielding, impervious, the world's sharpest knife would have failed to cut the tension in the room as a charged, taut silence stretched between the two of them.
Eventually, after realizing his efforts crumbled to ash, the demon snarled.
Alastor's smile widened, its sharpness beautifully potentiating the malice radiating from the radio dials he had for eyes.
The demon shifted in his seat, jittery, the annoyance and anger bubbling under his skin as clear as day. To Alastor's surprise, the man chuckled, breathy and insincere.
"Come on," He upturned his hands, palms up in a falsely placating, amicable manner. "Let's be honest, he would be nothing without me."
Alastor couldn't even fish for the indignation at this latest comment, dumbstruck by the egregious statement. He tilted his head, eyebrows furrowed, yet no less hostile. "Oh? I would have thought it was the other way around."
He watched with glee as the man clenched his teeth, evidently struck by the irrefutable truth. His eye started to swirl more incessantly, trying to preserve that degree of control over the situation as he bit back "I gave him a purpose. The guy wouldn't have accomplished anything in this modern age," He lazily pointed to his head, as though its upgraded design had any influence on his efficiency and skill to successfully run a company. "His meaningless life would be wasted if it wasn't for me. At least, this way he's good for something."
In that moment, Alastor suspected some divine force had intervened and possessed his body for it was the only plausible explanation as to how he had managed not to rip this man apart and scatter his entrails throughout the whole Tower. Never, never in his life had he experienced rage this overbearing, it was diffused in every inch of his body, every cell in it was melting from the intensity of that vengeful fire. Distantly, he felt worry his teeth would crack from how strongly he was gritting them and he found it increasingly more difficult to inhale air, his lungs immovable from the undiluted, unfathomable fury scorching his soul.
Alastor blinked, a sharp exhale leaving his throat as he scoffed. His voice dripped with venom when he spoke "He's more worthy, more competent and far more resourceful than you will ever be."
Suddenly, the demon's claws dug into the seat, leaving deep, serrated gashes on the metal surface. His face contorted in indignation, in fury as his whole body tensed up, barely refrained from striking.
Alastor’s eyes crinkled.
There it was, that flippant, temperamental nature that drearily combined with the demon's impulsivity to create a fickle, erratic personality that was so easy to ignite. It was something Alastor had picked up on during the last few years before they had split apart. All Alastor needed to do was uphold this game, play on the demon's impulsiveness and try to restrain his own emotions.
"He's nothing compared to me." Despite Alastor’s fortifications around his will, he was caught off guard by the man's tone. It was staggering. He had never heard such poison pouring out of his voice. Even when he had been ridiculing him on public television his deprecating words had never held such sickening, vile acidity in them. "I won. I bested him. I took this company and I've been running it ever since. What does he have that I don't?"
Alastor could only gawk.
A whisper of clarity bore its way into his mind, beginning to lift the fog that had shrouded his mind for the past seventeen years.
"You almost sound jealous." His voice sounded like an avalanche. His words weren't a question, they were pure, raw derision. "I've always told you envy is not a good look on you."
He had spent seven years with this man, he had learned his mannerisms, his tells, and from the way the demon's face twisted, wrathful, ballistic, Alastor knew he had hit the mark.
"Jealous? Hah!" His voice rose in volume, his expression confounded, almost theatrical in its indignation. "Jealous of that worthless bitch? Please, you haven't seen how he cries, how he begs, it's absolutely pathetic. He belongs in that room."
And yet... despite the demon's opprobrious words, the evident inability to deny Alastor's accusation reeked from his features, from his tone, from the very vitriol with which he tried to dispute it. Judging by the still, unbroken silence that permeated the entire office, they both sensed the truth cowering behind his scorn and cruelty.
Alastor's body was fully quivering. If his skin was capable of lighting on fire, he suspected the whole room would be burnt to ashes from the inexorable, all-encompassing fury that seeped into his veins.
It was nothing like he had ever felt before. He didn't even know he could feel rage this profound, this severe, this explosive.
Jealousy. That's what this had all been about?
Immature, inane, nonsensical, perverse envy was the reason Vox had been abducted, the reason he had been tortured, hurt, abused for seventeen years. Jealousy that Vox was more successful, more powerful, stronger, more respected. Where Vox had seen potential for an ally, this man had only seen competition. His simple, utterly insecure mind couldn't permit someone of the same capabilities and biology to outrank him, his arrogance couldn't allow someone who was just like him to be better. And once he had Vox under his thumb he never let him forget that he had been beaten, he hadn't for a single moment let Vox forget that he was now beneath him, that he was lesser, that this man had won.
Vox hadn't just been kept to increase their power, he hadn't just been used to earn them money. No. No, this had been personal. Vox had been kept as a prize, proof of this demon's supposed victory - a reminder of who was superior. He had relegated Vox to nothing but an accomplishment, this monster had created an emotional investment and demeaning Vox, assaulting him, defiling him, beating him had been self-indulgent, even invigorating.
Alastor's stomach churned and bile rose in his throat at the realization that this demon had not only lied about his identity for the benefits of having Alastor as an ally, but also to steal him away from Vox, to take the only thing the other had left and completely shun him aside, to make him unimportant, insignificant, irrelevant.
It all made sense now. It hadn't just been childish hostility or hurt feelings that had consumed this man's body and prompted him to declare Alastor as his enemy. It had been genuine hatred this whole time. That scalding loathing towards Alastor was a purely a product from the demon's preternatural, destructive need for control over everything - a voracious hunger to own everyone. An unsettling, eerie possessiveness, obsessiveness even, to keep what he deemed to be his, to clutch Vox as close as he could and keep Alastor away for he was the only threat that could have broken that fragile, delirious fantasy and steal Vox away.
A wisp of sadness suddenly wormed its way into Alastor’s heart with this new realization, nearly ceasing its beating from the way it caused his soul to wail. Sadness that Vox's suffering under this man had been far more horrifying, far more unfathomable than Alastor could have ever imagined.
The demon was seething and Alastor couldn't even look away from the concerning, terrifying image in front of him. All of a sudden, his mind tipped with a different perspective, a different view into just how... unstable this man was, wondering how he hadn't managed to detect it sooner.
He was spared from crafting up a response that could have incited the very bricks that the Tower was built from to crumble in fear, when he saw the other's monitor change.
An image of Velvette flashed across his screen for a brief moment before the demon swiped it away, terminating the call.
With an irritated grunt he repositioned himself in his seat, slightly leaning on his elbow, an unconvincing pretense of unflappability. "Face it," His tone was slightly calmer, but no less strained. "You never could have given her what I could." His eyebrows rose dramatically, his expression mockingly exaggerated. "Oh, sorry. Him. It's hard to support people's delusions sometimes."
His smile was heinous. He flipped his hand with flair as he bore his eyes straight at Alastor, daring him. Just when Alastor thought his opinion of the demon couldn't possibly decrease any further, the other defied his expectations. The spiteful, wicked, completely uncalled for jab was low, asinine, inhuman, even for him.
Before Alastor could unleash the fire pillaging his soul, the demon piped up again, determined to shatter his thinly-composed self-control. "I mean, seriously? A relationship without sex? I barely felt any romantic interest from you either, what you two have is practically a friendship. Look I was a televangelist in my time, and I felt the same way before I met Val and Velvette, but even I can tell you're pushing it you pious, defected fucking prude." He laughed, sardonic, evil. "Do you have any idea how difficult it was to pretend to love you?"
He was goading him. Alastor knew it, there was no other reason for him to strike in such a deplorable, despicable manner, to aim for the most delicate and vulnerable parts of Alastor’s being.
Yet, he didn't allow his calumniatory, noxious words to pierce Alastor’s confidence. This psychopath, this utterly deranged, insane lunatic, would never know what he and Vox had, his wretched, foolish mind could never experience the beautiful, uncontainable, indestructible marvel that is the love they have for one another.
Alastor smiled wider, the radio dials in his eyes now ticking not from fury or vengeance, but of anticipation. Trying to steer the conversation back, Alastor replied "Typical of you to resort to pointless insults when you can't accept the truth." He clicked his tongue, admonishing the same way a child might be berated after doing something lamentable. "And that is the fact that your company will crumble to dust now that you can't supply the city with electricity. What would the population think if they found out?"
He feigned contemplation, not hiding the mischievous smirk on his face.
The demon's monitor once more flashed with the image of Velvette trying to contact him and was again disregarded by the demon in favor of snapping back at Alastor. "Oh, quit your yapping. No one will know, I'll have that son of a bitch back in that basement in no time."
"Ah, yes, because you don't have the means to run the company yourself. How detrimental is it, to know that you depend on someone else? That you've been lying to the sinners who've put their trust in you the entire time? That the very foundation of your brand is built on deception? That you cannot deliver the protection you promised?"
The demon sneered, every word Alastor said hitting home. "Sure, protection. They can think that as long as I'm getting their money, and when I finally get my hands on your boyfriend no one will question me ever again."
Alastor's smile stretched, gratified. He watched with glee as the demon's screen once more flashed with the caller ID. With an irritated grunt, he finally accepted the call, transferring the image to one of the monitors on the wall of computers.
He barked "What?!"
"He's broadcasting it!" Velvette's voice yelled from the other side, frantic, furious.
The demon's eyebrows creased in confusion. "What?"
"He's broadcasting all of it!" She reiterated, incensed, desperate.
The man suddenly turned towards Alastor, face skeptical, stunned.
Alastor smiled even wider, vicious, sadistic, and twisted his cane around so that the demon could see the glowing, red, turned on dial at its center that had been recording the entire conversation since the beginning.
He watched with barely contained joy as the demon's eyes widened, shock morphing all of his features, his body stiff, petrified in place.
"I've been trying to call you, it's all over the Internet." Her tone was derogatory, disappointed and crazed in equal measure. "Dammit, Vox, you fucking idiot!"
While Alastor was enraged beyond the wildest limits his mind could reach, he wasn't a fool. It wouldn't have been enough to simply slice the demon's throat and do the world justice, that would only have made him a martyr. Besides, seeing the furious, murderous utterly apoplectic look on the demon's face Alastor surmised that his efforts to cloud the demon's mind with fury and make it easier to beat him had been successful. He might think himself the King, above every other card in the deck, but Alastor always made sure he had an Ace up his sleeve.
He also needed to keep Vox’s identity a secret lest he put a target on his back should anyone else attempt the same con this man had. With a content, victorious grin he lifted the head of his cane to his lips.
"Well, there you have it folks. Straight from the mouth of the big boss himself." His voice was riddled with malicious ridicule, taunting the other.
The demon sprang from his seat with staggering speed and lunged at Alastor.
He disappeared into the shadows instantaneously, narrowly avoiding those lethal claws that would have shredded his face.
All of a sudden, a nightmarish, eldritch darkness swept through the whole room, obscuring every surface, every tile, every inch of the walls that surrounded it, not dissimilar to the shield Alastor had conjured during the last extermination. Runes etched themselves in the dome, green, bright and ominous, swimming through as though it was merely a benign, welcoming river. They cast the room in a foreboding, oppressive glow, serving as the only light that illuminated it apart from the desk of monitors and the demon's own screen.
Melted into that void, Alastor allowed himself to float around the room, hidden in the shadows. He watched the demon mindlessly turn in every direction as he searched for him. When Alastor spoke into his microphone again, his voice reverberated throughout the office in a booming echo, impossible to pinpoint where it originated from.
"I've always said that this man will bring upon his own doom, but to drag all of you people down with him? How reprehensible." He tsked as he flew through the ceiling, across the floor, beneath the glass aquarium that housed the demon's sharks, caging him in as he resumed his defamation of the other's crumbling reputation. "Lying about protecting you during such difficult times, selling you faulty trinkets and putting your lives at risk."
He watched with delight as the demon shot a burst of electricity at an innocent shadow, thinking it was Alastor, completely blindsided by the endless, disorienting darkness.
"Although, should we be surprised?" His tone was questioning as though initiating a light debate. "A fashion designer, who's only success derives from her fashion shows since she has eliminated any other competition, not because her designs are truly eligible for attention."
He hid behind the desk when the demon continued to hurl electricity around the room and at the excited decoys Alastor had manifested which swirled across the ceiling, providing quite an entertaining scene for him.
"And she's not the only one overworking and abusing her workers for her own merit. I'm sure you're all familiar with her business partner, Valentino, the second of the Vees, the face of the porn industry. Quite undeserving of that title if you ask me when the proficiency and success of his movies has little to do with the Overlord's own contribution. Rather, they are a product of the talent and skills of the people in his employment. Truly, what would he be without them?"
The man's efforts had developed into desperate, wild attacks, uncoordinated, aimless, bolts flying in every direction. Alastor didn't relent in his condemnation, less nonchalant and disinterested than he had been the last time this man had challenged him on live television and more determined, more committed to tarnishing and shattering his image.
"And last but not least, our favorite, conniving, opportunistic leader of the Vees, who's only apt at spreading baseless facts, perpetuating disingenuous information, using his program to twist reality in a way that suits him, conning his buyers into purchasing redundant, tacky devices, concealing the truth behind a mask of false reassurance and putting your safety at risk." Alastor's voice was strong, conspiratorial and unshakably certain in the pejorative words he was saying, his soul levitating from finally releasing what he had been bottling up. "My, my the list just keeps growing, doesn't it? How can anyone trust such a two-faced, self-serving CEO? And now to hear that he cannot uphold his company anymore? Goodness, what a scandal."
He laughed, low and wicked. "I'm afraid this news is quite incriminating for them. Have they grown too comfortable in their impunity? Could this be the end of VoxTek and the Vees as we know it?"
It was a lucky thing that his broadcast was nearing its end for the demon in the center of the room, whose anger had developed into a boiling, insatiable fury, began to conduct electricity throughout his whole body. In less than a few seconds his form was glowing, the bolts traversing through it hectic and turbulent in their destruction.
With a deep breath, the man knelt down and violently slammed his fist onto the floor.
The motion caused thunder to explode throughout the office. An uncontainable, roaring, tumultuous storm of electricity shot out in every direction, lighting up the entire room and reducing Alastor’s shield of shadows to dissipating wisps in the air.
He grunted as a particularly angled bolt pierced his thigh. The electricity stiffened his whole body as gut-wrenching agony spread through his whole being.
But, he didn't falter. Still keeping his grip on his microphone, he lifted it and with an eager tone he concluded "That remains to be seen. It's all in your hands now, dear listeners. Stay tuned."
Deducing the direction where Alastor’s voice invaded the atmosphere, the demon whipped his head towards him, now standing in his full height, teeth bared, body poised to strike, expression ferocious.
Standing above the glass casing of the aquarium, the sharks perilously circling below him, Alastor made sure the demon watched as he terminated the broadcast, the crimson glow on his cane diminishing.
Finally.
Now, he could commit to the task he had been waiting for ever since he found Vox in that basement.
But, first, he needed to inhibit that hypnosis. To his dismay, he had to concede that the demon could be considered even more powerful than him with that formidable ability. Therefore, Alastor had to staunch it.
Before the demon could attack, Alastor snapped his fingers. The remaining shadows of the dome lunged towards him, their speed staggering. In less than a moment, they had engulfed him, completely shrouding him over and creating a smaller entrapment, but still no less potent.
Alastor knew it wouldn't last long, he had only summoned it for one purpose. He clenched his fist, commanding the shadows into action. He grinned, slightly giddy, when he heard a pained scream echo from the dome.
His moment of triumph lasted barely half a minute, because the next moment rays of white and blue pierced through the dome, the light blazing in every direction. With a howl, the demon unleashed another wave of lightning and effectively abolished the shadows.
When he turned towards Alastor again, his screen was broken, deep, gruesome scratches adorned the surface, the left side of his face almost completely shattered from Alastor's ravaging, blood-thirsty shadows. His clothes were tattered as well, blood soaked into them in various torn up spots.
At last, a fair fight.
Outraged, the demon manifested himself into a bolt of electricity and hurled himself in Alastor’s direction.
Alastor plunged himself into the shadows, dodging the demon's attack. He rematerialized only a couple of feet away and summoned four tentacles to protrude from his back.
The demon also retook his usual form and he growled when he saw Alastor had distanced himself. Before he could chase after him, Alastor rammed his tentacles straight at the demon.
At the last second, the other jumped out of the way, narrowly missing the attack. Matching Alastor’s move, a set of cables unfurled from the demon's back, long and blaring a menacing animosity.
He slashed one of them towards Alastor, the movement similar to using a whip. Alastor stumbled back, just short of escaping the cable from wrapping around his legs. Before he could properly regain his footing, the other cable shot forward, snaking through the air with one clear goal.
Instinctively, Alastor raised a tentacle to block its path. He watched with addled concern as it coiled around the tentacle before the end of the cable bit into the mass. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the demon's malicious grin before hundreds of volts cascaded into the tentacle.
Alastor yelled as the current traveled through his own body. He clenched his teeth, his eyes squinting from the pain, and swiftly extended the tentacle connected to the cable.
The movement caused the demon to be swept into the air and propelled across to the other side of the room. He crashed into the wall, the cable finally relenting its hold on Alastor who inhaled a deep, ragged breath.
He was gasping, his vision slightly clearing up. A guttural, fuming voice sounded from the cloud of dust begotten from the demon's fall. "You fucking prick!" He was infuriated, angrier than Alastor had ever heard him before, drool dripping down his chin, his screen glitching and buffering beyond control or comprehension. "You piece of shit, I'll fucking destroy you!"
The demon was panting, his words erratic and slurred, lousy even as fury consumed his whole being.
The man lifted himself up and with an imperious shout, he began to hurl bolts at Alastor.
He smiled as though this was an afternoon activity for him, faking fun as he taunted the other by effortlessly avoiding his attacks.
He rolled his eyes, avoiding the still lingering pain in his thigh and back as his ears grated from hearing the other spew curses and insults at him the whole time. Growing bored, he melted into the shadows and reappeared next to where the demon was standing.
He barely had time to brace himself before Alastor mercilessly bashed his cane in his face. The blow cracked the demon's screen even further, sending shards of glass flying and causing him to tumble backwards.
He barely managed to right himself, his screen deteriorating with every movement. Good, Alastor thought. Let him know how it feels.
Suddenly, a piercing, ear-splitting, high frequency permeated the room. Alastor doubled over, taking a few steps back as his ears flattened against his head, trying to tune out the noise.
It was agonizing. His brain felt like it was being stirred like soup and he feebly clasped his hands over his ears.
He felt disoriented, he couldn't pinpoint where the demon was standing as his vision spun, over-stimulated from the pitch. He didn't even notice when something rammed into him with staggering force, blasting him several feet away.
He grunted as his body brutally hit the ground, the pain searing all of his nerves. Desperate to stop the noise, he commanded all four of his tentacles to haphazardly plow into anything in sight. The effort of their destruction echoed throughout the office. Crashing, smashing and breaking could be heard from every direction as the shadows obliterated everything near.
Distantly, he felt the ringing slightly decrease when he detected a shattering sound from his right.
Of course... the computers.
Mustering his will, he directed his tentacles to demolish that entire area and watched with barely contained rage as every monitor broke under the devastation Alastor unleashed. Finally, the noise stopped and he heaved in air, his ears flicking from the alleviated, mind-numbing ache.
With the monitors destroyed, the room was now illuminated just from the aquarium below them, casting a blue, tranquil, mystifying glow.
The short reprieve was quickly interrupted as he felt cables wrap around his wrists and legs. He yelped when the wires pulled taut, digging into his flesh, as they lifted him off from the ground.
The cables strung his hands up above his head and he hissed from the sting in his shoulders as all his weight got surrendered to his wrists. He was prevented from kicking his legs by several cables wrapping around them and tying them together.
The cords had risen from out of their installation in the walls, summoned by the demon who was only a couple of meters away from him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the man clench his fist.
His heart dropped when he felt a cable slither its way up his back and expertly coil around his neck. Alastor thrashed, the tentacles emerging from his back mindlessly thumping behind him, as he tried to dislodge the bonds to no avail.
He could do little but panic as the cable tightened around his neck, cutting off his air flow. He began to flail more vigorously, desperation overtaking him.
"I'm going to take away everything you love," The demon's voice broke in, vile, spiteful, more corrosive than the deadliest poison in existence. "I'm going to drag that sorry excuse of a demon back, only this time I'll bury him so far underground no one will ever find him agai-"
His bitter, repulsive rambling was cut off as Alastor’s shadow struck him at the back of his head. The demon fell to his knees with a groan, consequently loosening Alastor's bindings.
Alastor instantly wiggled out of them as he drew in a long, sharp breath, his brain clearing out the fog caused by the oxygen deficiency.
That had escalated too far. The tables had tilted, the demon wasn't meant to get a draw over Alastor like that.
Alastor breathed heavily, labored and deep as rage flowed through his body, igniting every cell in it to howl with murderous determination. Then, as the demon slowly picked himself off the floor, slightly dizzy, his limbs trembling, Alastor reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the angelic dagger.
His silhouette shadowed the demon's kneeling form, and he watched with pitiless, sadistic joy as the other's undamaged eye widened when he saw the blade clutched in Alastor’s hand.
As much as he wanted to treasure this image, he couldn't let the other slip away. Lightning-fast, he jabbed the dagger at the other's chest, aiming for his heart.
Acting on reflex, the demon raised his hand to try and block the attack. He screamed as the blade pierced straight through his palm, the other end dripping with blood as it protruded out of his hand.
Alastor went to draw back the knife, but his attempt was thwarted when the demon's fingers latched around blade. He keened in pain as the knife further dug into his skin, deepening the wound, but he endured.
Alastor clenched his teeth from the exertion of trying to reclaim the dagger, but the blood had made the handle slippery and he gasped when the demon snatched the blade away.
With a retched yell he yanked the knife out of his hand. Alastor barely had time to parry when the other sliced through the air.
With every strike, the demon slowly rose to his feet, pushing Alastor back. Honing his instincts, Alastor grabbed the man's hand when he tried to slash at his face and pulled him forward.
The motion caused the demon to stumble and Alastor used the momentary fumble to twist the other's arm behind his back. His other arm wrapped around his waist, pressing his body flat against Alastor's. Anticipating the electricity that was slowly accumulating in the man's body, Alastor plunged them both into the shadows.
In less than a second, they appeared above the room, Alastor’s tentacles suspending them both in the air as they nailed themselves in the tiles over their heads. The other released a baffled, stupefied sound as he frantically clawed at Alastor’s hands, leaving deep, bleeding gashes on his skin.
"Tell me," Unperturbed, Alastor pivoted the demon so that he was looking straight at him. "Do any of those new upgrades give you the ability to fly?"
The demon's eyes filled with horror.
Before he could release all of that slowly built up charge, Alastor winked, then promptly dropped him.
He watched as the demon yelled, his hands grappling in the air, the cables in his back flailing, desperate for some kind of purchase. The crash that erupted when he plummeted to the ground resounded throughout the entire office, the deep, booming sound repeatedly reverberating through the room.
High above, Alastor saw the spiderweb of cracks that the demon's fall had caused on the glass of the aquarium. Feeling the beginning whispers of a truly horrendous and despicable idea, Alastor’s shadows briefly tensed before using the strain to propel him towards the ground.
He curled his shadows around himself instantaneously, forming a preservative bubble. His speed was mind-boggling and the demon barely managed to roll away, his reflexes surprisingly sharp, before the billowing mass of shadow barreled into him.
The blow completely shattered the floor, creating a wide, jagged hole in the center of the room as broken pieces of glass fell into the water below.
Alastor effortlessly settled back on his feet next to the newly-formed opening. The demon lay on his stomach opposite Alastor, clutching his side, his ribs most likely broken. Blood dripped from his lips, his breaths were quick and shallow and his eye was wide in shock and fear. One of his hands was weakly holding the dagger while the one Alastor impaled fell limp on the ground, damaged and gushing blood.
Alastor settled his hands on his cane and with wicked, baleful smugness in his expression he swished his hand in the air.
Below the glass, from where the demon's silhouette lurked, a single, shadowy tentacle rose out of the darkness and slithered its way out of the water. In the blink of an eye, the shadow wrapped itself around the demon's neck, eliciting a strained grunt from him.
Then... it pulled.
The demon fiercely tried to resist, pointlessly clawing at the shadow as his lungs fought for air. He coughed and sputtered as the tentacle slowly dragged him closer and closer towards the crack in the aquarium, not allowing him to even lift himself up.
"You insipid little creature." Alastor spat, his tone spiteful and vindictive, bile pouring from every syllable. The static frequency in his voice grated even on his own ears, a shrill, slicing yet impossibly sonorous noise permeating the air. "Did you really think you could get away with it? That I wouldn't find out what you've done to him?" The tendril tightened around the other's neck, reducing his breathing to weak, panicked wheezes. "Did you think I would let you walk out of this alive?"
Alastor felt like he was floating, the demon's expression when he started to realize he couldn't break out of the hold nearly caused him to ascend from the delightful satisfaction blooming in his heart.
"Do you think anybody will miss you? Do you think anybody will notice?" he spat the demon's own words back at him, his voice mockingly sing-song.
The radio dials in his eyes began ticking even faster from the sense of triumph that overflowed him when the tentacle finally pulled the demon's head below the water.
He flailed, frantic, wild. His hands desperately clutched the edge of the opening. Alastor observed with wicked glee how the man's feeble efforts caused his hands to bleed further, the sharp, broken glass cutting his skin as he arduously tried to resist being pulled under completely.
The blood only resulted in the glass being slippery. The tentacle was relentless, immovable. He threw the blade in favor of fighting for support, water blindly splashing in every direction and when sparks of electricity began to sizzle from his head, a dreadful, agonized scream escaped him.
It was muffled, but it was riddled with pain, the water having seeped into his circuitry from the crack in his screen. Alastor swore he felt the stitches in his face break the skin from how wide he smiled, vile, malicious, insidious.
The man was panicking, crying out, screaming and kicking without aim or coordination, his movements growing even more erratic. To anyone it would have been a wretched, pitiful sight, but to Alastor?
It felt like justice. It felt like mercy. The fate Alastor was dealing him fell short in matching the horrors and torment this man had inflicted on his best friend. He deserved worse, far, far worse.
The demon's movements started to slow, growing weaker and weaker from the lack of air, the sounds he made reduced to mere whimpers. Alastor breathed in deeply, gratified, as he basked in the sound of the demon's misery and fear.
Euphoric, he didn't notice when something circled his waist. His eyes flew open, but it was too late. The breath in his lungs got expelled as his body got violently thrown into the nearest wall.
He crashed, the blow knocking all of his senses askew. He could have sworn the entire world shifted upside down then back again. His vision swam as undiluted, gut-wrenching pain spread through his whole body. His monocle had broken, though his cane thankfully still remained firmly grasped in his hand. He coughed, blood spluttering from his lips as he did so, no doubt as a consequence of some internal damage.
He didn't know how much time passed before he could gather enough strength to get back on his feet. The motion caused another wave of dizziness to invade his mind, but he didn't relent. Gritting his teeth, he blinked incessantly trying to clarify the image in front of him.
When he did, he nearly broke his teeth from how hard he clenched them at the sight of the other demon being helped up by a small, pink and white figure. Once his ears ceased their ringing, he could hear the man heaving in ragged breaths as he clung to the figure supporting him.
"Well, well. I see a newcomer has joined. Welcome," Alastor snarled, his voice brimming with false amiability. "Though, I do wonder how long you will last."
He took several long strides forward and with an irritated grunt he summoned several vicious tentacles from the floor and rammed them with full force straight at the demons.
The smaller figure whipped her head around, her expression murderous, outraged. With a vengeful grimace, she gripped the demon in her arms and rolled them both away from the line of shot.
Alastor’s tentacles pierced thin air, but before he could redirect them, Velvette extended her hands and released dozens of long, thick ribbons out of her sleeves that pooled on the floor around her.
"I had to cancel my show because of you, you old fuck!" she sneered with unconstrained vitriol as she mercilessly shot the ribbons towards Alastor.
He barely had time to step back as they wrapped around his body. In an instant, his hands were flattened to his sides, the fabric unyielding, brutal in its attack. His legs got forcibly pressed together and he had to stifle a grunt as they were yanked from under him, causing him to hit the floor with an audible thud.
The ribbons made their way towards his face. One clasped itself over his mouth, effectively silencing him. He tried biting at the fabric to no avail while he felt another meticulously coil around his neck.
His breath hitched when the ribbon squeezed. His whole body felt frozen. He started thrashing, trying to wiggle his way out of the bindings. It seemed she and her companion had similar ways of thinking when it came to subduing him.
Unfortunately for her, Alastor's shadow remained attentive. It swished through the air and with one clean strike it sliced straight through the ribbons restraining Alastor's arms. He didn't hesitate to dig his claws into the rest of the fabric, tearing it off in a matter of seconds.
"Remind me again, who are you?" he rasped, condescending, even though he knew the answer, as he lifted himself up.
When he looked back he saw the demon leaning on Velvette, his breathing still labored and pained, his screen flickering and distorting in and out, his expression nothing short of pure, undiluted fury. Meanwhile the demoness was raising her hand again, prepared for another strike.
"We really need to get rid of that shadow." Her voice was surprisingly calm, perhaps over-confident. When she brought her hand down in one swift motion, Alastor understood why.
An array of needles, too many to be counted, burst from her hand. They gleamed, sharp, thick and menacing as they flew straight at Alastor.
It was a wave of death. He didn't have enough time to teleport away, he only managed to summon a tentacle out of his back to protect his face.
He screamed as the flurry of needles impaled itself throughout his whole body.
Velvette grinned, sadistic and evil. Alastor's shadow immediately set to work on extracting them. The places where they had impeded themselves in his flesh trickled with blood and he hissed as the metal exited his body.
"Call the specials." The demon's voice piped in, hoarse, his throat bruised and aching, as he responded to Velvette's earlier statement. Alastor didn't understand what he meant, he only knew it couldn't be good.
One Overlord was a strenuous and taxing job to deal with, two was an unpredictable, dangerous challenge, but two Overlords with backup? Alastor’s chest seized in worry. If he didn't eradicate them right now, he probably wouldn't get the chance again, not to mention how uncertain his own fate would be.
His eyes narrowed on the blade discarded several feet away from them. When his eyes flicked back to the other two he knew the same thought passed through their heads as well.
A short, disquieting, tense silence stretched before all three demons consecutively lunged at the dagger.
The next few minutes passed in a hectic, panicked daze. Fists were hurled, punches were thrown, claws sliced through the air, blood flew in every direction. All three Overlords lost themselves in the all-consuming storm of lethal blows, petrifying electricity, terror-inducing shadows as needles and bolts shot out in every direction.
Alastor felt his mind go blank. Rage, fury, fear, panic, revenge flooded his senses, making him see only red. Distantly, he heard himself screaming several times. His own claws were dripping with blood, shouting, crying and wailing occurring from all around him as he tore through the demons, all of his focus intent on the dagger.
He needed to remind himself who he was fighting. These were the demons that had kidnapped Vox, it was these very despicable, abhorrent people that had hurt, beaten and tortured him for two decades. He was doing this for Vox. That thought reawakened that fire inside Alastor's chest, rekindling its flames and invigorating every cell in his body.
The fight was ruthless, brutal, savage. His body had grown numb, the adrenaline dulling any pain he might be feeling. His own clothes felt damp, blood seeping into the fabric and he didn't know if it was his own or someone else's.
Suddenly, his hand clutched something. It gleamed, the dim, blue light of the office bouncing off its surface.
Immediately, he started slashing. The blade could have hit its intended target or it could have missed, all he knew was that the next second both demons had backed away.
He panted, breaths quick and wild. He looked around, only now noticing the chaos that had ravaged the room. Blood was everywhere, every inch of his body hurt and the agony threatened to crumble him on the spot. Two of his fingers were broken, his temple was bleeding, his abdomen, arms, chest and legs had been impaled multiple times. The world spun for a brief moment before he regained control over his senses.
Velvette was a mess, her hair was in disarray, beads of sweat had formed on her forehead and she was clutching her left arm. Deep, gnarly gashes had been sliced on her shoulder, no doubt rendering it nearly useless. The other demon's condition was even worse. He was barely standing, one of his legs was limping, sluggish, his ankle most likely sprained, and he was breathing with extreme difficulty, his eyes half-lidded, hazy.
Alastor gripped the knife even tighter. He barely managed to catch a glimpse of Velvette's expression as she nodded her head, her gaze pointed at the demon behind Alastor.
He didn't understand what transpired, therefore he wasted no time in melting into the shadows and reappearing behind the demon.
The man must have anticipated the move for he quickly swerved, narrowly missing the dagger that would have pierced straight through his stomach. Instead, it impaled his side, digging deep into the flesh.
He howled, and Alastor further exacerbated his pain by twisting the knife. Another ragged, deliciously agonized scream escaped him.
Then, a sudden sparkling, pink light hit Alastor.
It caught him by surprise. His hands flattened over his torso, the motion causing him to drop his cane.
He stumbled back, forced to abandon the blade in the demon's back, confused and his eyes widened in horror when he saw his coat had been substituted with a straightjacket.
He further backed away as he strained to free his hands, but the buckles keeping them strapped remained firm. He didn't even know Velvette could do that and inwardly he cursed himself for his lack of Intel.
He felt a hand at his lower back and he sharply whipped his head around. His shadow had halted him and looking down at his feet he realized how close he had gotten to the crack in the floor, the precarious, shark-infested waters below only inches away.
His shadow started to claw at the belts, but its progress was swiftly impeded when cables slashed across the back of Alastor's knees.
With an anguished yelp, he fell flat on his back. When he lifted his eyes again he felt a stone drop in his stomach.
Both demons were glaring down at him, sharp-toothed, devious grins adorning their faces. The demon was leaning on Velvette, who had her arm wrapped around his waist, holding him up. In his hand he gripped the dagger.
"Well, darling," Velvette spoke, tired but with a hint of victorious smugness in her tone. "The honor is all yours."
Panic seized Alastor’s entire body, and in that moment, that unprecedented, brief moment, he felt true fear in his heart.
The demon smirked as he stepped closer to Alastor’s prone form. The jacket held tight, his cane laying forgotten on the ground and his soul nearly pulverized itself from the terror that coursed through his veins when the demon lifted the blade.
"At long, fucking last." His screen glitched horrifically, his expression nearly maniacal.
Alastor felt the air leave his lungs. He was heaving, yet he couldn't breathe. His body stilled. His eyes raked across the room, aimless, searching for some kind of salvation.
He was afraid. He felt genuine, unbridled terror seep into his bones, nearly causing them to shake from the afflicting, poisonous sensation.
Then... before the demon could bring the blade down, desperate and having no other options to escape, Alastor rolled away and threw himself into the water.
From the moment his body hit the surface, he began to sink. His heart threatened to burst out of his chest and he could feel his pulse in his ears. The adrenaline and panic hindered his ability to hold his breath in. The water converged on him from all sides as he furiously tried to dislodge the jacket.
...It didn't even budge.
It wouldn't get off. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe. He kicked his legs uselessly, his convoluted mind overtaken by his primal instincts. His sense of direction was askew, all of his determination narrowed on getting the jacket off.
He sunk further and further. His entire body began to shake and he keened at his rising frustration. He couldn't. Get. It. Off.
It felt as though his heart would give out. He was drowning. He was actually drowning and there was nothing he could do to stop it. His vision began to darken around the edges. His lungs burned for air. He couldn't breathe! His body convulsed, muscles twitching and contracting at various, unpredictable intervals.
It was at the exact moment that he thought his body would betray him and finally welcome the water into his lungs when he saw a dark, lumbering, imposing mass growing closer and closer.
He blinked trying to clear out the image. In a matter of seconds the shadow had enlarged and was continuing to advance on him and in its center he could now see two red, gleaming dots beaming at him.
His eyes widened in horror unlike anything he had ever felt when he realized what it was.
Nothing could have prepared him for the heart-stopping, mind-altering fear that scorched his body when the shark charged at him. And when its jaws snapped around his arm...?
He felt like he had just been killed.
The blow was so brutal, so vicious he felt his soul abandon his body. He felt like a watcher, observing the scene from above. His body was nothing but a ragdoll, tossed around and chewed into. It was the most elevated, the most alive he had ever been, yet at the same time feeling like death's hand was clutching his own.
Blood filled his mouth and the shark bit down further, spurred on by the smell. There were no words to describe it. Most likely since no one was meant to walk away from such an encounter with their mind intact and form the sentences. He could feel everything and nothing. He was experiencing pain so astronomical, so unfathomable it resulted with him barely feeling it at all. It was not his body, it didn't belong to him anymore. It was nothing like he had ever felt before, not even when he was dying while being ravaged by dogs. He didn't know where he was, he didn't know who he was.
The shark dove, Alastor didn't know in which direction as he was dragged along with it. Yet... distantly, from somewhere far away, Alastor felt his other hand floating.
He wiggled his fingers in the water, testing, experimenting, and his soul nearly started levitating when he felt the jacket had been torn.
The shark had inadvertently bit through the buckles, freeing Alastor’s arms. Panic gripped him, the newly-found freedom revitalizing his nerves as they started screaming with a basic, uncontrollable urge to survive.
He began to scratch at the sharks eyes, aimless, rapid, desperate, agonized. He felt his claws leaving gashes around its left eye and his efforts increased, frantic, wild.
...The shark released him.
He spun into the water, not knowing which way was up or down. He felt unnaturally ungrounded like this, as though he could float into the air from how light everything suddenly became. Only then, did he truly feel the fire in his lungs.
He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. Instantly, he struggled to get the jacket off, shimmying and worming his way out of the piece of clothing. His body was burning for air and he felt his throat bob, valiantly fighting off the need to inhale.
He ignored the way his eyes strived to roll back into his head, the lack of oxygen deteriorating his mind. He didn't know how much time passed, but eventually he managed to tear the jacket off.
It was off. It was finally off and Alastor unhesitatingly burst four tentacles out of his back.
They crashed everything around him, deducing the bounds of the aquarium. On his right he felt glass.
Not wasting a moment, Alastor widened the tentacles, and in one swift move he rammed all four of them into the glass with all his might.
The blow shattered it on impact.
After a tense, unnerving moment of silence, Alastor suddenly felt himself get pulled forward. His body spun in the water and he blearily realized he was being swept into a current.
Before his mind could properly grapple with this new predicament, Alastor harshly hit something solid. Water poured down on him, further sliding him across a now flooded floor.
He gasped, finally resurfacing out of the water. He breathed, long, deep, rough, labored and desperate, as though his lungs were getting acquainted with oxygen for the first time and they couldn't get enough of it. His dizzy mind began to clear, slowly, agonizingly slowly. His chest heaved, rising and falling as though he had run a lap around the Earth itself.
After an indeterminate amount of time, Alastor realized he was laying on his back. He opened his eyes, sluggish, his eyelids heavier than he had ever felt them.
And yet, despite the chorus of screaming and wailing occurring in his mind, the atmosphere was calm. Quiet.
For the first time that night, an unimpeded silence surrounded him.
Pushing himself up, he ignored the soul-rendering pain that pillaged his whole body. He looked down and what he saw confounded even his twisted, degenerate mind.
His left arm was completely mangled, pieces of torn flesh hung from it, blood gushed out in long, thick rivulets that gave the impression they could never be staunched. The sight only caused the excruciating agony he felt to amplify tenfold.
He could barely move his arm. He tentatively picked up his left wrist and let it hang in the air for a few seconds before he promptly released it. He watched it thud against the ground, limp and useless. He barely acknowledged the sharp, piercing pain it elicited, too overcome by the billowing, blazing fire that was lacing through his entire body.
It was searing, scalding, ardently mixing with the rest of his wounds, who were insignificant in comparison. Almost every part of his skin was in some manner bruised, or cut, or impaled, or bleeding. But, he didn't even care, all of that insurmountable agony was stifled down by the one thought that repeated in his brain on loop:
He was failing Vox.
Alastor had set out to destroy the people who had done unspeakable, unimaginable atrocities to the one person that actually meant something in his life and he couldn't even avenge him properly. The one person who Alastor loves more than anything, more than anyone, more than the sun and the stars themselves, had been subjected to torture and Alastor couldn't even execute the perpetrators of that torment.
He loves him. He loves him so much and the realization at how close he had gotten to snuffing out that demon caused the very essence of his soul to bleed.
An all-encompassing, unquenchable wave of self-disgust struck him and he hunched in on himself, his expression pained. He felt ashamed, he felt like he had let Vox down. He had seen how brutal, merciless and relentless the three Overlords had been even when they were mere sinners, barely any power in their bones. He had seen how Vox, sedated and weak, had tried to fight them off and he had seen him get beaten and somehow Alastor thought he could defeat them and not break a sweat?
It was insulting. It was offensive to Vox, blasphemous even, that Alastor had thought he could so easily prevail when Vox had been overpowered so horrifically.
He clenched his fists, ignoring the pang of agony that seeped into his palms, his claws having pierced the flesh in his anguish. He allowed his gaze to travel across the room and he chuckled, a bitter, dolesome sound when he only now realized he had been dumped into the exact room where Vox had been abducted.
The meeting room might be over-flooded from the hole in the glass wall that surrounded it, water pouring out into the hallway beyond, a blue, captivating, treacherously mesmerizing glow illuminated it. They had redecorated it, but it was unmistakable. Even in Alastor’s most insufferable, incomprehensible nightmares he could never mistake the long, sleek table built in the center. The one Vox had been thrown on, the one they had cornered him against, their hands greedy, their bodies pressing him down.
Kneeling in the midst of it he felt small... so small in that dreary room. He closed his eyes, unable to tamp down the images that flashed in his mind, Vox's screams, his pleas, running through his head.
Alastor had underestimated these demons. He had underestimated them gravely.
What he had thought to be a group of overambitious, power-hungry, incompetent sinners who were way in over their heads, in the span of a few nights turned out to be the most terrifying monsters Alastor had ever met.
Where he was vaunting, confident, purposely displaying his power so that no sinner would dare attempt to challenge him, these Overlords were camouflaged. They melted into the masses, adapting to their ways, invading people's minds, masking their own true personalities and donning an amicable, generous outward appearance which served to detrimentally lure their victims into a false sense of trust and safety and only when they had obliviously surrendered themselves to their whims did these demons show their true colors and strike.
They were cunning, deceitful, sly and treacherous and they held no qualms or regrets or remorse. They fought dirty, and they supported each other.
It was bone-chilling. Alastor's entire perception had been reshaped. He had no idea how dangerous they really were, how deep their depravity ran, and now they not only had an empire at their beck and call, they had developed their own powers, they had obtained hidden, undisclosed abilities so great they rivaled Alastor’s even when they fought one on one.
He had been so confident, so arrogant that he could kill them. He was failing Vox, the voice in his head whispered again. He harshly dug his hand into his mangled arm and barely managed to contain a hiss from the unbearable pain that spread through him.
It felt good. It felt right. He deserved this. He deserved this pain and more. Finally, he was doing something right.
Blood trickled between his fingers as he knelt on the over-flooded floor, completely soaked and dripping, and he only now noticed how his body was trembling all over, stunned by the vicious attack. There was no sound to be heard and Alastor didn't even jump when he saw a dark hand clasp over one if his own.
He looked up, his expression aggrieved, debilitated, and was met with the ghostly face of his shadow. It was lending something to him. He allowed his gaze to lower and he saw the shadow offering him his cane back, apparently having sneaked it down here.
His muscles were tired, exhausted, but he still took the cane and clutched it close to his chest. His shadow squeezed his hand, a comforting, reassuring gesture. Staring at its face, at the sympathetic look in its eyes, Alastor nodded, an invoiced relaying of his gratitude.
Suddenly, a bright, sparkling light flashed through the room as it descended from out of the opening in the aquarium. Alastor snapped his head towards it just in time to see the TV Demon rematerialize several feet away from him.
"Well, this is just sad." He bit, his voice distorting with static.
Alastor's face twisted into a snarl, cold-blooded and vengeful. Instantly, he remembered that searing, bubbling anger inside him that crashed into him like a tidal wave, except, now it wasn't a torrent of unbridled, uncontrollable fury. Now, it was a simmering, lurking sensation that coiled around his soul like vines of death.
It was a patient thing, which made it so much more dangerous. What was once an insatiable need to ravage and tear apart flesh with his own bare hands, was now a calculated, strategic and determined force set on one goal and one goal only.
His legs were still lightly shaking, but he grit his teeth and stood up. His back lit up with that same green, ominous energy and he gripped his cane as he felt his shadow grow behind him. It was increasing in size, eldritch, monstrous, as its razor-sharp claws grappled the air, menacing in their promise of pain.
The demon's eye blinked at it, and if he felt any trepidation or uncertainty he didn't let it show on his features. His body tensed, preparing for the strike.
Alastor smiled, and he reveled in the momentary confusion on the man's face before he was suddenly attacked by dozens of small, angry, blood-thirsty moppets converging on him from all sides.
The demon yelped, frantically blasting electricity at the creatures that merrily chewed on his limbs, cackling the entire time. Alastor used the distraction to exit the room through the double doors, not risking the chance of getting shocked by standing on the wet floor.
The man's grunts and sounds of frustration echoed from the room as Alastor stood in the hallway. It was the right move since the next thing his eyes laid on was Velvette, rounding the corner.
She halted. She was panting and her whole body stiffened when she saw Alastor.
Finally, he unleashed his shadow.
Her eyes widened in horror when she saw the wailing, unstoppable force of darkness aiming at her. She had little choice but to leap to the side, his shadow's claws narrowly missing her face.
Her expression was a combination of fear and rancorous anger. Alastor commanded the shadow to lunge again at the same time he ran over on the opposite side, cornering Velvette.
She raised her arms in a feeble attempt to shield herself and she screamed when the shadow tore through her forearm. She stumbled back, trying to get away from the savage, unbeatable entity and grunted when her back hit Alastor’s form.
She whirled around and her expression paled upon seeing the nefarious grin on his face. Acting on basic instinct, she tried hurling another batch of needles at him, but he effortlessly caught her arm.
His grip was vice-like and she winced as he pulled her towards him. He didn't even blink before he curled his fingers into a fist, ignoring the pain that spread through his mangled arm, and brutally brought it down on the back of Velvette's elbow.
The blow was weaker than he would have preferred, but it did the job. He smiled wider when he heard the tell-tale pop of Velvette's bones detaching.
Except, there was no scream. The agonized, wretched sound that usually accompanied such a strike was absent. Alastor's eyebrows furrowed and when he looked down to deduce her expression he saw a sharp, devious grin on her face.
She winked, then swiftly yanked her arm further. In two harsh pulls, her forearm completely separated from her body.
Alastor was left staring in bewilderment, his hand clutching Velvette's severed limb. It wasn't bleeding. Her elbow was round, smooth and gleaming and Alastor felt nauseous from how plastic it looked.
Before he could gather his bearings, Velvette gripped the other side of her limb and twisted it out of Alastor's grasp. Lightning-fast, she used the appendage as a weapon and violently bashed it across his face.
The slap reverberated through the hallway and he yelped, completely caught off guard by the whole ordeal. When he glanced back, he saw the demoness reattaching the limb to her body. With a couple of pops and creaks, her forearm was back in place, as though it had never been pulled off.
Alastor flexed his fingers and Velvette's smug expression was instantly obscured by the shadow that had snuck up above her. It grabbed her shoulders and she kicked and punched as it lifted her in the air.
His shadow's claws dug into her skin and she howled. She flailed in its grip, but could do little more as it brutally threw her back onto the floor with all the strength it could muster.
The tiles cracked, a jagged, barbed web of cracks spreading through the crater where Velvette's body lay. She was slumped, her limbs twitching and her muscles convulsing.
Alastor twirled his cane in his hands, anticipating the inevitable conclusion as he watched his shadow lunge at the demoness again. Suddenly, another shadow swept across the walls of the hallway. He heard glass shattering and in a flash something viciously barreled into him.
The force was so strong it knocked him across the hallway and he grunted as his body crashed onto the tiles. He rolled several times before finally ceasing to a halt.
When he looked back up he saw the tall, winged figure of Valentino standing over Velvette's battered body. The window next to them was broken, pieces of glass scattered everywhere. The demon snarled, his face decorated with three long gashes from their previous encounter. His expression was beyond outraged as he lifted a gun and aimed it straight at Alastor.
Alastor rolled away, one of his hands reaching for his shadow. Gunshots filled the hallway and when his shadow made contact with him, he instantly vanished into the darkness.
He swirled through the surface of the walls and ceiling, dodging Valentino’s bullets. Inwardly, he smiled when he acknowledged Valentino’s one burnt antennae, joyous that Vox had permanently scarred him, that the demon hadn't walked away unscathed.
Each one of the bullets embedded themselves in the tiles and Alastor’s fury only magnified. When he heard Valentino's guns clicking uselessly, their barrels empty, he corporealized in front of him.
Instead of aiming for the other's abdomen, like he had suspected, Alastor knelt down and swiftly swiped his leg across Valentino’s ankles.
The demon was knocked off his feet and Alastor grinned as he stumbled to the side, falling on his knee. He had been waiting to do that one for a while.
Disappointingly, Valentino stood up relatively quickly, being experienced in both combat and wearing heels. Shame, Alastor thought. He had hoped for more of a spectacle.
He took a step back when Valentino predictably tried to knock him over with his wing. Having fought him before, Alastor plunged himself into the shadows before Valentino brought his wings down and sent a massive wave through the room.
He reappeared behind him and slashed his claws across one of his wings. The demon howled, stumbling forward. Alastor suddenly felt a hand wrap across his own ankle and he screamed when Velvette jabbed a needle straight through his leg.
He backed away, clutching his thigh. Quickly, he pulled the thick, long piece of metal out of his flesh, groaning as a new wave of white-hot pain flashed through him.
"Good of you to finally show up." Velvette barked, petulant, her breathing hoarse and strained as she slowly picked herself up off the floor.
Valentino only shrugged, his lower hands helping her up, his tone tetchy. "So ungrateful, I'm here now, aren't I?"
Alastor pressed his palm over his leg, trying to staunch the bleeding. The fight would come to an irreparable conclusion if he received any more grievous wounds.
Valentino reloaded his guns, and with a grin that reeked of insincere amity he addressed Alastor. "Back for more Radio Demon?" His tone was sly, dripping with poisoned sweetness. "Saw what we did to your friend and decided you want a taste?"
Alastor lunged.
"You're practically begging for it, perra!" Valentino yelled as he started firing.
Alastor avoided the bullets to the best of his abilities, vanishing into the shadows and manipulating them into the scene. He ignored the pain in his body, he ignored the bullets that grazed his skin, he ignored the purple wisps Valentino conjured to ensnare him, he ignored the fabrics and needles Velvette hurled in the air.
It was a messy, aggressive fight, all of them injured, all of them furious, incensed, blinded by rage. His shadow was wild, slashing and losing itself in the bloodlust. The other two fought just as fervently.
He screamed when he felt a sharp, piercing pain in the back of his shoulder.
His knees buckled and he strained to hold himself up as a dreadfully familiar, blue glow shone from behind him. With a shout, Alastor whipped his body around, the movement causing the angelic blade to gruesomely rip his skin as it was yanked out.
He increased in size, valiantly fighting through the dizziness that created a mist in his mind. His antlers elongated, his claws lengthened. Without deliberation, he grabbed the demon's hand that held the dagger and twisted it out of the way before he rammed his own body forth.
The motion caused both demons to tumble to the ground. Alastor grunted, but he didn't relent his hold. The demon's eyes widened, his body just as injured if not more than Alastor's, as he strenuously tried to shove him off.
Alastor leant further towards him, and slowly, drearily slowly, he started to redirect the tip of the dagger so that it was aiming at the demon under him.
The other began to kick at him, both of his hands fiercely gripping the handle, his body thrashing and resisting Alastor's motion. His own body was shaking from the exertion and his efforts only heightened when he felt two sets of hands grab his elbows.
The two demons behind him began to pull him back, assiduously trying to drag him off their partner. He summoned his tentacles again and wrapped them around their bodies.
Immediately, they started choking as the hold around their necks tightened. Alastor felt his back being clawed at and his skin torn apart as the demons' desperation rose.
He persisted. He ignored it all as the sight before him boosted his strength, motivating him further. His shadow sprung forth to grip the hilt, aiding the blade's descent.
The dagger was barely an inch from the man's chest. Alastor's heels slid on the floor from how strongly he was pushing his entire body onto the blade.
His eyes began to tick faster when the steel began to pierce the man's flesh. A small, bloody dot circled the tip of the dagger as it precariously began to dig itself deeper.
So close... He was so close. Just a little further. Just another nudge and it would all be over...
The demon yelled, his muscles shaking like a leaf as he tried to resist. Alastor couldn't stop his own shout as he focused all of his attention on pushing the dagger.
A pink, nauseatingly-sweet aroma wafted through the air. Alastor's vision clouded, his grip began to weaken.
Another puff of smoke invaded his senses and Alastor coughed. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a chilling, wicked smile.
His hold slacked, his limbs suddenly weak, his tentacles growing lax. And that momentary fumble was all it took.
He groaned as all three demons began to push him back. They aimed for his wounds, digging their fingers into them and drawing even more blood and Alastor couldn't even acknowledge the pain from the insurmountable wave of regret and sorrow that flooded his soul at having the opportunity for revenge and justice stolen from him.
"Voxxy, you sure you want to kill him? We could put him in one of my movies." Valentino asked, his voice raspy and breathy, yet his tone was impossibly breezy and level-headed, but beneath Alastor could feel his anger quivering. He felt horror boil into his heart. "You always wanted to see what was in those pants, after all."
Alastor felt like he was going to throw up. The combination of that intoxicating, sugary, repulsive fume, Valentino's lewd, appalling words as well as the prospect that the impostor had viewed Alastor in such a light caused his whole body to stiffen.
"Nah, I think I want him gone, now." His voice was barely comprehensible, fizzing from static. He breathed deeply as he slowly began to sit up. "We can use the box-head after this one's dead."
Alastor’s shadows burst through the air. The wave knocked the demons back slightly, granting him a moment to breathe in fully.
Out of the blue, he was thrown to the side by Valentino's wing and he barely managed to keep his footing as he was sent spiraling a couple of meters away.
All four demons were gasping, their skins bruised and riddled with bites, claw marks and gashes. Alastor's lungs burned, his vision was both the clearest it had ever been and somehow blurry from the over-consuming anger and adrenaline.
Everything hurt. There wasn't a part of his body that wasn't screaming from pain and he couldn't remember the last time he had participated in a fight this unpredictable, this gruesome. Even when he fought the leader of an army of exorcists he hadn't felt such raw, inexorable ardency.
Alastor whipped his tentacles in the air, displaying their malevolence. He felt ice pour into his veins when he saw Velvette and Valentino exchange a glance.
He knew that exchange. He had seen it before, when they were planning something vile, something conniving.
With the dexterity and elegance of a cat, Velvette jumped into Valentino's arms. "Let's go, Peaches."
The other reaffirmed his hold on her, wrapping his arms below her back and knees, though still pointing one gun at Alastor. He whined "Babydoll, you know I don't like you using that name in public."
Velvette only wrapped her arms around his neck. "It's fine. This one won't be alive for long." She stated with a pleased, confident smile on her face that combated the blood, sweat and glistening hue on it.
"Hmm, fair." Valentino matched her tone in equal.
Suddenly, the moth spread his wings and Alastor barely managed to cover his face from being impaled by shards of glass before Valentino flew them both out the window.
Glass and debris shot in every direction and Alastor was left baffled, staring at an empty, vacant hallway.
His heart froze when he heard a spark sounding from a few feet away.
He turned towards it. The face of the television demon greeted him, his expression both livid and anticipatorily gleeful, his clothes tattered, his body limping and bloody. He was rubbing his hands together, electricity zapping from the motion and in that moment Alastor understood why Velvette and Valentino had abandoned the scene.
They were no longer above an aquarium built out of brittle, fragile glass, there was nothing holding the demon back. With an imperious shout, he brought his hands flat on the ground.
A massive, tumultuous, unstoppable wave of lightning shot through the entire hallway. It was devastating in its might. The electricity incinerated everything in sight and Alastor distantly heard himself scream as thousands of volts struck his body.
He saw darkness, an endless, inescapable abyss. He couldn't move. He couldn't speak. He didn't know if he was even breathing.
He had been electrocuted before, but in his wounded, barely conscious state this blow managed to drain his will.
He didn't know how much time he spent in that harrowing void. After a while, he felt his fingers twitch, his muscles as stiff and disobedient as though he had been bathing in ice. He was lying on his side, having fallen limp to the floor.
A voice rang from above him, muffled and unclear, but he knew it was wicked. A hand gripped his ear and he winced. The pain managed to slightly anchor him back to reality and he attempted to open his eyes.
They were heavy, they were so heavy and a part of him wanted to surrender himself back to that darkness. But that ember in his soul still burned, that small, indistinguishable flame born out of care, despair, affection, sorrow and love was still simmering.
He reached towards it, feeling that freezing ice around his heart beginning to melt and with a long, deep breath he summoned tentacles from his back and struck.
It was aimless, desperate. He didn't know who or where he was hitting. He heard a yell from his left and he directed the tentacles to attack anything in that vicinity.
Slowly, agonizingly, he began to lift himself up, his vision disoriented, muddy, a vague, indistinguishable complexion of blue and purple surrounding him.
He shook his head, trying to clear up his eyesight. He heard shouting and cursing accompany the clamor and desolation his tentacles were delivering.
"Motherfucker!" The voice was buffering and glitching in its rage. "You should never have come back! Those fucking angels should have finished the job! They should have put your head on a spike and finally rid us of you!"
Oh, how little the demon knew. Alastor could still feel that acidic, caustic pain that disintegrated his soul, inch by inch. For eight years the memory had accompanied him. He could still picture that endless, empty, gray fog. Lifeless. Infinite. Dead.
Piercing the demon's rampant tantrum, Alastor heard footsteps growing closer.
His body seized. There were more than a dozen, a cacophony of intimidating stomping echoing through the hallway.
He couldn't pinpoint the direction, his mind fuzzy and discombobulated as it was. They seemed to be echoing from every side.
When his vision cleared, prompted on by the terror that seeped into Alastor's very core, he felt his breath hitch.
Armed men dressed in black, a circular, blue logo sewn into their shoulders and above their hearts. Their faces were covered in masks and their weapons were aimed not at Alastor, but at his shadow. A singular, brisk command was all the warning he received before pain laced up his entire body.
He saw red, both literally and figuratively as every soldier fired at his shadow, not bullets, but flames.
It hurt. It hurt so much and Alastor couldn't even find the strength to muffle his screams. He clawed at the ground, desperate for the pain to stop. He kicked and thrashed, unable to stop his movements. His back arched, his muscles convulsing and contracting beyond his control.
His mind wandered and he remembered the fight with Valentino. He remembered how the demon had burned his shadow with the butt of his cigarette, and he remembered the wicked, satisfied grin the action, the realization, had caused on his face.
They knew. They knew Alastor’s shadow and him were one and the same. They knew what his shadow felt so did he. 'The specials' the demon had said, apparently referring to these armed, trained men.
They had been planning this. They had known Alastor would seek revenge and they had prepared for his arrival.
Now, he knew why the demon had been so blasé, so heedless, when Alastor had broken into his office with the sole intention of murdering him. He felt like a fool. He had seen their capabilities and tendencies to plan ahead first-hand on Vox's monitor and he still trudged on.
He was paying for it now. His shadow was wailing, screeching as the flames tore through it. It couldn't escape them, they had converged it from all sides, trapping it in a ring of fire.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the three demons staring down at him, leaning on each other, broken, hurt and bleeding, but the triumph on their faces was unmistakable. They had beaten him.
They had won. And Alastor had to shut his eyes from the unendurable reality. The pain was pillaging his very soul, his throat was sore and aching from screaming, tears streamed down his face, his body felt depleted, the blood-loss and torturous agony threatening to annihilate him on the spot. And through all of that unprecedented suffering, the pain like nothing he had ever felt before, only a single, immortal thought swirled in his head over and over:
Vox.
Vox, who had impossibly returned in Alastor’s life, reigniting that long forgotten vigor and giving back meaning to his life. Vox, who was currently in their room, asleep, wounded and exhausted and unable to defend himself. Vox, who had survived unimaginable torment and all he needed was Alastor at his side. Vox, who had put his trust in Alastor to protect him.
...He can't allow this to happen. He can't allow Vox to be dragged back into that room.
Vox.
That one lone thought was capable of dispersing the canyon of agony clouding Alastor’s thoughts and rationale. He clenched his fists, he grit his teeth, and with one devastating scream he unleashed all of his power.
A calamitous, thunderous, mighty burst of darkness exploded from his chest. The full extent of his power, beyond comprehension, annihilated everything in sight. A sphere of raging, uncontainable shadows as formidable, as deathless as the unforgiving, bewitching abyss of the universe itself during the age before light had ever graced it, stormed out of him. They were dauntless, merciless in their decimation, warping through space as though defying the very laws the world relied on.
Every window shattered, disintegrating the glass to atoms. The demons and the soldiers were blasted into the air, their bodies lost somewhere far-away as their screams resounded from the distance. The walls got demolished, debris and broken tiles scattering lightning-fast in every direction.
The entire city felt it. A wrathful, destructive earthquake that spread through every building and every street and in its path followed a massive, colossal, booming wave that shook the ground as it billowed through the terrain. From the floor of the Tower, an enormous cloud of ash and dust erupted, impossible to miss.
Alastor felt the Tower crumbling around him. People were shouting and yelling in manic alarm, their voices muffled, echoing as though they were concealed behind a thick, impenetrable wall of glass. The ceiling was caving in, large, perilous chunks fell all around.
His head lolled from side to side, he didn't have enough energy to lift it. He could only summon shreds and whispers of his power, thoroughly exhausted. He couldn't even breathe, the air was infused with dry, oppressive particles of dust that softly fell on his face like snowflakes. His entire body was in pain, it hurt so much that he didn't even feel it anymore and distantly, from the deep, suffocating haze that was descending on his mind, he wondered whether any of this was even real.
Then... that voice whispered again.
Vox.
Alastor moved. He rolled his body to the side. Not a sound escaped him, his throat wouldn't even be able to handle the vibrations. Slowly, dreadfully slowly, he turned over on his stomach.
He searched around, looking for the windows, pointedly not paying any mind to the destruction descending down on him as the building started to collapse.
There it is. The constant red sky.
He began to crawl towards it, tossing aside rubble and concrete rocks along the way. His muscles were frail, enervated, his breaths were shallow and quick and he could feel ash on his tongue. But, he pushed on. Step by step, he nudged his way closer towards the open space where a window had stood.
Small, sharp pieces of glass crunched and splintered beneath him and he grit his teeth. Finally, his hands grasped the edge and looking down he had to stifle a gasp from how far below the ground resided.
A groan sounded from behind him.
Slightly craning his neck, he was met with a tall, slender figure leaning against the wall.
Valentino was standing behind him, his entire body was covered in cuts, scrapes, lashes and bruises. His forehead was bleeding, the blood running down his face, blinding him in one eye. His fur was ruffled, drenched with blood and the dust that coated his wings dulled their vibrancy. One of his arms was bent at an unnatural angle and his legs were shaking, but none of those injuries held any weight in comparison to the unreserved, boiling fury that radiated from his face when his eyes locked on Alastor.
A few, unnerving, tense seconds passed, the ceiling cascading around them the only sound to pierce the icy silence. Then, Alastor threw himself over the edge.
Instantly, he began to plummet. He spread his limps, adding wind resistance to slow his fall. His shadow immediately lunged after him, but his heart nearly stilled when he saw a winged figure following in its pace.
The wind whipped at his damp hair, and he extended his hand towards his shadow. However, Valentino was close on its tail, intent on reaching Alastor first to undoubtedly finish the job.
The demon dove, his speed mind-blowing, spurred on by his determination and hatred of Alastor.
The ground was growing closer, both the shadow and Valentino raced towards him.
Suddenly, Alastor saw the other extend his wings. A whooshing sound breached through as Valentino suspended his fall, now flying in the air.
Alastor continued to fall, watching the other's figure decrease in size. His shadow was almost there, only a few feet away.
It strained to reach him, its fingers stretching as far as they physically could.
He couldn't look down, but he knew the ground was arriving....
...he felt his hand touch his shadow's.
He disappeared into the void before he hit the ground.
Alastor pointedly ignored how his hair had brushed against something the moment when he did it. His skull had been saved from shattering by barely an inch and that thought caused a chill to run down his spine.
But, he was alive. He was out of that Tower and melted into the hidden, secret shadows of the city.
He bolted through them, not sparing a glance back at the building as he ran towards the hotel. Where the pitch black void was a welcoming comfort, it also served as a river to guide him along. He couldn't see where he was going, he couldn't identify the noises or sounds around him, but he trusted the darkness to lead his way.
He allowed himself to drift in those beguiling waters, finally granting his body a small reprieve as it was still being viciously ravaged by pain. His injuries were various and incalculable, he had lost track of how many he had received a long while ago.
The journey towards the hotel was a surprisingly short one, he even suspected he might have lost consciousness for a couple of brief, flickering moments on the way.
His knees suddenly hit a warm, plush surface. He looked down and twined his fingers through the red carpet that enriched the hallway floors of the hotel. Bright, comforting, gentle lights invaded his eyes, so unlike the cold, barren, blue, soulless ones from the Tower.
His mind was spinning, the images in front of him swirling and distorting. He was going to pass out. The pain in his body was too severe to allow him to remain awake.
He limped forward, falling onto his knees after every few steps. He surmised it was the floor to his room, so he proceeded in the direction of it, leaving bloodstains in the carpet and claw marks on the walls as he used them to support himself along the way.
The time that it took him to reach his door felt like an eternity. He transported himself to the other side and when he did, the last, remaining flames of his will extinguished.
Vox was still sleeping, snug and safe under the blanket near the tree. Alastor's shadows were around him, remaining vigilant. His screen illuminated the room, a dim, soft shade of blue that rivaled the splendor of even the most alluring oceans.
Alastor dropped to his knees. His eyes rolled back into his head and he couldn't stifle the groan that escaped his throat.
He didn't want to leave Vox alone, he didn't want him to wake up with Alastor gone. So, he crawled. He clawed and struggled his way over to Vox, no longer feeling like he was even a real, living person.
Blearily, he felt grass beneath his palms and that was when his body finally betrayed him.
He slumped on his side, his muscles drained, his bones weary and exhausted. A darkness descended on his mind, infinite and omnipotent. Alastor could do nothing but welcome the unforgivable, persistent void.
The last thing he saw before he passed out was a radiant, divine, blue, rectangular shape looming over him, and in that moment Alastor could have sworn that Heaven was looking down at him.
Notes:
I just want to say I hope the next chapters will have a more normal length (hopefully, I don't know what's happening at this point tbh)
This chapter was a pain in the ass. How to write a fight scene between four characters, three of them he/hims, another extra he/him getting mentioned that isn't even there, and a jackass who doesn't even have a name.
Also, I headcanon the Vees call Valentino Peaches in private because he's covered with fuzz all over like a real moth (or peach). Also, yeah, I made Velvette a doll (literally).
Chapter 6: Out of the frying pan
Notes:
Again, I'm sorry for the delay but I had one of the most difficult exams in my life and it was a disaster so I kind of went into a slump. But, it went so bad it's funny and I can't even be sad about it so here's the latest chapter. I hope you enjoy! <3
Can I just say how wonderful you people are in the comments, I swear you're like angels in disguise. Thank you so much!
Also, I was having a bit of trouble writing both Vox's because I didn't want box Vox to feel too much like an OC and completely erase canon Vox's personality which we all know and love (dubiously) and are engaging with this fic for. So, I'm characterising box Vox the same way fanon does, as in I'm using Vox's personality before the "break up" for box Vox and his personality after for fake Vox.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"Come on."
"Honestly, there's no need." Alastor assured.
Vox only raised his eyebrows as he twirled his index finger in a circular motion in the air.
"Turn around."
"I hardly think it's necessa-"
"Nope, I don't want to hear it." Vox interjected, his voice uncompromising, leaving no room for objection.
The demon's expression was firm, inflexible. Alastor allowed a few seconds of stubborn silence to pass before he eventually relented.
With a dramatic exhale, he turned his back towards Vox. "So persistent." he drawled, faking exasperation. "If only we had you when this hotel started. We would be flooded with guests by now."
Vox snorted. "Still no luck on that front?" he asked as he waited for Alastor to position himself.
After he had situated himself on the bed, his legs crossed, his back straight and turned towards Vox, prim and proper, Alastor answered "Unsurprisingly." He let out a contented sigh, relaxing his shoulders with a stretch. "As expected of course, but our Princess is all the more determined because of it."
Vox must have sensed the exhaustion accompanying Alastor’s tone for he inquired "What has she got you doing now?" Despite the slight skittish tilt to his voice, his words were delightfully embellished by the smile he couldn't contain.
Alastor bit his cheek and admitted with ostensible timidity "...Bonding exercises."
He nearly began to fume on the spot when he heard a wheeze behind him.
"Oh, don't you just love those?" Vox’s tone was taunting, riddled with playful sarcasm.
"You wouldn't be laughing if you actually attended them." Alastor retorted, though the bite that would be complementary to the words was absent.
Vox puffed out another laugh as he scooted closer, the mattress dipping with the movement, and the sweetness of the sound extinguished any annoyance Alastor felt in regards to the conversation. His heart melted even further when Vox gently tapped around the wounds on his back, testing their healing progress.
Alastor had tried to dissuade him from wasting antibiotics and gauze on them, seeing as they are mostly healed, but the demon had been insistent. It was quite endearing, and it was more than Alastor deserved after he had so thoughtlessly deposited himself in front of Vox on that dreadful night.
Alastor still didn't know how the demon had prevailed when he had found him on the floor, bleeding, his body ruined, moments away from death. He was still in awe of how he had managed to save his life. Taking into account Vox's inability to walk, his own hurt and injured body, as well as the severity of the situation, Alastor couldn't hide his pride or his admiration for the demon. All Alastor remembered was waking up after an interminable amount of time, the world a dizzy haze, his eyes heavy and weary, his bare skin caressing the grass of the bayou, his entire body wrapped in bandages, and through that endless, oppressive fog, pierced a single blue ray of light.
It had been his anchor. He had followed that light and allowed it to draw him back to reality. When he had begun to stir, his body in insurmountable, excruciating agony, the very next thing he had felt was a warm embrace. He had barely been able to move at the time, but no power in Hell would have been able to prevent him from wrapping his own arms around Vox.
Vox had done exactly what Alastor should have after he brought the demon to this room on the very first night. He hadn't wasted a second to embrace him, to hold him, to comfort him and be there for him and Alastor could've wept, even now, from the knowledge that Vox had needed it just as much as Alastor.
He still remembered with perfect clarity how the demon had latched onto him, his entire form trembling, his grip on Alastor unyielding, as though he was clutching the last hope of his salvation. Alastor had returned the hug with equal vehemence. So, they had held each other, none of them speaking, desperate for the other's warmth and to reaffirm the other's presence.
Eventually, Vox had relayed the misgivings of the situation, of how he had found Alastor, how - without any help or ways of healing him - he had dragged him towards the nest of shadows Alastor had conjured for Vox's protection. Even from a single plea, a lone whisper of Vox's voice, the shadows had recognized him. He had called for them, helpless to do anything else, and they had gathered to his aid, eternally devoted. Vox had explained how Alastor’s own shadows had seeped into his flesh, staunching the bleeding and giving Vox enough time to find a first aid kit.
To this day, Alastor refused to ponder how terrified and heartbroken Vox must have felt in that moment. After escaping imprisonment of seventeen years only to find his best friend bleeding and unconscious on the ground, nearly killed by the very people who abused him. He fervently rejected those thoughts, knowing his already guilt-driven mind would completely shatter if he allowed them to worm their way into it.
Ever since, both of them had dedicated hours stitching and bandaging each other up and tending to one another's wounds. And now, nearly three weeks later, that precious ritual of theirs still persevered as neither of them wanted to part with the opportunity it provided for them to be close to one another.
"No, I don't think I would." Vox said, quieter, as he continued to explore and discern Alastor’s injuries. "I think she'd be quite displeased with me if she knew I was the reason you're neglecting your duties."
This time, Alastor laughed, short and amused. "I think she'd be quite thrilled with you, dear." He closed his eyes, loosing himself in the sensations as Vox began to dab the wounds with antiseptics. "Keeping me busy from my usual afternoon hunting activities just so I can spend more time with you? The poor girl would swoon."
Vox hummed as he focused on the task in front of him, his fingers as gentle as ripples in a lake after a drop of water had disturbed its tranquility. "True. Though, if I attend then your reputation would be in shambles."
His voice was teasing, the unspoken threat titillating in its harmlessness. Alastor laughed at the back of his throat, but his tone turned pensive.
"Would you?"
Vox made a questioning noise as he began to bandage Alastor’s wounds.
Alastor supplied "Would you really like to attend?"
The invoiced message needed no elaboration. Neither of them had specifically discussed announcing Vox's presence at the hotel, but in hindsight, the prospect would be inevitable.
He couldn't discern Vox's expression, turned away as he was, but he could feel the demon mull over the proposition.
"Maybe." he added eventually, his voice thoughtful. "It would be the least I could do. It is her hotel I'm staying at, after all."
Not wanting Vox to feel pressured to acquaint himself with the whole crew, knowing that Alastor was the only person he had been safe around in nearly two decades, Alastor only answered reassuringly. "Only if you want to, of course. She wouldn't mind if you don't." He shifted slightly, craning his neck backwards in an attempt to convey his words more effectively. "In fact, I'd venture to think she would be overjoyed to know someone deemed her hotel safe enough to be counted as a refuge."
He hoped he wasn't honeying the conversation too much, Vox was more than capable of weighing his options. It was a thin line, Alastor tried to be as careful and considerate with Vox as he could, not yet having a full grasp of how he might be perceiving the situation, while avoiding coddling him. He didn't want to underestimate Vox or make him feel inferior, or weak, or incompetent, even though those would be the last words Alastor could use to describe him.
But, some nights he couldn't alleviate his heart from the sorrow and despair pillaging it whenever an indicator of Vox's hardships rose to the surface. One of those was Vox's inability to assess his hunger and thirst. He could indulge in food and drink with little effort, but he lacked the awareness, the remembrance, to those needs, his body used to being denied for so many years had grown habituated to that ever-present anguish.
Another one - the most obvious one - was Vox's avoidance of sleeping in the bed. He had little trouble sitting or laying on it, as long as he didn't approach the bedpost too closely, but he pointedly preferred to sleep in the nest of blankets and pillows on the grass he and Alastor had fashioned.
One time he had attempted to, he had elected to spend the night with Alastor on the bed and Alastor had obliged, eager as ever to display his support as the demon tested his own limits. Even now, he remembered the soul-shattering, extraneously agonizing distress he had felt when he had woken up in the middle of the night to find Vox huddled in the corner of the bed, his whole body shaking, curled in on itself, his breaths shallow, fast and raspy, his voice broken and whispering.
Alastor had instantly jolted awake and his heart had nearly split in half when he had realized Vox was pleading, thinking he was still in that basement.
That night had been the first night Alastor had witnessed first-hand how terrified Vox truly was. It had been the first night Alastor truly understood the consequences of what those abhorrent, disgusting sinners had been doing to Vox. He doubted he could ever cleanse his mind of the image or mitigate the never-ending pain in his soul.
He could still feel Vox's arms around him when the demon had thrown himself at Alastor after eventually realizing where he was. He had pulled Alastor in and clutched him with all of his might, his chest heaving with sobs, breathy and overwhelmed from both the fear and relief that had flooded him. Alastor had held him just as tight, paying no mind to the tears that had streamed down his own face as he lulled comforting reassurances and hummed gentle melodies in Vox's ear. He had continued embracing the demon far into the night, even after his heavy breathing had subsided and he had drifted off to sleep.
They hadn't slept in the bed since. Alastor wasn't too keen to reconvene with the sound of Vox muttering his name over and over, anguished, pained and muffled from how tightly his face was buried in Alastor’s hair, desperate for an anchor, for a confirmation that he wasn't in that room anymore - and he was quite certain Vox wasn't too eager for any more gruesome, dreadful nightmares either.
Alastor breathed in deeply, steeling his mind against the pervasive memories as he allowed himself to focus on Vox's gentle ministrations.
The demon softly sighed behind him. "Thanks, but I think meeting her is the barest courtesy I could do."
Alastor couldn't prevent the mellow way his smile rose. Oh, how he had missed this wonderful, remarkable man. "Always such a gentleman."
Vox snorted. "I doubt I could ever reach your level of fancy, but I want us both to heal first before I meet her."
Unfortunately, Alastor had to agree. The girl would probably hurl herself at Vox if she found out he was Alastor's person. Already, he could picture Vox being smothered by her and the crew and it caused his smile to widen further.
"-But, for that I'll need you compliant." Vox reprimanded him suddenly, accepting none of Alastor's feeble attempts to convince him not to bother with his fading injuries.
"Hmm."
"Understood?" Vox pestered.
"You need to heal just as much, Vox." he answered. His eyes crinkled for he knew Vox's demands weren't born out of a need for assertiveness, never, they were born out of care.
Dejectedly, Alastor wallowed in the knowledge that he had contributed to the resurrection of that protectiveness when he had allowed himself to be mauled half to death. It had been thoughtless, leaving himself in front of Vox when the demon had his own wounds to contest with and Alastor's heart warmed from the realization that Vox's persistent affection didn't derive from a sense of duty or loyalty, but out of genuine, veritable fear that he had almost lost Alastor.
Alastor couldn't wrap his head around the prospect of losing his dearest person to the people that had kidnapped and a used him for years and his soul deteriorated every time he welcomed those pernicious, detrimental thoughts. Therefore, he relished in every touch Vox offered, every caress, every kiss, every time he nagged Alastor or cautioned him whenever he had to leave the room to resume his duties as the hotelier, knowing the exchange was just as vital for him as it was for Vox.
A part of him suspected the demon was helpless to cease his efforts to keep Alastor safe. He knew that he was not just the only thing Vox had left, but also the most important one, as the other regularly kept reminding him and it never failed to cause Alastor's soul to dance from joy.
The feeling was not foreign to Alastor either, all too aware that his life would be harrowingly empty and meaningless without Vox in it. The demon had brought color back into the world, he had opened Alastor’s eyes, he had reawakened his still heart and he had done it so effortlessly. One touch from him had Alastor melting, one word from that deep, rich, smooth voice - now mended and no longer broken, raspy and gravely - was all it took for his knees to buckle, one glance and everything around him faded into non-existence, superfluous, thoroughly forgotten by Alastor's bewitched, lovestruck mind.
Alastor was also drearily aware of how helpless Vox might still be feeling, weak and wounded as he was, knowing that should any trouble befell them he would be unable to fight the threat. Alastor would sometimes observe him, out of the corner of his eye, when the demon thought he wasn't looking or from around a doorframe, and he would see Vox sitting quietly, his focus narrowed on his hands, his eyebrows creased in concentration as he attempted to summon electricity in his fingers.
Alastor had spent decades down in Hell, where suffering and misery ran rampant, unimpeded, and the sight of Vox straining to reclaim his power was one of the most heart-rending and agonizing things he had ever laid eyes upon. To witness him grapple for what was unquestionably the most innate, intrinsic, fundamental part of any sinner, and to watch as only sparks produced from his efforts, aimless, uncoordinated as they escaped his grasp. The innermost intimate and private part of his soul that only he should be privy to, that should by all right remain autonomous, that no force in the universe but him should be able to tap into, had been stolen, mutilated.
After each attempt, Alastor would hold him tight, wordless, his promises already relayed, their uselessness scattering them in the wind. His own inability to deal justice and avenge Vox mercilessly scorched every fiber of his being. He had attempted to eradicate those vile, sickening sinners out of existence and he had failed and the inadequacy, the powerlessness that pillaged his body with guilt still simmered deep in his bones.
Though, in moments like these, both of them sitting closely next to each other, Vox's careful, soft movements as he tended to Alastor's injuries, Alastor's unsuccessful efforts to prevent himself from slumping backwards into Vox's hold, made it feel like the years spent apart had never happened.
He was healing, slowly, but surely. His injuries stitched themselves closer with each passing minute and Alastor dutifully aided his recovery.
It had become an unspoken habit of theirs that every day they would dedicate at least an hour where Alastor would help Vox try to walk. The task was strenuous, exacting and it usually left Vox breathless and worn out, but he prevailed. With grit and determination, the demon was capable of standing on his own now. He was only able to manage several steps at a time on short distances, but his progress was undeniable and it caused Alastor's heart to vibrate with relief and pride.
For the first time in nearly two decades Alastor felt... content. No, he felt elated, he felt blissful, he was brimming with delight. Peace had reentered his life along with the most precious and breathtaking person Alastor had ever known. He hadn't realized how deep that bottomless pit of despair had dug itself in his heart. He had grown so bitter, so discontent with everything around him, hateful to other people's joy simply because he had lost his own.
Vox had brought light into his life again. He had pierced that endless darkness corrupting Alastor’s soul with misery and hopeless resignation and Alastor barely even felt the days pass since he had found him. The three weeks that they spent together flew in an iridescent, mesmerizing river as time swept the minutes away for every moment, every touch, every conversation felt insufficient. He wanted to repeat all of it, he wanted to remain in Vox's arms for the rest of eternity because he knew he would never grow bored. Everything that he had ever wanted, had ever needed, was sitting right behind him.
Vox only grunted after Alastor's assent, which caused Alastor's smile to crook in fondness. Blinking, languished, Alastor crooned, his tone slightly mischievous. "Well, then. If we are going to introduce you, you should ascertain the extent of my injuries more thoroughly, don't you think?"
He twisted his head slightly, his eyes hooded as he sneaked a glance behind him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Vox's eyebrows slightly furrow before his face slacked, having caught on to Alastor's game.
"Well, it would be easier if you didn't have all this fluff along your spine." he joked, his words lacking the scorn.
Alastor knew the demon not only appreciated the parts of his body that were more covered with fur, but he unabashedly enjoyed them. That belief was further reinforced when Vox threaded his fingers through it.
The motion elicited an imperceptible shudder out of Alastor. He started to fiddle with his fingers, the distraction absentminded as he tried not to lose himself in the delightful sensation. His smile was coy, satisfied with the success to scheme his way closer to Vox.
"A shame, truly." He couldn't contain the teasing tilt from his tone. "It seems you'll have to better examine me for injuries."
Vox hummed, faking contemplation as he began to stroke up and down Alastor’s spine. "Like this?"
Alastor couldn't refrain from tilting his head back, a content smile brimming on his face. "Mmhm." he confirmed.
A hushed, almost inaudible laugh escaped Vox, but he didn't stop his movements. His palm caressed Alastor's back, gentle, light, curious even, as his fingers played with Alastor's fluff. In a matter of seconds, warmth had spread along his spine, transferred from Vox's own body, the sensation not unlike being kissed by burning, yet nurturing sunbeams on a hot, summer's day.
He didn't even notice how lazily his eyes had drooped closed until Vox's voice spoke behind him, tenderly piercing that comforting, lulling fog that had infused his mind.
"Hmm, I don't see any injuries." his tone was devoid of sincerity, knowing Alastor wasn't truly seeking an examination. "I don't think I should hold you up anymore, you seem perfectly healthy."
Alastor's eyes snapped open in annoyance. Even as he stared at the unremarkable view of his bookcase he could feel Vox's bluffing, self-satisfied grin. He pursed his lips "Look other places if you'd be so kind. I do feel uncharacteristically peaked." he enunciated the last word with insistence.
"Well, we wouldn't want that." Vox matched his tone in equal, sensing Alastor’s jest.
The demon shifted his hand from Alastor’s nape to his shoulder. He laid his palm flat on the area where more of Alastor’s bare skin was revealed and spread his fingers.
The pleasurable feeling that engulfed him threatened to spark that ember of fire bubbling in his core that could have disintegrated an entire building from the amount of delight that coursed through him. He sighed quietly, further surrendering himself to that sensation by slightly leaning back into Vox's irresistible hand.
"Perhaps, here?" the demon intoned as he flexed his fingers in a motion that resembled a pinch, only the repetitive movement was so gentle and feather-light it merely grazed the soft hairs on Alastor's skin.
He felt himself plummeting halfway to an eternal sleep from the enchanting touch. An incomprehensible, unintelligible sound of enjoyment left him that he didn't have the inclination to properly decipher.
Vox hummed, the strain to barely control his smile as clear as day. "Hmm, no, nothing here either." He continued to caress Alastor's skin, the movements heavenly. His tone didn't abandon that teasing lilt when he spoke again. "Maybe, I should take a closer look."
That was all the warning Alastor received before he felt his entire shoulder get encompassed by a familiar, electric warmth. He blinked his eyes open, heavy and drowsy as they were, and he smiled, relishing in the feeling of Vox's screen in such close proximity to his skin.
Then, a single, riveting kiss graced his shoulder. Alastor nearly quivered from the intoxicating exhilaration that the motion flooded him with. He wanted Vox to repeat it, he wanted his lips to gently ravish his skin over and over until they had covered every inch of it.
It was a shameless desire that only one person knew about him. He was not cold, reclusive, avoidant or rigid to physical touch. Contrary to the beliefs of everyone, he was the complete opposite.
In Alastor’s opinion, physical intimacy was one of the most darling and steadfast ways to reaffirm one's care and devotion to another person. It could have simply been a habit inherited from his mother, but he had always been prone to initiating contact with other people. His high regard for contact was the exact reason he knew how empowering it was. Aware of its effect, he tended to use it to establish his own sense of control and in grasping people's hands, leaning on their frames, pulling them in by their shoulders while not permitting any touch to be reciprocated was a useful method to reaffirm his own fortitude and establish governance over the scene.
He was almost exultant whenever a close confidant matched his efforts, which was the precise reason he refrained from allowing anyone to return his touch, further perpetuating that stone-hearted reputation of his.
He simply didn't trust people easily, not eager to grant them an opportunity to stab him in the back, particularly when his actions were often misinterpreted as signs of showing a different type of interest. He didn't want people to view him in that light, nor did he want them believing he was propositioning them either. It never failed to make him nauseous whenever a sinner raked their eyes along his form, probing, invasive, and unwanted. He was perfectly aware what thoughts flashed in their mind. He saw nothing wrongful or condemnable in such imaginings, naturally, but should that type of unsolicited attention be directed at him he couldn't shake off how inferior it made him feel, how debased, how indecent.
He wore the collar of his shirt high, the layers of clothing invigorating, and deterred any touch he knew to be weary of. He had little trouble engaging with sex from a distance, but when it came to participating in it himself he would be overcome with a finicky aversion, one he's had for as long as he could remember. The manner with which people correlated genuine, cozy, physical touch as an advancement towards a higher goal was disheartening, even frustrating. And in all of Alastor’s years as a human, and as a demon, he had let his guard down in the presence of only one, single person.
That person was currently sitting behind him, serenely brushing his palm across Alastor's back, his fingers swimming through the ridges of scars that covered Alastor’s entire body, his movements gentle, considerate. It felt safe with Vox. It felt both mind-numbing and exhilarating being intimate with someone without the expectation of having intercourse looming over his consciousness. Vox never demanded, he never pushed or insisted, he never tried to persuade Alastor, and he never shamed him for not indulging him, for not wanting to, for lacking the urge to.
He never twisted Alastor's guilt against him in an attempt to satisfy his own needs, which Alastor knew the demon harbored for him. It had always been so simple around Vox, calm, peaceful, and in the weeks they had spent together Alastor got struck by a tidal wave of nostalgia, his soul only now comprehending just how much he had missed Vox for he knew he would never be able to find such consideration, such undivided understanding again.
For the past month, he would often wonder what Vox's stance on the act was, aware of the unfathomable extent of his torment. The demon had been abused, violated and raped repeatedly and Alastor trudged around the topic of intimacy with caution, not wanting to cause Vox any alarm, pressure, or discomfort as his own heart bled from the mere remembrance of what had been done to him.
Therefore, he relinquished the rails to Vox, allowing him to take full control over situations like the one they were in now, both of them wearing only shorts, their skins exposed and bare, their hands touching and stitching up each other's bodies. Alastor would let Vox take the initiative of inciting touch and he always strived to discern the other's emotions, fretful not to overstep.
Only... Vox never denied the touches. He never discarded an opportunity to be close to Alastor.
That was what surprised Alastor the most. He had expected Vox to be hesitant to touch him, to be weary of waking up with someone's arms wrapped around him, to be avoidant of Alastor’s attempts at physical contact, even though he might secretly crave it.
But, he wasn't, and overtime Alastor had understood with a gut-wrenching, anguished realization that Vox's battered relationship with touch wasn't damaged by the presence of violence and force, but by the absence of gentleness.
In the last few weeks both Alastor and Vox had gradually begun to disclose the details of their lives during the years apart, and from Vox's explanations, his imprisonment had mostly consisted of weeks and months of isolation. The demon had spent seventeen years in captivity where the only contact with other people was painful and horrific, but the rest of the time when he wasn't being demeaned, hurt or beaten, he had been utterly and completely alone.
It was no surprise that Vox craved affection so much. Hidden and secluded from the world, chained in place and exploited for his power in that still, dank, disconnected room had rendered Vox starved for touch and judging by the painstaking way he longed to be closer to Alastor he surmised the demon couldn't prevent himself from seeking it out.
How many incalculable times had Vox prayed for someone to be there with him, to simply hold his hand so he wouldn't have to endure the pain alone? How many times had he dreamed of Alastor doing it?
He couldn't help the overbearing feeling of sadness that overflowed him whenever Vox displayed that desire, that helpless, innocuous, desperate need. Cognizant and commiserative, Alastor didn't deny him, not once. He would gladly be Vox's anchor, his lifeline into this new, hopeful reality and reflecting on the many instances where Vox had latched onto Alastor, his body stiff, his hold unyielding, and whispered his name with such fond, plaintive, heart-wrenching hope, Alastor granted himself the liberty to believe that Vox wasn't blindly seeking just any touch, but Alastor's touch specifically.
The thought caused goosebumps to bubble all over his body. He sighed, silently basking in the feeling of Vox's lips hovering over his shoulder, his breath delightfully warm against Alastor’s skin.
"You should take closer looks more often." Alastor piped in, his words slightly slurred, his tone slow and calm.
He felt Vox huff against his shoulder, the airy wave tickling the soft hairs on Alastor's skin and he could have slumped on the spot from the thrill it evoked.
Wordlessly, Vox rested both hands on Alastor's shoulders, non-restrictive and delicate. He began to stroke his fingers in circular motions, careful to avoid Alastor’s injuries as he relaxed his muscles.
Suddenly, a loving, tentative kiss landed on his neck.
The motion sent a shiver down Alastor's spine and he couldn't prevent the soft noise of pleasure from tumbling out of his lips. He was soaring, the gentle, soporific manner with which Vox knitted his fingers across his back nearly caused his mind to plummet into a restful, untroubled sleep.
It was completely unfair. Alastor was powerless against him and he suspected the demon knew perfectly well he was manipulating Alastor's emotions as easily as playing a musical instrument. With a single touch, a lone nudge, a gentle caress, Vox was winding Alastor's cords and crafting a glorious harmony with his singing soul.
A breathy exhale escaped him when the demon shifted his hold further along the length of his arms. He was exceptionally careful not to harshly graze or accidentally irritate Alastor's left arm where the damage the shark has done still lingered beneath the fresh bandages that covered it. Vox's hands nimbly rested below his shoulders and Alastor's heart leapt when he spoke again.
"How about here?" Vox whispered, his voice hushed and throaty. Mildly, he squeezed Alastor’s right arm as he planted another kiss on his neck.
Alastor felt like a puppet, a mere toy having its strings pulled. A single mumble was the only response he produced as the sensations on his arms and neck disintegrated any outside interference that could potentially cloud his senses. The room was quiet, the rest of the world dulled into non-existence by the sheer amount of delight that coursed through his veins.
Vox hummed again and Alastor could feel the cheeky way the demon's smile upturned against his neck. He kissed him again, barely making a sound from how feather-light and gentle his lips were.
Slowly, he caressed down Alastor’s frame and he brushed his fingers over his elbow where his hands rested. By now, Alastor’s entire body had grown lax, his muscles reduced to little more than pudding as all of his focus got stolen by the demon behind him.
Unconsciously, Alastor tilted his head to the side, allowing Vox better access in an obvious attempt to chase the sensation. His kisses were an impossible, incomprehensible feeling, his magnetizing, divine fingers like nothing Alastor had ever felt before.
Lost in that bewitching enchantment that had been cast upon him, Alastor’s eyes shot open when, without warning, Vox squished Alastor's arms together and used the hold on his elbows to pull him backwards.
A surprised laugh escaped him as he got flattened against Vox's chest, his back flush against it. His head lolled onto Vox's shoulder as the other's arms wrapped tightly around him.
"Hi." Vox said, his voice adorning as he looked down at Alastor.
Alastor merely chuckled as the warmth that transferred from Vox's body into his own melted him on the spot. He could do nothing but lay in Vox's hold - which was so delightful and loving - and simply gaze into the demon's eyes.
"Oh, dear." Alastor mused, his tone wily. "It seems you've caught me in your grasp."
Vox's smile widened, enjoying the benign exchange. "It seems so." Keeping Alastor’s arms against his chest, though still cautiously mindful not to irritate his injuries, Vox leaned down and placed a gentle, enthralling kiss on his temple.
Alastor closed his eyes for fear that he would combust where he sat. "Well," He could hardly keep up with the conversation at this point, all of his focus narrowed on the warm sensation Vox's kiss had left on his skin. "Evidently, I am completely under your mercy. What will you do with me now?"
Vox raised a single eyebrow, intrigued. He softly hummed in contemplation as he raked his eyes across Alastor's face.
One of Vox's hands abandoned its position around Alastor's body and instead comfortingly rested on his ear. Alastor breathed in deeply when Vox began to gently rub his fingers along it. "I could do this."
Alastor craned his neck slightly, all of his instincts running towards Vox's touch. "You could do that." he seconded, his voice barely above a whisper, no static effect tainting it.
Vox continued the soft caresses before he shifted his hand towards Alastor's hair. Delicately, he threaded his fingers through the ruby waves and began to tenderly massage his scalp.
The motions elicited a soundless gulp out of Alastor. He could barely feel his heart beating, its thumps slowed. His whole body relaxed from the gentleness, from the closeness of having Vox's arms circling him, of falling victim to his consuming, irresistible touches of affection.
His vision had slightly blurred, the only thing piercing that muddy daze was Vox’s radiant, blue screen, an image that could pull Alastor out of the deepest crevices of desolation he could plunge himself in.
He was helpless to do anything but gaze into that striking sight, thoroughly transfixed. The demon had a beatific expression, ephemeral sparks of electricity joyfully zapped between his antennas and his eyes almost sparkled from the endearing way his smile curved them into half-moons.
Vox had looked at him like this and he had held Alastor in such a preservative, admiring way countless times before, and yet, even if Alastor devoted centuries to simply stare at Vox's face it wouldn't be enough. He could never get drunk from this reality, immune, cursed to spend the rest of his life longing for it.
He could feel all of his cells quivering from the sheer amount of elation and unbridled happiness. His ears began to softly flick. Enamored, he couldn't refrain from clasping his hand over Vox's and gingerly bringing it to his lips.
He didn't kiss it yet. Closing his eyes again, he merely grazed his lips over the other's skin, mild, testing every ridge, vain and dip as they traversed along his knuckles. His hand was so soft Alastor barely contained his need to kiss it all over, to bite, to nip, to peck.
But, he wouldn't. He still remembered how Vox had stiffened when Alastor absentmindedly grazed his teeth over his skin a few days ago. They had been laying together on the nest, holding each other close, Alastor selfishly kissing along the length of the demon's arm when, suddenly, Vox had gasped, his whole body tensing up.
Naturally, Alastor had instantly drawn back, a pang of fear and worry sticking his heart. Vox had fumbled to reassure him that he was alright, giving Alastor permission to continue, but his disinclination and discomfort had been clear. Ever since, Alastor reduced the possibility of his teeth making contact with Vox’s skin to a minimum, painstakingly aware of exactly why Vox was alarmed and avoidant of the sharpness.
Peering up at Vox’s face, Alastor slowly pressed his lips to the soft area on the demon's palm. He waited for a few moments, discerning his expression and when he could detect nothing but affection, he shyly kissed the spot.
Vox’s eyes further softened, a mellow expression overtaking all of his features. Alastor took that as his cue to proceed. He placed light, delicate kisses across Vox's hand, exploring every inch of it. The feeling of it ignited all of his nerves on fire and when he reached Vox's fingers he developed his kisses into softer, deeper ones.
Only when his lips met a solid, smooth surface did he divert his gaze away from Vox's face, finally breaking eye contact. He peered down, and a boiling flood of elation washed over him at the sight.
The tips of Vox's fingers were blue. They had healed, no longer devastated, maimed stubs of sensitive, fragile skin. Two decades of repeated declawing, of continuous, violent ripping, had hindered their regeneration capability, but, even though they were still growing, small, barely a centimeter on Vox's fingers, they were there, nonetheless.
Alastor brought Vox's hand to his lips again and deliberately kissed every one of his claws, relishing in the reminder that Vox was recovering, that he was thriving, that his wounds were shrinking.
He spared a glance up at Vox, his eyes half-lidded, and brightened up at the sight. While Alastor had been focused on his hand, the demon had lowered himself down, his face now merely inches away from Alastor's.
He looked wonderful. His screen was brimming with light, revitalized, his hold firm, his muscles stronger, and his body warm, fed and healthy. He had come so far, the residual proof of what he had suffered was beginning to diminish and even though Alastor knew the psychological effects would undoubtedly linger, it felt consolidating, reassuring to know Vox was healing physically. Finally safe.
Happy.
Still gazing lovingly at Vox’s face, neither of them burdened by a need to fill the silence, Alastor cradled his hand to his chest. In return, the demon began to softly brush his other hand along Alastor’s side, the movements appreciative, gentle.
"I'm glad I didn't eat you when we first met." he blurted out.
If he was at all bewildered by his admission, he mustered up all of his will to prevent it from showing on his face. He blinked steadfast, stubborn, his stare empty.
Vox blinked back at him, the silence deafening. Then, he laughed.
"Is that your attempt at a compliment?" he joked, his voice huffed and breathy.
"No." Alastor's eyes narrowed, his cheeks reddening from embarrassment. "You know I'm better at flattery than that."
Vox stifled his laughs, his expression appeased, yet impressed. "Yes, you are." His tone was devoid of the amicable humor and instead replaced with unshakeable honesty. "Though, why did you mention it?"
Alastor pointed his gaze toward a vague spot behind Vox's shoulder, staring nowhere in particular. His face was pensive when he answered "I'm not sure." He circled his thumbs across Vox's hand, the motion habitual, thoughtless. "I suppose you've reawakened some reminiscence in me, old friend."
It was the truth. Vox's return into his life had stirred that deeply buried hope in his soul. It had lend a hand and tightly grasped it, vigorously pulling it back to the surface and replenishing that long lost desire to not just survive, but to live.
He remembered the first time he met Vox as clearly as he remembered his own mother's voice. His broadcasts had been growing stale, neglected, and he had contacted Vox's company. Alastor had hired them to install speakers throughout the city so that he could better conduct his business and reach a larger audience.
His surprise when the very CEO of that company had shown up on his doorstep was unprecedented. Being the courteous man that he was, Alastor invited him in, momentarily putting aside the idea of broadcasting the screams of such an infamous and well-respected demon after he had settled his affairs.
Then... Vox had properly introduced himself. A smile brimming on his face, he had greeted Alastor with respect, his words eloquent, well-spoken. He had explained how he felt it appropriate that he should meet Alastor in person, how he wanted to oversee such a challenging, detailed project himself.
Alastor had been skeptical at first, but once Vox had begun to lay out his plans, his professionalism tuning out what fear he might have felt towards The Radio Demon, any thoughts of bloodshed inhabiting Alastor’s mind had gradually evaporated.
Regretfully, Alastor had to internally concede that he hadn't paid much attention, his focus stolen by the demon in front. Someone who had been askance and nervous in Alastor’s presence - evidently clever and well-informed - yet someone who had instantaneously transformed into a demon dedicated to his work. The way Vox's eyebrows had creased in concentration, the slight glittering in his eyes as he focused, his composure, his eager chattiness, his unreserved appreciation and value of Alastor’s opinions, and his ostensible experience had left Alastor confident that he had chosen the right man for the task.
After they had concluded their business, Vox had bid him farewell with a promise of many meetings to come in the future.
To this day, he hadn't met anyone who had rendered him so intrigued before and accepting Vox's genuine offer to work together had been an easy, well-discerned decision. The silence that accompanied him after Vox's departure had settled heavy on his mind. Knowing what depraved, opportunistic sinners lurked on the streets, Alastor had constrainedly followed in Vox's tracks.
He hadn't particularly cared what could happen to him, if anything, by keeping an eye on the other he had bought himself a first-class ticket to some gory entertainment for the evening. But, the demon's proposition was promising and Alastor would have regretted having floundered another meeting with him.
Alastor’s suspicions had been proven correct when he saw Vox heedlessly entering a dimly-lit alley often frequented by those very debauched sinners everyone knew to be wary of.
A bright, flashing shower of light had exploded from the alley barely a moment later, blue and blinding. Alastor had instantly quickened his pace.
When he had rounded the corner he had been greeted with nothing but two burnt carcasses still twitching on the ground. Their skins had been scorched, blackened beyond recognition, their bodies still sizzling with residual electricity. And beyond them walked a single, lone figure, the captivating glow of his screen almost crepuscular with how it illuminated his path, unbothered and carefree as he left from the scene.
"Well," Vox mused, thoughtful. "I'm also glad you didn't eat me." An amused, endearing smile adorned his face as he continued to rub Alastor’s side. His smile turned slightly sour, but it didn't lose its softness. "Was murder really all it took to convince you to like me?"
Alastor raised a finger, exaggerated indignation painting all of his features. "Now, now. As I have told you many times, you caught my attention even before I witnessed you killing someone."
Vox laughed abruptly, the sound benevolent. "Yeah, I know." He circled his arm further across Alastor’s waist and slightly hoisted him up, their faces now a breath apart. "But, the murder did improve your opinion of me, didn't it?"
Alastor met his gaze, his head slumping deeper onto Vox's shoulder. "That it did, Vox." He blinked blearily, all of his muscles growing lax from the beloved image of Vox's face so close to his own. "That it did."
He tilted his head even further towards Vox's screen and gazed lovingly into the demon's alluring, crimson eyes. The close proximity granted him an immersive chance of seeing a vicious blush seeping into Vox's face.
A dark blue hue embellished the demon's cheeks and he nervously looked away when Alastor raised a fascinated eyebrow. It must be those romantic feelings. Where Alastor’s heart had stilled from the fond, delightful affection, Vox's heart had sped up, thrilled, lively, joyous. Alastor had never understood how easily people could succumb to them, not being able to experience them himself, but witnessing even Vox get overcome by them he acknowledged that they must be quite potent.
Lifting one hand, Alastor softly brushed it against Vox's monitor. His smile never left his expression and he watched with glee as Vox's eyes flicked, searching for a response, the flush deepening with every second.
His soul thoroughly melted by the amusing, endearing sight, Alastor laughed again when a digital heart substituted Vox's face on his screen in an attempt to hide it.
"... Shut up." The demon whispered from his speakers defensively, yet undeniably sweet.
Alastor huffed another laugh and continued to caress his monitor, unmindful of the shameless, beaming grin on his face. He smiled even wider when Vox's normal features returned to his screen after a few seconds, his eyes almost effervescent as he gazed adoringly at Alastor.
Alastor caressed Vox's hand, fiddling with his fingers and playing with the sharp points of his claws. His breath almost hitched when he smoothed his palm over the bandages around Vox's wrist.
His expression must have turn glum, plaintive, because Vox's face slightly dropped. Reluctantly, Alastor lowered his gaze to the demon's wrist. Timidly, carefully, he brushed the tips of his fingers over the gauze, aware of the harrowing, gruesome damage hiding underneath.
It was the only area of Vox's body that Alastor hadn't rebandaged yet as he wanted to devote all of his attention to what was undoubtedly the worst injury Vox had sustained.
Sighing, Alastor relented "Dearest, as much as I'm enjoying this, these need to be changed, as well."
Instantly, Vox's expression turned gloomy, his eyes downcast with disinclined acceptance. With a groan he acquiesced and granted Alastor the room to sit up.
A flattered huff escaped him when Vox snuck one last kiss onto his cheek. Alastor regarded him impassively, his ever-present smile pressed. The demon held his gaze with a grin, cheeky and self-satisfied, as he laid down on his back.
Shaking his head in mild endearment, Alastor shuffled closer to Vox's side. He tenderly settled one of Vox's hands in his lap to inspect it closer and routinely began to remove the bandage.
They sat in comfortable silence, Alastor’s attention fixed on the task in front. Noticing Vox thrumming his fingers on his chest as a way to distract himself, Alastor quietly asked "Does it still hurt?"
Vox tilted his head, his expression studious, slightly introspective "Yeah, but..." He clicked his lips. Alastor granted him the time to select his words. "Do you know the feeling when you stick your hand in a bucket of ice?" Alastor squinted, but nodded, nonetheless. "It becomes numb after a certain period. It's like that. It hurts, and your body feels it, but you don't really notice it."
Alastor frowned at the indirect confirmation. Of course, Vox's hands still hurt. His very bones had been drilled into, metal rods had been installed straight through his limb, and the wound hadn't been allowed to regenerate for seventeen years.
When he finally unfurled the last loop of the bandage his heart dropped even further from the sight.
Vox's wrist had barely healed. Two gnarly, gruesome, deep punctures still pervaded his skin, sickening in their mere existence. They hadn't been inflicted by angelic steel - unlike the gnashing, penetrative wound in Alastor's shoulder - so they were unlikely to scar. And yet, they were healing wretchedly, worryingly slowly.
A grim, sullen silence spread through the room, the only sound that invaded it was their strained breathing. Nervously, Alastor flicked his gaze towards Vox.
The demon only looked at him with dull, somber acceptance, as though he had known the grievous wounds wouldn't release him so easily. That only aggrieved Alastor more. Vox's tame, apathetic indifference to the injustice, to the horrors that had been done to him was bitterly heartbreaking.
It was in moments like these that Alastor would violently be pulled back to the severity of the situation. The harsh, pitiless barbarity that reality wafted through the air was agonizing in the remembrance of how much Vox was still suffering. The physical evidence of it would vanish over time, but the psychological? The emotional?
That damage would not be erased so quickly. Alastor had known Vox for most of his life, better than anyone, and that knowledge was exactly the reason he could see behind Vox's mask of reassurance. The demon was continuously, and determinedly, upholding that aura that nothing had changed, that he was still the same person before he got abducted. Alastor didn't believe it was due to a lack of comfortability Vox might have, never, that was one thing he knew his mind couldn't be plagued by.
Judging by the demon's need for touch, the way he would instantly reach out to Alastor after he had come back, his work for the day finished - a reprieve in his opinion, an opportunity not to suffocate Vox, to let him reacquaint himself with freedom and take advantage of his time alone. Yet, over time, Alastor had realized that speculation was far from the truth - the dreamy, far-away look in Vox's eyes whenever their gazes would lock fortified Alastor's belief that Vox's loyalty, his devotion, his still-persevering love was unfit for questioning.
Instead, what the demon's behavior instilled in Alastor was an acidic, gut-wrenching suspicion that Vox was veering any worries or trepidation aside for Alastor’s convenience. Vox was trying so hard to shroud his pain, he was valiantly fighting back that show of vulnerability, not allowing it to darken the precious, long-overdue moments between them like the ones they were currently sharing, somehow believing that he would corrupt or ruin them by acknowledging his pain.
Alastor pursed his lips, all too aware of the dour, dejected look on his own face, as he redirected his attention back to Vox's wrist.
The bruises had slightly faded. Slightly. If Alastor hadn't attested to the savage, monstrous complexion of Vox's skin when he had rescued him, the dark blue and purple myriad of colors currently still adorning it would have caused bile to rise in his throat.
He blinked, finally releasing the breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. He covered Vox's wrist with one hand, gingerly, feather-light not to accidentally snag his claws on the damaged area. Heat radiated of off him and Alastor shuddered, letting the sensation seep into his own skin.
He wanted to eradicate that injury. He wanted to softly blow on Vox's wrist and hope it could soothe his pain, he wanted to kiss it and he would gladly dedicate every waking hour in doing so if it could have speeded up his recovery.
Alastor steeled himself and with practiced dexterity he began to apply disinfectants on the wounds.
Another uninterrupted silence descended on them, comfortable, relaxing. Alastor worked carefully, conscious of how tender and sensitive Vox's skin was.
After a while, Vox broke in, the sound of his voice dissipating the focused mist in Alastor’s mind. "I think we'll have a lot of trouble soon."
Alastor lifted his head, bemusement evident in his expression. "Why do you say that?"
Vox lifted a finger to point to his screen, an indicator of his reinstalled antennas' ability to reconnect with the Internet, a formidable convenience that allows them to keep track of V Tower. "More neighborhoods are losing electricity." His tone was weary, slightly glazed. "They're trying to redirect the blame on you."
Alastor scoffed, knowing perfectly well who they were. "I have no doubt." He started to bandage Vox's wrist. His voice was nonplussed, yet tinted with annoyance. "The angel - Charlie's beau - keeps reminding me."
In truth, the girl had every right to berate and reprimand him for tarnishing the hotel's reputation with his vengeful strike. He would have appealed, even shown remorse for his actions if he actually felt it, her irritating persistence further feeding that stubborn pride in him.
Vox hummed, not sounding particularly sympathetic. Alastor used the lapse in conversation to ask "How are they handling it?"
Vox's expression was peculiar, unreadable, as he answered "They haven't gone back in business." His voice was monotone, deadpan, but Alastor could see the trepidation, the discomfort, perhaps even fear lurking beneath the composed demeanor. "The Tower is still being rebuilt. Offices, studios and stations are still out of commission. As far as the public knows, at least"
Alastor couldn't contain his smile from stretching wider, gleeful in its vindictive wickedness. "How tragic." He tucked the loose end of the bandage and carefully placed Vox's hand on the mattress. With a gratified exhale he motioned for Vox to give him the other. "And their reputation?"
Vox wiggled closer, getting comfortable as Alastor began to repeat the same motions on his other hand. "Awful." The lone word caused ecstasy to bubble in Alastor's gut. "But, that was your intention, after all."
Vox peered up at him, his expression a combination of accusation, pride and mischief. Alastor didn't even attempt to hide how impishly unapologetic he felt.
"Yes, well..." He resisted the urge to squirm under Vox's steadfast, taunting gaze. "They had it coming."
Vox huffed, his left eye slightly twitching. "But, you didn't."
At those words, Alastor stiffened, his eyes furtively locked down on Vox's wrist. He still couldn't eliminate the shame and guilt that scorched every cell in his body from the blatant, inconsiderate way he had left Vox without any notice or warning. Deeming it fit to keep silent, that was what he did.
"Alastor."
Vox prodded, his voice quiet, but firm.
Alastor reluctantly lifted his gaze and he hated the way his body betrayed the emotions he tried to dissemble. Vox was still looking at him resolutely, almost sternly. Alastor didn't expect how debilitated, how agonizingly distraught, Vox sounded when he spoke.
"Tell me you won't do that again."
Another sharp, white-hot flash of pain struck his heart. He gulped, staving off that blistering fire threatening to decimate him on the spot and resumed looping the bandage around Vox's wrist. "I promised I won't."
Vox shifted next to him. "I know, it's just..." He pressed his lips, his eyebrows knitting together in distress, conflicted. "I can't... I can't lose you, Al. You're the most important thing in my life."
Alastor closed his eyes, the raging fire of remorse and sorrow mercilessly glazing his bones like ink spilling into water. He breathed in deeply, his hands working sorely on muscle memory as they finished wrapping up Vox's wrist.
He wasted no time in bringing Vox's hand to his face and allowing his lips to breeze over the bandage. They barely touched it, the only indicator that Alastor's face was so close to Vox's skin were his warm, airy breaths that trickled along it.
With his eyes shut, his other senses amplified and the familiar, delightful lavender smell intertwined with the distinctive scent of Vox's skin sparked every nerve in Alastor’s body to dance with joy. He cupped the back of Vox's hand and nudging his face closer to it he softly flattened it against the demon's palm.
"You won't." he vowed, his voice hushed, anguish etched on his face. "I promise, you won't."
He tightened his hold on Vox's hand in a show of reassurance. The demon began to gently, almost imperceptibly, caress Alastor's face with his thumb.
Alastor opened his eyes and the blissful, yet mournful look that radiated off of Vox's expression, combined with the loving, adoring way the demon was cradling his face, nearly caused his heart to splinter.
Unable to deny his yearning heart anymore, he shuffled closer to Vox, desperate to feel him better.
One of his hands began to trail down Vox's arm, his fingers zipping along the warm, tender skin and the silicone, seamless, circuit patterns integrated with it. They had only resumed their usual, magnetizing, blue glow after Vox had started to heal, evidence that his power was slowly returning to his body.
They were stunning. Alastor had always had a fond, candid admiration for them and he made no effort to hide it. The mechanical components in Vox's body, interspersed with the biological ones had always fascinated him, even lured him.
He still remembered how slack-jawed and astonished Vox had been when Alastor had told him so many years ago. Apparently, not many sinners were as appreciative of the complex, unearthly web of perfectly dispositioned geometrical lines and shapes.
Perhaps, the biotechnological aspect of them, of Vox's head, of his glass face, of the way he functioned, was what enticed Alastor, what made holding Vox, kissing him and touching him so intimately incredibly easy. It didn't give the impression of organic, fleshy skin, yet it didn't feel inanimate which dissipated that ingrained aversion in Alastor towards such intense sensations and made them enjoyable, irresistible even, because at the end of the day the person he was engaging with, that he was embracing, was fundamentally Vox.
He permitted his fingers unreserved liberty to explore the patterns. He lightly, curiously traced along Vox’s arm as he slowly made his way towards the demon's shoulder, skimming over the various other bandages that covered the other parts of his body.
Throughout all of it, Vox's face was floating with contentment, a small smile gracing it, and his eyes were half-lidded, brimming with affection.
Alastor returned the smile with equal bliss, a small, honest gesture decorating his own face. Following the patterns, his fingers danced across Vox's shoulder and tipped towards his chest, carefree and excited.
He ceased his worshipful wandering when his hand smoothed over a ridge on the demon's skin. He glanced down and his smile mellowed when he realized he had bumped into one of the two horizontal, symmetrical scars on Vox's chest.
Thankfully, his body was otherwise scarce with scars, the demons that had inflicted his pain having deemed it unworthy to bother bringing angelic blades down to the basement. The two scars that he had gained out of his own volition only stood out more wonderfully because of it.
Alastor gently grazed his fingers over one of them, aware of the hardships and obstacles Vox had had to trudge through to get them. Internally, he admitted that he didn't wholly understand the intricacies and direct nature of Vox's surgery, but he didn't need to. Looking like a woman, being perceived as a woman, had made Vox's life miserable, unbearable, so he had taken matters into his own hands.
This body made him happy, which is all Alastor cared about. His own opinions on the topic hadn't been fully developed until he had met Vox, but he couldn't comprehend how some people thought it unnatural, gross, depraved, or sinful - like the three wretches who had no qualms in mistreating and belittling Vox on that front as well - when it caused only happiness and joy. It was Vox's body, it was Vox's life, it was Vox's decision, someone Alastor loved, cherished and revered beyond any constraints the universe could set. And if it was Vox, then how could it possibly be a bad thing?
Alastor placed his palm flush against the scar, his fingers splaying out protectively. The beat of Vox's heart beneath his ribs pulsed against Alastor’s skin and he felt his muscles relaxing from the lulling sensation.
Spellbound by the warmth and unabated softness of feeling Vox against him, Alastor smoothed his hand over the demon's chest, considerate, admiring. Apart from the scar and the intricate, synthetic patterns above and below it, Vox's skin was completely smooth. Alastor glided his hand across it, his fingers rippling as the scar slid beneath them.
He allowed himself to comfortingly traipse across Vox's chest, towards his stomach, along his sides, mildly squeezing every now and again. He was beautiful, and as his fingers tingled from the divine sensation, Alastor failed to contain his need to lean down and plant a gentle, delicate kiss on one of the scars.
Suddenly, he was pulled forwards, directly into the crook of Vox's neck as two hands gripped him tight. Alastor returned the embrace with equal ardor and wrapped his arms around Vox's form.
He felt the faintest shudder in Vox's breathing as the demon released a brittle exhale. Alastor only tightened his grip, realizing how his silent veneration of the other had inadvertently affected Vox.
His own breathing malfunctioned when Vox tangled his fingers into Alastor’s hair again, only this time his hold was firm, clutching Alastor against him. Shifting slightly, Alastor maneuvered himself into a laying position, his body almost glued to Vox’s.
From his position on Vox's shoulder, Alastor could hear the demon's heart thumping. It was the most delightful, life-saving sound Alastor had ever known. The gentle, consistent beating had Alastor wishing for an eternity in Vox's arms, never to be freed for freedom fell short in the face of the heavenly dream he was currently living.
His entire body itched for this reality, unwilling to ever part with it. Craving Vox's warmth, Alastor relinquished another one of the infinite number of kisses he retained only for him and placed it on the demon's collar bone.
Vox reaffirmed his hold in response, his arms dutifully enveloping Alastor's form. Alastor continued to lay a trail of kisses on Vox's skin, slowly nuzzling his face closer to Vox's neck.
Vox's grip tightened even further, non-restrictive, yet impossibly tender. His voice hushed and disbelieving, he breathed "How are you real...?"
Alastor squeezed him comfortingly. "That's what I ask myself about you." His own voice decreased in volume, caring and quiet. "Every day."
Vox smoothed his hand over Alastor's hair, and the admiring - oh, so gentle - motion could have disintegrated Alastor from the sheer amount of delight it evoked.
Yet, a disquieting sense of distress snaked around his heart. Carefully, he asked "Vox?" The demon gave a small hum in response as he brushed his hands over Alastor's hair and back. "... Why do you think we'll have trouble?"
The demon's caresses paused for the briefest moment before he regained control over them and resumed the soft petting.
"Call it a hunch." Vox said eventually, his tone timid, cautious. "They don't... take well to these kinds of things." A slight, imperceptible crack in his voice cut off his words, but he gulped and, with poorly-hidden trepidation, added "He doesn't."
Alastor bit his cheek, the message sending a pounding, dreary sense of unease through his stomach. "Being humiliated?" he bit, contempt riddling his voice.
"Being refused something."
At that Alastor stilled, the silence that descended on the room made him pointedly aware that Vox had slightly stiffened beneath him, as well. From his position on Vox's shoulder he could feel the worrying way the demon's heart increased its pace, the beats harsh, stressed.
Alastor's own heart wept from just how terrified Vox still was of that man. He suspected Vox wasn't even aware of how his muscles had subconsciously clenched around Alastor, how his breathing became slightly raspy, or how his eyes were fixed on the ceiling, lost somewhere in the distance. The results of what that demon had been doing to him blared from every twitch Vox made, every flinch, every time his voice lost its vigor during conversations like these.
That ingrained, trained fear billowing inside Vox fueled that simmering, burning anger around Alastor's soul that howled for revenge, for justice.
Taking a deep breath, Alastor abandoned his comfortable position on Vox's neck and instead raised himself on his elbows to stare directly into the demon's face.
His voice was hard, unyielding when he stated "He won't ever touch you again." Vox only stated back at him, his expression despondent and unconvinced. Alastor reiterated "I won't let him do anything to you ever again. We know who he is now. We know where he is and what he is capable of. He does not have any advantages this time."
Vox's eyes only upturned in a resigned, hopeless manner. "He doesn't need them. I don't have my powers. If anything happens, I won't be-" his voice broke, the beating of his heart quickening even further. "I won't be able to do anything. And I know him, Alastor. He won't stop. He won't stop and now he's coming after you as well, he nearly killed you-"
Alastor shushed him by gently placing a consoling hand on Vox's cheek, grounding him. The demon's eyes had taken on a shining, glistening hue, the tears egged on by the shaking of his voice barely held at bay.
It broke Alastor's heart. Seeing Vox so frightened, so tormented by what that despicable, heinous man could still do to him was unbearable.
Alastor began to softly brush his thumb against Vox's screen. He spoke slowly, determinedly. "I understand." he started, using the stillness of the atmosphere to punctuate the seriousness of his words. "I understand, but I need you to believe me when I say he cannot reach us here." Vox opened his mouth to protest, but Alastor interjected "They are still recovering themselves from what we know which means we have time, time to heal, time for you to regain control over your powers. And, frankly, my dear, we live in the most secure place in Hell. Even he wouldn't dare attack the residence of the Royal family."
While he spoke, the affliction and worry in Vox's expression gradually petered out. Once Alastor concluded, unable to tamp down the melodious temptation in his heart, he leaned down and pressed their foreheads together.
"He can't reach you here." he whispered, promising, unable to be challenged.
He felt Vox's breath against his face when the demon sighed, relieved, his anxiety assuaged. Twisting their bodies, Vox led Alastor back to the mattress and snuggled closer.
Alastor reflexively wrapped his own arms around Vox. With their bodies so tightly enveloped in each other it didn't take long for Alastor's mind to abandon the despair and softly slip into a hazy fog of warmth and gentle touches.
From the way Vox's breathing had moderated, Alastor surmised the same sensations were overflowing him as well. However, Vox's warning didn't escape his mind, alert, he knew how prudent it was that he heeds it. Vox was right, if anyone had a grasp over the other's mind it was him, having spent nearly two decades at that man's mercy, exposed to the most vile, insidious side of him granted Vox rare, key insight.
Vox shifted closer, his screen buzzing with static which harmlessly lifted some of Alastor's hair and the feeling was so divine, so delightfully encompassing that any worries in Alastor’s mind kindly postponed themselves for the future. They would hold each other now, later they would dine together and tonight they would return to each other's embrace again, ready for a restful sleep.
They would do so again tomorrow. And the day after, and the day after that, the world finally granting them peace. Whatever malicious threat still lurked out there and whatever plans it was currently concocting, they would face it when the time comes.
After seventeen years, Alastor was shamelessly indulging himself in every glance Vox blessed him with, every touch, every smooth caress, every word that he hushed in his ear, and he wanted to drown in them repeatedly because he knew now what it meant to be bereft of them. He would treasure every single moment with Vox forevermore, he wanted to plummet to the very bottom of that lake of divine adoration and devotion and feel it weigh down on his whole body for he knew it would never hurt him.
He was exactly where he belonged: in Vox's arms.
Notes:
Hi! I know this chapter is a bit slower and less action packed but I intended it to be more of a filler chapter to clear some stuff up. The next chapter will get back down to business.
Also, I was sent some artwork by one of you lovely people and it was so stunning I am going to share it on here as soon as I figure out how this stupid, bloody app works with images. I didn't want to hold up the chapter further while I argue with my phone like an old person so I'm gonna attach it to a future one!!
I just want to say in regards to Alastor’s aceness and the Vees' promiscuity I'm not trying to instill a message that sex is inherently bad or anything of the sorts. It's not a "No sex = good person, has sex=bad person", particularly in regards to fake Vox when he said he "felt the same" as Alastor before he met Val and Vel. It's not a case of "fixing" someone, he's always had that attraction he was simply very repressed which is very different to being aspec. And for Alastor I'm just expressing my own thoughts and experiences as an ace person, he's still very much evil and a bad person in this fic as well. It's an annoyingly thin line trying to stick to canon and also avoid sending that kind of message. Just putting this out there.
Chapter 7: Into the fire
Chapter Text
Alastor stood in the middle of his room, hands clasped over his cane, with an inscrutable expression forcefully etched on his face.
His foot intentionally tapped loudly against the wooden floorboards as he procured his pocket watch out of his new coat. Without even checking the time, he clicked it shut again with an overdramatic sigh.
"As I said before," His tone was riddled with exasperation veiled behind an amicable aura when he spoke. "You will find no sinners in here, I assure you. Although, I do applaud your decisiveness and certainty."
He was once again briskly shushed by Vaggie who had been inspecting his room from top to bottom for the past thirty minutes. The angel wore a determined, steadfast expression, her spear tightly clutched in her hands. Alastor was almost convinced her eyebrows were permanently painted into a frown.
"Vaggie, maybe he's right." Charlie's voice suddenly spoke, her tone uncertain as though tipping around a volatile rabbit. "I mean, Alastor has never actually kidnapped someone and hid them here."
She was still standing by the doorway, having deemed it improper to intrude into someone else's room and rummage through it, unlike her partner who was obstinate enough to even threaten Alastor if he didn't permit them access.
"That we know of!" Vaggie intoned, sharply jabbing her spear in the air. "Who knows how far that swamp goes? He could hide a whole house in there and we wouldn't even know it."
Alastor raised a hand to his heart, faking offence. "Why, I would never pollute it with any of Hell's establishments. The appalling architecture would greatly disagree with the finery of my room."
Vaggie scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Whatever. It still doesn't explain why every news station is convinced that you're holding someone hostage."
"Deflection, my dear!" Alastor beamed, his hands flourishing to potentiate his words. "Those short-sighted sinners would do anything to shift the blame on their biggest competition. And as I am the face of radio it's only natural that they resort to baseless lies and conspiracies."
He wasn't lying, he just hadn't expected the Vees to twist the truth in such a disrespectful way to sully Alastor's image. Apparently, the residents of Hell had been more preoccupied with discovering the "mysterious person" Alastor had taken away from the Tower, rather than focusing their anger on the highly-powerful, greedy demons who had been conning them for years.
Therefore, the Vees had spent the last week firmly implanting the belief that Alastor had abducted one of their essential workers in a ploy to tarnish their success. Gradually, people had begun to shift their rage towards him as the supposed causation for their lack of electricity.
"That's right!" Charlie supplied from the doorway. Bless her soul. "We have no proof that Alastor has done something so awful. He... did blow up a lot of their floors, after all. Of course, they would be upset."
Vaggie suddenly lowered herself from attempting to peer over one of Alastor's bookcases and whirled towards him, belligerent.
"And that's another thing! What were you thinking?!" Alastor silently relented his focus on her words, having heard this conversation countless times for the past month and a half. "Do you have any idea how bad that looks for the hotel? You still won't even say why you did it!"
Alastor huffed, but otherwise remained silent, not at liberty to disclose such information yet.
Having sensed the tense silence that stretched between them, Charlie broke in "Ooookay." She tipped from one foot to the other, her voice cautious as it tried to mitigate the discomfort. "Well... I think - since we haven't found anyone here - that we owe Alastor an apology."
Alastor turned to her with a raised eyebrow, ignoring the fuming angel behind him who lifted her hands in incredulity.
Charlie cleared her throat as she straightened her back. "Al," she began, professionally. "We apologize for doubting your honesty. Though," her face dropped, slightly wrung. "If you do decide to kidnap someone in the future, I will kindly ask you to tell us. Okay?"
"Of course, of course." Alastor conceded ingratiatingly, barely keeping the irritability towards the subject out of his voice. "You have nothing to worry about Charlie, I always have the hotel's best interest at heart."
Vaggie guffawed behind him. Ignoring her he placed a hand on the door and used the other to direct her way out of his room.
Both demons stared at her expectantly, an encouraging smile on Charlie's face and a pressed, twitchy smile on Alastor's. Vaggie's squinting eyes flicked between them, unconvinced.
Then, Alastor saw Charlie extend a hand, her expression welcoming, warm.
That was all it took for Vaggie to slump her grip on the spear.
"Ugh, fine." With a scowl, she sulked her way towards her girlfriend, but not before deigning another peep at the bayou as though a person would magically manifest the moment she turned her back away.
"Come on. Let's go downstairs, I think it's almost time for lunch." Charlie's voice was gentle as she settled a light hand on Vaggie's back, guiding her along out of the room. "Alastor, will you join us? I know you've been busy lately, but we rarely see you anymore."
"Yeah, what's up with that? You're not destroying any more buildings are you?" Vaggie snapped with glowering reproach.
He was blearily aware of how scarce his presence had been of late since all of his attention had been stolen by Vox. But, he wouldn't sacrifice a single second he had spent with him, despite the ever-present, invisible chain around his neck subtly growing tighter at Alastor’s negligence of his obligations. He would suffocate to a second death if he had to if it meant he got to enjoy his lunch with Vox.
Ignoring the constant, probing sensation, Alastor regarded Charlie genially for a moment as he tried to think of an excuse. "If I can fit it in my schedule. I do believe I have a broadcast soon and we all know how important it is to maintain the hotel's good reputation, don't we?" He narrowed his eyes at Vaggie, purposely baiting her.
The girl's features contorted harrowingly, her spear glinting far too close to Alastor's face. He only smiled further in return, delighting in how easily she could get riled up.
"You broke it, you better fix it, pendejo." Her voice was almost guttural, her rage only trivialized by the imperturbability of the two demons on either side of her.
"Alright then," Charlie said, inching closer towards Vaggie either for Alastor’s sake or hers. "If you do manage to come, we'd be happy to see you."
She sounded so gut-wrenchingly genuine that Alastor felt a pang of guilt gnawing at his heart.
His own eyes hooded from the gentleness of her admission and his voice mellowed when he spoke "I appreciate it, Princess. Do send my warmest regards to everyone."
Charlie shot another lukewarm smile his way as she led Vaggie - who was still glaring daggers in Alastor’s direction - down the hallway. Alastor spared them another glance before he slowly closed the door.
With an audible exhale he thumped his head back against the wood. Distantly, he heard an "I'm still not convinced." from Vaggie as their footsteps faded away.
A rustling from beyond the room drew his attention. His smile stretched adoringly when he caught the sight of his shadow assisting Vox's descent down an inconspicuous tree.
The demon caught his gaze and his screen brightened as his own smile wonderfully filled it. Further adding to the charm of the view, Alastor’s shadow cheerily waved at him, its other hand securely gripping Vox's own as the demon climbed down from his hiding spot, his legs now blessedly stronger and sturdier.
"You weren't exaggerating." Vox huffed, slightly breathy as he settled on the ground once more. "The short one really doesn't like you."
Alastor gave a small laugh. "Oh, believe me, the feeling is very mutual."
He walked towards the nest on the ground, where Vox was currently repositioning himself on. Tossing his cane haphazardly on the grass, Alastor lowered himself into a sitting position next to the demon.
As Vox covered them up with the blanket, Alastor flicked his wrist and in a flurry of lime-green sparks a miniscule portal opened. He stuck his hand in and easily extracted the two bowls of food he pilfered from the kitchen before Vaggie had insisted on investigating his room.
He handed one to Vox who gladly accepted it. Alastor noted "While I enjoyed your little departure up that tree, I don't think we can avoid them forever."
Vox perked up at him mid bite, his expression turning gloomy. "I know. I just want to meet them on my terms, that's all."
Alastor hummed, considerate, knowing Vox's hesitation to interact with the others stemmed mostly from the unpredictability that came with not having spoken to anyone besides Alastor for nearly two decades.
Alastor didn't doubt that the demon would leave a marvelous impression regardless of his worries, but he didn't pressure him. "Well," he answered. "I would be lying if I said I wouldn't enjoy having you to myself for a little while longer."
Vox laughed, the sound bordering on an amused giggle. "You'll still have me, that's a guarantee."
Alastor leaned back with a satisfied teetering of his head. "As long as I will."
They ate in comfortable silence, neither of them plagued by a need to fill it. Alastor sighed contentedly, allowing the rich flavors to soak in his mouth. He closed his eyes, relishing in the calm and peace of doing something so mundane with Vox as though it was the most valuable experience to ever grace him.
Because it was. It had always been so simple around Vox. Alastor had never felt any pointless worries, needlessly applied stress, ridiculous drama that could easily be resolved, or any concerns in regards to poorly communicated thoughts and feelings. There had never been any theatrical love confessions, or songs of unspoken, deeply-hidden feelings.
Their love had been gradual, every meeting, every conversation, every touch, every gentle whisper, every time one of them showed their support and loyalty to the other had driven them closer and closer together to a point where words had become unnecessary and ill-equipped to do their bond justice.
If anything, it was Alastor who had caused several muck ups in their relationship. He could still picture the despair and heartbreak - during the beginning stages - on Vox's face any time Alastor tried to deter his amorous advances even though he secretly desired them, even though he desperately craved them. But, he knew his own lack of romantic and sexual inclinations would damage Vox's happiness and not wanting the demon to squander his life away with someone who could never fulfil him, Alastor had rejected his propositions, fully explaining why he was doing so.
Several hours later, his heart numb and his eyes dry, he had woken up in the middle of the night to incessant knocking on his front door. Wholly prepared to disembowel the disturbance, Alastor had flung his door open only for his mouth to fall open in shock.
Vox had stood before him, his face impassive, yet resolute. A suitcase hung from one of his hands and before Alastor could utter a word the demon had pushed his way inside.
Alastor had only stared at him wordlessly as the other invited himself into his apartment, the place long habituated to his frequent presence. He had remained silent when Vox had begun to change into his nightwear then promptly shimmy under the covers of Alastor's bed.
A single "Well?" from Vox had been the only explanation the demon had given. Timidly, Alastor had laid down next to him, confused, uncertain.
Then, Vox had shuffled closer and, without delay, he had wrapped his arms around him. Alastor had initially tried to deny the embrace - distrustful of the nature of the demon's intentions - but Vox had only reaffirmed it as he whispered "I know... I know."
His hold hadn't wavered, nor had it betrayed Alastor's trust. Vox hadn't tried to persuade him, he hadn't tried to push, insist or attempt anything while Alastor had been asleep. In Hell, that kind of trust and respect was a very rare thing.
The next morning, his voice husky from rest, his body warm against Alastor’s, Vox had disclosed his commitment to pursuing the relationship, accepting what Alastor couldn't give him and wanting what he could, a hopeful promise to repeat waking up in each other's arms over and over.
As Alastor sat in that fragile nest of pillows and blankets, he felt that eternal gratitude in his soul for Vox's surprisingly well-discerned temerity and devotion that night still simmering fervently.
He settled the now empty bowl on the ground and groaned, relaxed, satiated. He tilted his head subconsciously, assessing Vox. The demon looked so at ease, his expression lax, any fears assuaged, a smile adorned his face most of the time and his screen shone a brilliant, vibrant shade of blue, full of life and prosperity.
It warmed Alastor's heart to the point of melting. Vaguely, he felt his own face distorting into a balmy, serene grin. Not completely devoid of shame, Alastor blinked, composing himself.
And yet, something stirred inside him when he caught an irregular twitch of Vox's eyebrows.
That barest hint of unease didn't diminish while Vox ate. Alastor waited for him to finish before finally asking "Vox, dear, is everything alright?"
He softly brushed his knuckles against the side of Vox's screen, reassuring. Even after all these years, Alastor was disbelieving and over the moon that he was able to touch Vox like this, that Vox was allowing him to, that out of everyone in Hell Vox had chosen Alastor.
A reluctant groan escaped Vox. His shoulders slightly slumped as he answered "I've been skimming through the news," His tone was cautionary. "The bottom floors of the Tower are going back in business today."
Alastor ceased his caressing for the briefest moment, processing the information. "I see." he said, attempting to stifle the ire in his voice. "Well, I suppose they would have done so at some point."
"I still don't like it." Vox deadpanned, his tone losing its edge.
Alastor regarded him and he barely managed to contain his frown upon seeing the distress in Vox's body language.
Shuffling closer, he inquired "You think they're planning something?" Absentmindedly, he began to pluck the stray leaves clinging onto Vox's shirt.
Vox hesitated before finally nodding, his gaze distant. "I know it."
The unflinching certainty in his tone didn't dissipate the poorly tamped down concern writhing in Alastor’s gut.
"They can't attack us here." Alastor stated, not caring if Vox needed him to reiterate again, as he rested his palm on Vox's nape, light and non-restrictive
"No, I know that, it's just..." Vox turned away, searching for the words. "They're too quiet about this."
Alastor scoffed "Their news stations certainly aren't."
Vox grinned mousily, all too aware of the havoc Alastor had to moderate, but the slight reprieve was quickly replaced with that afflicted aura once more. "That's different. When they strike back -when they really want to - they're not so... obvious about it."
Internally, Alastor sensed a creeping, tingling snake of unease slithering through his veins, a biting, sharp-toothed omen that there truly was something deeper happening under the surface, cunning and malicious, that they weren't aware of.
The knowledge of Vox's experiences with them, the staggering, unfathomable amount of years he had spent exposed to the most grueling, insidious sides of them, learning their ways of thinking, adapting to their cruelty, only exacerbated that sinister feeling.
A ragged tearing sound drew both of their attentions. Alastor released a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding upon finally shifting his eyes away from Vox.
The demon unfurled his clenched fists from the blanket, as though only now noticing his tight grip, and smoothed it out.
Ever since Vox's claws had begun to grow, the demon had difficulty adjusting to the sharpness, unused to it. Alastor would have gladly shredded all of his furniture himself if only to ease Vox's recovery.
Vox made clucking sigh when he saw the tear his claws had left. "Damn." he swore guiltily.
Alastor swished his hand with a flourish and the fabric instantly mended itself. "No harm done."
Another sigh escaped Vox's lips as the demon's entire posture sagged into Alastor’s touch. In return, Alastor began to caress the soft skin on Vox's neck, reassuring, gentle.
"They know they can't get to you. Whatever they're doing, they're doing it out of desperation."
Vox finally turned to him. His eyes shone in a peculiar manner, his expression not one Alastor could decipher effortlessly.
He blinked slowly, his voice low and apprehensive when he confessed "That's what concerns me."
------------------
He was rooted in place, the path he had crossed countless times before seemed intent to swallow him whole. V Tower loomed over him, a lumbering, imposing beast whose very silhouette sent a daunting chill down Angel's spine.
Barely hiding the tremors in his fingers he attempted to steady his breathing. His mind had long since disassociated, reducing the journey to the Tower to nothing but a hazy, bleary fog.
Forty two days had passed since Angel had stepped foot in the studio. He had counted every single one of them, the uncertainty, the silence from Valentino, poisoning the free time he had been granted while the building had been rebuilt.
His heart hadn't relented its harsh beating against his ribs, haunted by all the possibilities that could greet him and Angel would never forget how it had nearly stopped working altogether when he had woken up this morning to a message from Valentino telling him to come to the studio. No explanations had been given, to instructions had been relayed.
He had no idea what would happen, but he knew with utter surety that Valentino knew about his deal with Alastor. The only thing that contested the soul-shattering vibrating in his bones born from sheer, undiluted fear was his apathetic acceptance that whatever happened next would entirely be his fault - a feeling that had welcomed itself as a permanent resident into Angel's heart a long time ago.
Impassively, his eyes glazed over, he stared at the establishment before him, the neon blue and purple lights casting an eerie, dour glow over him. An enormous portion of the upper floors had been decimated, leaving behind a crumbling, eroded cavity that vaguely looked as though someone had taken a bite out of the Tower. Two of the V letters crowning the building lingered atop it lightless, dark and broken, while the middle one flickered intermittently.
Angel could almost pretend it was a star shining down at him, a sickening, hateful star intent on burning the life out of everything it touched.
He couldn't even muster the will to be angry at Alastor for so blatantly and remorselessly betraying Angel's trust and being the perpetrator of all that destruction. Angel had known how unpredictable and unreliable the Overlord was and he had still made a deal with him.
Whatever had transpired between him and the Vees, Alastor remained mum, cooped up in his room ever since. It suited Angel perfectly, he neither needed nor wanted to talk to him.
His body moved on its own accord, giving strength to his muscles that Angel didn't possess. Distantly, he wondered whether he would walk through those doors again. Would Valentino even let him leave? The question soured Angel's foreboding thoughts with the prospect that he was currently walking to his own doom.
Their relationship had developed into a new, tense one - Angel having finally being exposed to a safe, innoxious environment for the first time since he could remember, surrounded by people, by friends, who genuinely supported him, who gave him courage and strength to dare to wish for a better life - for the past few months, reducing Valentino's patience and further diminishing any chances for Angel to leave unscathed.
The floors under his heals clicked from far away, the hallways that accompanied him - that he had trudged through almost every day of his afterlife - appeared foreign, unfamiliar.
Soon enough, he was surrounded by a bustling crowd, sinners darting left and right. Angel wove through them emotionlessly, his body on autopilot as it led him towards the lone figure sitting on the director's chair.
Angel halted in his tracks when Valentino suddenly turned towards him, his hearing sharp. Two scarlet, gleaming eyes narrowed on him, the animosity in their depths blaring through the shadow Valentino's hat cast upon them, further accentuating their malice.
Angel's body stood frozen under their piercing scrutiny, his instincts brewing under his skin to flee, to run and to never look back.
Then, Valentino smiled at him. And just like that, the petrifying effect of his pernicious leer got replaced by a warm, amiable gaze.
"Angel! Welcome back, amorcito!" he exclaimed, his tone sweet, welcoming.
Angel smiled sheepishly, taking a few slow, tentative steps forward. Valentino extended a hand - not an offer, but a direct summon that Angel had learned not to refuse.
He banished the knowledge that this wasn't a regular day to the farthest corners of his mind as he tried to cease the trembling in his fingers before he took Valentino’s hand.
Angel barely managed to fend off a yelp when the demon swiftly pulled him forward.
"It's been so long," he bemoaned, his tone whiny as he guided Angel on his lap. "I've missed you, baby."
Angel gulped. "I've missed you too," he smiled, expertly donning the mask he was so well accustomed to to hide his trepidation as he positioned himself on top of Valentino. "So, uh, what are we shootin' today?"
Valentino's smile sharpened in that same hungry way where it never reached his cold, soulless eyes, where he appeared to be looking through Angel instead of at him, where his gaze transfixed on Angel in such a wolfish, lascivious manner as though he was less than a slab of meat.
"Someone's eager," he purred, his voice sultry, as his hands slid around Angel's waist and pulled him closer. "I was worried my favorite star would get used to vacations."
Angel could feel his eye twitching. Steading his voice, he arched into Valentino as he coyly reassured "You know me, daddy. Can't be kept away for too long."
From the close proximity Angel was able to vaguely recognize three ridges that looked like healing cuts on Valentino's cheek. His lower right arm was surprisingly stiff and only now did Angel notice the cast the other hid under his wings.
His arm had been broken, he had viciously been attacked, and Angel's blood ran cold with the realization that Alastor had done far more that 'encounter some complications'.
The image seemed wrong. Valentino was a magnanimous, invincible figure - someone who had made every day of Angel's afterlife miserable, his own personal nightmare that fate had designated for him. He was an untouchable demon. No one who had the foolish bravery to antagonize him lived long enough to tell the tale and a debilitating shudder ran through Angel's whole body that he was currently in far more danger than he could have ever imagined.
A deep, amused chuckle brought him out of his muddled daze. With a sharp snap of his eyes he plastered that fake smile once more as Valentino allowed his hands to possessively wander over Angel's body.
"You needy thing, I've been ignoring you, haven't I." he cooed, dragging Angel closer in a poorly displayed pretense of sincerity. "But, you won't be shooting anything today."
Angel blinked, his mind short-circuiting for a moment.
He had made peace with being nothing but a cash maker for Valentino a long time ago, and after more than a month of his absence the news that he wouldn't immediately be put back to work addled his brain.
A venomous, sinking feeling crept in his gut. It flowed through his body, dousing his very bones with a disquieting dread that something very horrible was about to happen. His breath turned fast and deep as he tried to level the shaking in his limbs.
He barely managed to prevent his voice from wavering. "Uh, what do you... what do you mean?" he concluded lamely, at a loss for what to say, what he should, what would be appropriate for him to alleviate the pain Valentino will undoubtedly inflict on him.
Angel released an abrupt, brittle whine when Valentino suddenly gripped him and spun him around.
All four of his hands instinctively clasped over the handles of the seat, his body taut from fear. The demon kept Angel steady as he awkwardly shuffled his legs on either side of Valentino's to accommodate the new position.
He was forced to loosen his muscles when Valentino's arms slithered across his waist and pulled him backwards. The disadvantage of being fully flush against Valentino's chest made every hair on Angel's neck stand up.
He breathed in, pointedly disregarding the fact that he couldn't predict Valentino's intentions this way, unable to see his face and gauge his emotions, his feelings, the moment when he would finally drop the harmless, innocuous façade - and he didn't doubt that was the demon's precise intention.
"Hmm, Angel?" Valentino breathed into his ear, the sensation causing bile to rise up in Angel's throat. "You seem tense. Relax, baby."
Valentino smoothed his hands along Angel's thighs. He cupped Angel's jaw, his fingers unusually considerate, as he lifted his head. Only then did Angel notice the scene Valentino was currently filming.
His fear of the demon behind him had muffled the grunts and moans, but looking at the actors now he wondered how he could have ever tuned them out. The cameras were aimed at a bed where a sinner Angel didn't recognize lay bound and surrounded by three hellhounds.
Valentino's hold didn't relent and as Angel was forced to watch the scene play out he noticed how the sinner occasionally hid their face away from the camera whenever their features contorted in agony. Their performance didn't slacken, but the discomfort, the pain, blazed from their mannerisms, from their tightly clenched fists, from how their muscles helplessly contracted at unpredictable intervals, from the far-away, distant look in their eyes.
"You want that, don't you?" Valentino asked low enough so that only Angel could hear, his tone sly, devious.
No. No he didn't.
"Yes, Val." Angel assented.
"You want to be in her place." he probed, his breath tickling the fur on Angel's neck. "You want to be the center of attention again."
"Yes, Val" he repeated, barely keeping his voice steady as Valentino encased both of his upper wrists and pinned them to his chest, holding him closely.
Valentino huffed behind him, the airy warmth the motion produced spreading over Angel's skin and it took all of his willpower not to recoil from it, his instincts so familiarized to his body being tossed, grabbed, touched and used however Valentino deemed fit.
"Of course, you do. A desperate slut like you can only go so long without dick." His voice was derisive, condescending, as his third hand roamed freely over Angel's things and hips. "I've been denying you, but I've been a bit busy fixing the damage one of your friends caused me."
A boiling, inexorable wave of dismay flooded Angel's whole body. He stiffened, frozen in place by the sudden turn Valentino's words took.
"I..." He lost his voice completely. His eyes widened at his inability to form sentences, savaged by the burning terror rampaging his soul. "I don't-"
Valentino's hand tightened over his hip, cutting off Angel's feeble attempts at an explanation. His claws harshly dug into the sensitive flesh of his skin, trapping him in place.
"Yes, that radio freak decided to be a massive pain in the ass and trash the entire place. And you know what's really interesting?" he seethed through clenched teeth. "I found him very close to my office."
Angel's stomach dropped with every word, Valentino's grip on him suffocating, as steel as the bars of a metal cage.
"Now, I've done nothing but be nice to him. I'm always nice aren't I, cariño?" he pronounced the last words with a bite.
"Always." Angel lied immediately.
"Mmhm. So, I keep wondering what in fuck's name he was doing there in the first place." His voice lowered, raspy and vindictive and Angel's eyes shut in a poor attempt to leave the situation.
His gaze sharply snapped up when an anguished, primal scream resounded from the bed.
His breath hitched when he saw the sinners' body convulsing, her limbs helplessly kicking and writhing in her bonds as the hellhound's claws raked over her skin, leaving deep, gruesome, bleeding gashes. The bed creaked deafeningly as the hellhound brutally thrust into her and every beat amplified the screeching in Angel's mind.
"I don't suppose you know anything about it?"
All of a sudden, Angel felt himself plummeting. A dark, bottomless pit awaited him as he felt his body sinking into the ground and the most horrifying, heart-rendering sensation washed over him at the fact he would gladly let himself fall if only to escape this agonizing, smothering reality.
"I don't - Why would I know?" he stammered, cursing himself internally, the words flitting through his mind, unable to grasp them.
Suddenly, Valentino harshly grabbed his hair and yanked his head back. A startled, shredded gasp left him as he tried not to fight his neck from being craned forcefully, uncomfortably.
"Well, you two do live in the same hotel. Would it be so crazy to think that you were the one who asked him to pay me a visit?" Valentino persisted and his tone was so baleful and venomous Angel could have bolted from his seat.
His words settled heavily on Angel's churning gut. His own breathing burned his throat from how desperately he tried to calm it. He grit his teeth from the sheer, unbridled terror that Valentino could feel Angel's fear from how tightly his hand held two of Angel's against his chest as his heart increased its thrumming, the fast, harsh beats reverberating through his skin.
What the fuck had he been thinking? The severity of what he had done by proposing that deal to Alastor fully struck him and he would have readily bathed in boiling lava if only to lessen the unendurable guilt.
"Val, I haven't... I didn't ask him to -"
"Maybe he was looking for my contracts." he whispered, vile, insinuating, and every syllable out of his lips slammed against Angel's weak, withering durability. "Maybe he was looking for your contract."
Angel felt all of the air leave his lungs.
His breathing deteriorated, labored and heavy, unable to be soothed. He could distantly feel the wood of the chair groaning from how fiercely he clutched it. Tears welled up in his eyes and the ringing in his head magnified tenfold.
His speech warped tragically when he spoke, his words rushed, slurred. "I never asked him to. I never wanted that-"
He was once again silenced when Valentino grazed his teeth against his neck. Angel stilled, his body strung with anticipation of the pain they were going to deliver.
"If you did, that would be really fucking stupid, Angie." Valentino breathed against his skin, perfectly aware of how petrified Angel was under his mercy. Placing a riveting, feather-light kiss on Angel's neck, a stark contrast to the menacing sharpness of his teeth, he added "Did you forget what happened the last time you tried to pull that shit?"
It wasn't a question, it was a statement. Angel only remembered the relief that at least Charlie had survived uninjured and how he had tried to drink away the memories permanently later that night, knowing his wilting, scalded mind wouldn't be able to handle them.
"Val - Val, please... I didn't, I wouldn't!"
The sinner in front of him yelped in pain when a hellhound backhanded her, then another hurt, agonized sound pierced the air after the demon repeated the motion. The sinner's fate worsened with every passing second, the hellhounds growing more ruthless and cruel, almost paralleling the shrill development of the conversation Angel was having with Valentino.
The disgusting, harrowing sight, combined with the annihilative weight of what was happening to him - the way Valentino was cornering him, his touch hovering over almost every inch of his body - unleashed a billowing, quaking echo through all of his senses, igniting them on fire with the need to run, to run and run and run until his legs couldn't take the exertion anymore.
"Look at that one." Valentino sharply directed Angel's head forward - towards the sinner - using the grip he had on his hair. "That dumb whore thought she could get out of work by refusing to show up at all. You can see how successful she was."
He could, and the daunting realization that Valentino might have set up that sickening, wretched scene precisely for Angel to watch as a way to emphasize his violent promises, sent a blistering, flaming torrent of despair throughout his whole body.
"I had to waste three hours of shooting while my men picked her up." Valentino commented, as though his words were as innocuous as discussing the weather. "I just hate when my bitches forget their place." he whined, petulant, his palm gliding along the inside of Angel's thigh, a clear message that he could do whatever he wanted to him, a screaming reminder of who owned him. "You wouldn't forget your place again, would you Angel?"
"No!" Angel blurted out instantly, his own voice sounding foreign, like it belonged to someone else. Someone Angel didn't want to be. "No, I didn't! Val, please, I promise."
His fur raised in alarm and terror and he winced when Valentino's claws further tightened on his hip, their points moments away from piercing his skin.
"Are you sure?" Valentino's voice sent a chill down Angel's spine.
Even from his position, Angel could feel the malevolent, impatient way Valentino's eyes narrowed. He wasn't even paying attention to the sinner being filmed, all of his focus viciously snatched by the demon threatening to turn his very soul inside out.
"I..."
He didn't know what to say. There was nothing he could say to dissuade Valentino from carrying out whatever punishment satisfied his twisted, sadistic tendencies.
"Are you sure you didn't ask Alastor to specifically break into my office and get him to find that contract?"
He knows. Valentino knows. He could smell Angel's fear and was simply toying with him. A predator circling its pray, sweetening and tenderizing its meal before the inevitable pounce.
His next words exorcised all the life out of Angel's bones.
"Oh, Angel. You wouldn't actually think I wouldn't figure it out?"
In that moment, the dam that Angel had been fortifying around his composure completely broke.
He couldn't take it anymore. He had grown used to that sliver of freedom he had been provided and now the devastating, crippling reality that was his life rammed into him with a force capable of toppling mountains.
He couldn't remember the last time he had felt this afraid, this terrified. Alastor had not only disregarded Angel's wishes and destroyed the Tower, he had not only put Valentino's studio out of work, but he had directly and openly attacked Valentino himself. And the demon knew Angel had been behind it all.
More than a month had been charitably granted to him to prepare for his inevitable doom, for Valentino's fury to finally be unleashed worse than any of the other times that preceded it, and yet, it wasn't enough. If Angel had spent an eternity bracing himself, numbing his mind with forlorn acceptance, it would never have been enough to warn how utterly, unfathomably scared he would be.
All of the strength and bravery he had amassed in the last year thoroughly depleted, crushed under the lethal, biting words of the monster who had him ensnared, leaving his soul as empty and barren as a dessert during the hottest days of summer.
He shut his eyes, his body shaking like a leaf in Valentino's iron grip as he finally confessed.
"I'm sorry... I'm sorry..."
He continued to ramble, quiet, hushed. His voice was pitifully small, his words repetitive, abandoning his self-control as they cascaded out of his mouth instinctively. "I'm sorry... I didn't mean for it to happen. Val, please..."
He wanted to go home.
He wanted to walk under the iridescent, bright, comforting lights of the hotel and lock the door behind him. He wanted to stumble his way towards a familiar bar where a familiar, warm smile greeted him every time. He wanted to hold that person's hand and allow the gentle gliding of his claws to smooth the fur on Angel's. He wanted to clasp it and to feel the other tighten the hold, his skin soft, the spongy feel of his golden, heart-shaped paw a heavenly sensation on Angel's palm.
He wanted to be safe. He wanted to surround himself with peace and quiet only broken by the tinkering of glasses or a serene jazz tune. He didn't want to be drowned by screams, groans, sobs and never-ending pain currently descending on him from every direction.
"Please..."
He could feel his pulse in his ears, the pounding rhythm over-stimulating him as it combined with the noise and Valentino's unforgiving grip.
It felt like he had been thrust into an eternity. An infinite, reeling void rushed through him as he could feel everything and nothing all at once, reducing time to a mere whisper of a long-forgotten past.
He didn't know how long he had been pleading, or if he had ever spoken at all, his hearing, his sight, his sense of touch beaten down to numb acceptance.
"No." Valentino's icy tone suddenly broke the all-consuming illusion. "No, I don't think you would."
His hands released Angel and he fumbled to grasp the seat to prevent himself from slumping forward.
He blinked, the lights and sounds re-entering his exhausted mind with blazing insistence.
Only then did Valentino's words fully sink in.
He raked his gaze over his body. Valentino's hands sat leisurely next to Angel's sides, not touching him. Not a sound escaped the moth behind him and Angel suddenly realized how heavy his breathing had gotten in the otherwise undisturbed atmosphere.
What?
Angel swallowed thickly, caught off guard by whatever new, foul game Valentino was forcing him to participate in.
When Valentino made no move to clarify his intentions, Angel cautiously asked "... Val?"
The chair creaked when Valentino shifted, once more settling hid hands around Angel's waist only this time his hold was light, considerate even.
"Hmm? I said I don't think you would try that." he muttered, genuine care flowing from his voice.
Angel's mind only confounded further.
Was Valentino... trying to help him?
They both knew about Angel's deal, so why was Valentino preserving this pretense?
He blinked again, distrustful of the demon's honesty, unconvinced that this wasn't some ploy to get Angel to drop his guard down before finally pulling the rug and delivering a more heinous, despicable punishment.
He hated this. He hated this so much, the unpredictability, the uncertainty of whether Valentino would snap, his nature perfidious and temperamental, his fickle, bilious mood alternating as dubiously and randomly as a brewing storm. He despised with a fiery, bitter passion how terrified Valentino always made him feel. He wasn't even hurting Angel yet, he wasn't even openly threatening him, and yet undiluted, overbearing fear spread through his whole being simply from being pinned under the demon's hostile attention.
Angel didn't make a single noise, wary of saying something wrong and worsening his fate.
After a while, Valentino alleviated Angel of the burden of fathoming the conversation and supplied "What's wrong, baby?" he crooned into Angel's ear and his voice was so sweet, so honeyed Angel could have slouched into his arms. "I thought you promised you wouldn't try to leave again?"
Angel's mind was scrambled, the pieces flung all over the place as he desperately tried to reassemble it enough to at least form a coherent sentence. "I did? I did, I promise."
"There, see? In fact," Valentino's hands subtly squeezed Angel's sides as he rested his chin on his shoulder. "I think you should prove it to me."
There it was. The second shoe had finally been dropped.
Angel's stomach twisted from apprehension, foreboding, nauseating dread of what Valentino would ask of him crawled under his skin like a rabid, furious hive of bees.
In front of him, the sinner had grown quiet, her voice stolen, her eyes lost, vacant, her mind undoubtedly fogged over from the brutality still being inflicted on her body.
Angel sighed quietly, his own shattered heart reaching out for her with what little strength it still possessed. With his bewilderment extinguished he distantly felt relief from being thrust into a scene familiar to him, one he could navigate no matter how grim and debilitating it was.
Valentino shuffled behind him and Angel flinched when a red pouch got dropped onto his lap.
He placed his hands on the bag and when no reprimand came, he opened it. Whatever expectations he had, whatever suspicions his mind had fashioned as to what could be held inside, got erased as he gawked at the contents.
Timidly, he stuck a hand inside and grabbed the items. He carefully lifted them out and after several unnerving seconds of silence he finally twisted his body to look back at Valentino.
"Val..." he spoke, slowly, anxiously. "...What is this?"
As Angel inspected the bag, Valentino lit up a cigarette. He didn't look at him when he answered "What does it look like, Angie?"
His voice was calm, his words nonchalant, evasive.
Angel studied him, Valentino's mannerisms disparagingly out of tone with the items Angel was holding. "I don't get what you want me to do with these."
Valentino inhaled, then sharply puffed out the smoke in the air, filling it with a sweet, rosy aroma that awfully pervaded Angel's senses.
"Here's the deal," Valentino expanded, relaxing into the chair. "Your friend took something important, so I'll need you to help me bring it back home."
Angel remained silent, all too aware of the accusations against Alastor. The only thing that trumped the mortifying possibility that he had indeed kidnapped a VoxTek employee was Angel's confliction on whether or not he should believe the rumors.
"Now, you'll need these in case you come across... resistance." Valentino flourished his cigarette, punctuating his words.
Angel flicked his gaze towards the items, his body stiff from what he was hearing. The vial of pink, translucent love potion swirled in its confinement hauntingly, the capped needle next to it even more revolting.
A dagger accompanied them. Circumspectly, Angel lifted it from the pile and brought it close to his face.
He spared a few seconds to inspect the blade. The steel shone rather beautifully, its magnetizing allure overshadowed by the lethal sharpness of its edges, and the handle was embellished by a well-crafted, stunning, crimson gem at the hilt.
Angel's breath shuddered when he realized he was holding an angelic blade, further mortified by the dried blood on the metal, as though someone had failed to properly clean it.
He returned the dagger to the pile with an audible clunk and protested "You want me to kill Alastor?"
A sardonic laugh bubbled out of Valentino's throat. "No, of course not. I know you could never do it. The dagger is just a precaution in case you get caught. Do you really think I would let my best money maker get torn apart?"
"No..." Angel answered instinctively, all too used to the belittling treatment. "But, Val I don't think I can just-"
Valentino silenced him with a finger on his lips. "You don't have to think, baby. That's never been your strong suit. You just do as I say and bring back that TV head."
Angel's eyebrows creased in confusion. "TV head?"
Valentino bit his cigarette before sticking a hand under his wing. He smoothly retrieved a piece of paper and presented it to Angel.
"This is the guy you will be fetching for me." he said, as Angel turned the paper in his hands. "As far as we know, Alastor is keeping him at that dear hotel of yours."
The picture had been torn on the left side, but the face of the figure on it was clear and unblemished despite how evidently old the paper was.
Angel stared at it, his mind convoluted from how many times it had been thrown around like a rag doll in the last fifteen minutes. The person's face was unmistakable and Angel shook his head in perplexity of why Valentino had given him a picture of Vox.
What the Hell was going on?
The demon had been socially present and diligently working ever since Angel had known him and he ostensibly no longer had an old TV for a head. Angel had surmised an average, unremarkable sinner was the infamous worker Alastor had supposedly abducted, not one of the most influential and famous demons in Pentagram City.
"I don't understand. This is-"
His words were once again cut off when Valentino obscured the picture with his hand and brought it down on the pile of equipment in Angel's lap. "You don't need to understand. You just need to do as I fucking tell you."
Valentino's hand clenched around his cigarette, his voice straining behind gritted teeth. Sensing the demon's patience running thin, Angel refrained from arguing further.
Did he even have a choice? Valentino had never demanded something like this from him, by all right Angel's business outside of the studio was out of Valentino's reach. Except, the limits of his contract grew thinner with each passing second.
He had expected to perform some unusual favors, he had expected to endure some weird, questionable kinks, he had expected to be forced to work for a week straight, he had expected to be beaten within an inch of his life. He had never expected this.
Angel gulped as Valentino's hands tightened on his waist, his tolerance slowly diminishing. He didn't have time to answer before Valentino grabbed his jaw and spun him forward again.
The demon locked Angel's gaze back onto the bed, where the cameras still rolled, the sinner's body dreadfully limp.
Valentino leaned against Angel's back and sighed "I know it's a lot to ask, but you are the best fit for the job." His voice was hushed, a breezy murmur against Angel's ear. Nodding towards the sinner he sneered "Do you think I wanted to film her instead of you? She's good, but unfortunately that's all she can take."
Angel bit his cheek, the atrocious words pouring out of Valentino's mouth grated against his consciousness.
"The hellhounds were up for it of course, though I was thinking of using one of the new workers, to see what they're made of." He rested his cheek against Angel's shoulder, a tender, almost innocent gesture of affection, so inconsistent with the vile nature of his speech. "I know several sinners that are begging for the spotlight. There's this particularly interesting cat demon I've had my eye on for a while."
Angel's heart stopped beating.
The sinister, alluding manner with which Valentino uttered the last sentence caused Angel's entire body to stiffen.
He bristled, his throat closing up. Valentino's message shone through the dark clouds littering Angel's mind faster than an arrow piercing the air. The unspoken, indirect threat towards Husk dissipated any outside interference potentially muffling his senses as all of his instincts rose to full potency. Clarity seeped into his vision, the world made sharper, clearer than ever before.
Valentino must have sensed Angel's body tensing for he felt that same wicked smile stretching against his skin. "Yeah, I don't doubt he'd make quite the talent, with the correct... guidance, of course."
He felt like his muscles were melting, the merciless fire which pillaged them deteriorating the very bones his body relied on. His ribs were quaking beyond control, his frantic, terrified heart beating against them relentlessly and with a dismayed, horrendous screeching descending on his ears Angel realized there was nothing preventing Valentino from fulfilling his threat.
Before, the Overlord had never crossed that line in fear of offending Alastor, not eager to incite his retaliation, but now?
Now, there was nothing holding him back. Alastor had shattered all of those frail, fragile bridges of insincere respect by attacking the Tower. Valentino knew Angel cared for Husk - as well as his newfound protectiveness over all of the hotel's inhabitants - and he had no qualms or reservations in going after one of his dearest friends.
Threats to Angel's wellbeing were a common, unavoidable occurrence, but Valentino had never outwardly threatened one of his friends.
Angel's teeth grated, his eyes blown wide open. The only thing that challenged the boiling, unquenchable storm of pure wrath coiling in his core was the booming, unshakeable reminder that there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop Valentino if Angel decided to refuse him.
"Oh, look. They're wrapping it up." Valentino noted as he sharply shook Angel's head, focusing his attention back on the set.
One of the hellhounds yanked the sinner's hair, exposing the clean line of her neck.
A starry glint flickered through the air and, before Angel could fully grasp what was happening, the hellhound raised a knife and sliced straight through her throat.
He gasped, shuffling in his seat as an icy chill shot down the entire length of his spine.
The sinner gurgled, tied down and unable to staunch the bleeding. There was nothing she could do. Angel watched with horror as her body, drenched in her own blood, gradually ceased its movements.
Even after her limbs had slumped on the mattress and the last, desperate shudders and twitches of her body gave out the hellhounds didn't stop, the cameras still rolling. Her eyes stared at the ceiling, empty, lifeless.
That's when Angel understood the full depravity of Valentino's threat.
This entire time Valentino has been making a snuff film. The scene that he had set up just for Angel, the correlations he had designed between the sinner and Husk, had all been specifically planned to instill the true severity of his violent promises.
"It would be such a shame if anyone else had to go through that."
Valentino's voice suddenly sliced through the shock obscuring Angel's mind.
"For your own good, I think you should accept my kind offer." He slung his hands around Angel's form and, one by one, returned each item in the bag. "But, if you need more convincing I'm sure we can work something out with your contract."
Angel shook his head again. He was tired. He was so tired he couldn't even pay attention to what Valentino was saying anymore. A part of him longed to simply give up, to relent his grip on the chair and fall forward onto the floor. He wanted to slam into it so hard his mind would tumble into that imminent darkness, finally at peace.
"What?" His voice sounded so small when he spoke, his body hunched in on itself, lacking the energy to even tremble.
"Well, I've been thinking," Valentino began, calm and blasé. "What if we did some changes to your contract? You do this little job for me, and we could re-discuss the terms. Less hours, maybe a few days off a month, how does that sound, baby?"
Angel blinked, his eyelids exhausted from the repetitive movement.
Renegotiating his contract was an extraction of his dreams. It wasn't something that belonged in the real world, it wasn't a sentence Angel ever thought his ears could be blessed with.
All of a sudden, the conversation became so simple.
Either he refused and Valentino goes after Husk, or he accepts, and his life becomes significantly easier, freedom would filter through that oppressive, pink haze that had been his constant companion, and the leash would loosen its pull.
He only needed to kidnap someone and bring them to Valentino...
Angel stared at the bag, the chaotic noises and perennial buzzing in his head dulled as he weighed his options. Alastor had betrayed his trust, but does that mean Angel had the right to reciprocate in equal? Would saving that unfortunate soul from him be such an unforgivable, despicable act?
On the other hand, would he be dooming that demon who uncannily and suspiciously resembled Vox? Angel didn't know who he was, he didn't know why Alastor had risked both his career and good standing by stealing him. He didn't know the nature of Valentino's intentions with him, but he heavily doubted they were merciful and born out of genuine care. Would he be condemning someone else just to alleviate his own suffering and pain? Would he do that and throw all the kindness and love Charlie had shown him, the pride in her eyes, the faith in her heart that deep down Angel was a good person, in the trash as though it was worth nothing?
The innumerable amount of questions swirled in his mind, further baffling it, an inescapable labyrinth of equally damning destinies.
"Sounds nice, doesn't it? So," Valentino whispered, his tone conclusive. "What do you say, angelcakes?"
He couldn't do it. He couldn't involve himself in whatever interwoven web of lies and secrets the two Overlords played. He was tired of being a toy they could manipulate, a mere pawn to achieve their nefarious, selfish goals. He wanted no part in that arcane, opaque game where life and death lay precariously balanced on a knife's edge.
Husk's and the TV headed demon's faces spun in his head, the two souls whose fate resided in Angel's hands. Freedom, a chance to breathe away from the studio, away from Valentino's unyielding, poisonous clutches, sliced through that torrent.
Valentino's hands imperceptibly tightened on his waist, expectant.
Angel breathed, long and deep. His shoulders were slumped in resignation, having made his choice. His voice was broken in surrender when he answered.
"Yes, Val."
Notes:
I apologize :/
(Also, there's a few quite important foreshadowing moments somewhere in this chapter ;) )
I don't want to spoil anything, but if anyone's worried about the sinner that got killed (temporarily), let's just say what Valentino did to her will have dire consequences later on
Chapter 8: Every breath you take
Chapter Text
"Vox?" Alastor called out "You haven't seen my bow tie anywhere, have you?"
"Mm, no, I don't think so." Vox answered from behind the book he was currently reading. "You could have dropped it somewhere on our walk yesterday." he suggested, referring to their routinely ventures through the bayou, a mutual agreement that both of them were eager to partake in for the sake of helping Vox regain the ability to walk again.
To Alastor's great relief, the demon could now walk for hours without requiring any assistance and his heart fluttered at how far Vox had come in the last two months.
"I'm quite certain I took it off last night." Alastor replied, unconvinced by his own statement.
He raked his eyes across the room, twisting his body absurdly for the sake of locating the pesky piece of fabric. He stomped toward his nightstand and opened his drawers again. When no luck greeted him he huffed in annoyance.
"Did you check under the bed?" Vox proposed, still laying down on the nest.
"I did." Alastor tapped his foot absentmindedly, a frown etched on his face. "I don't want to appear in public without it," he complained with the slightest gasp to his tone. "I might live in Hell, but it doesn't mean I can't afford to look decent."
The barest laugh escaped Vox. He put down his book to look at Alastor, an unsuccessfully contained smile stretching across his face. "No, of course you wouldn't. What a scandal it would be."
His tone was harmlessly mocking, but Alastor only pursed his lips. He flicked his eyes around the area, his irritation growing.
He paused when he noticed the nonchalance and amusement still brimming from Vox's mannerisms. He squinted, suspicion slithering into his mind.
"Vox?" he asked again. "Are you sure you haven't seen my bow tie?"
The demon hummed, his eyes pointed at the ceiling. "I'm quite sure."
Alastor only pinned him with his skeptical gaze.
When his accusatory attitude didn't diminish, Vox added "Maybe it's somewhere here?" His tone was surprisingly curious, as if he truly didn't know where the bow tie was, as he fluffed the covers.
Alastor smiled sharply, Vox's intentions perfectly clear.
"Mmhm, maybe." he said, playing along. "Let's see."
He slowly crawled on top of the blankets, faking ignorance, as he gingerly tapped around. He gradually progressed towards where Vox was sitting. Out of the corner of his eye, he peeked to gauge out his expression and when he only detected that same smug grin Alastor swiftly snatched the book from his hands.
"Hey!"
"I'll take that, if you don't mind." Alastor raised the book above his head, foiling the other's attempts to reach for it.
Vox craned his body forward, draping it over Alastor as he extended his hand towards the book.
Alastor only leaned back, a victorious smirk decorating his face. He shook the book and his smile widened in triumph when a black item fell out of it.
"Ohoo, what's this?" he riddled his voice with gloating jubilance, his tone singsong, as he picked the bow tie up.
Vox only groaned against him. Failing to procure an excuse, he stuffed his face against Alastor’s shoulder and laughed.
Alastor’s gaze instantly hooked onto him, his eyes drooped, half-lidded from the endearing sound.
Vox tilted his head and when he looked back up at Alastor his gaze was unabashedly devilish, sly. "You can keep it. I have something better."
Alastor peered down, noticing the tight embrace Vox had locked him in.
"Evidently." he joked, wrapping his own arms around the other, mindful of the healing injuries on both of their bodies. "I want to stay, believe me, but duty calls. Besides," he indicated towards his shadow with a nod. "I always leave him with you, just in case."
They both spared the shadow a peep, who was sitting soundlessly a short distance away and watching them with a - what to anyone sane, would be a diabolically creepy smile, but both Alastor and Vox recognized it as one of its softest expressions.
Vox hummed "Fair." He tightened his hold slightly. "You don't suppose Charlie will excuse you indefinitely if I don't let you go?"
This time, Alastor laughed, not eager to part with Vox either. "I don't think she will be too lenient if she knew I have been ignoring everyone just so I could be with you."
A beat of silence perforated the air. Vox raised an eyebrow, his expression nonplussed and unblinking, as Alastor acknowledged how utterly untrue that statement was.
"Nevermind." he corrected.
Already, Vox knew the residents of the hotel without having properly interacted with them and Alastor's heart warmed at the prospect.
Vox grinned softly, but he didn't relent his hold. A pinching jab at Alastor’s conscience nabbed at him.
His suspicions that it would be beneficial for Vox to have some privacy and freedom away from Alastor anytime he had to leave would usually be ruefully stamped down by a wave of guilt whenever Alastor opened the door to his room and got greeted by a brimming, excited smile capable of eroding entire landscapes with its fondness, waiting for him to return. Alastor wanted to grant Vox time essential for him to be reacquainted with the world again away from Alastor's influence, but the blaring, non-dismissible fact that Vox had been alone for so long screamed from his desire and need to be close to him and every fiber of Alastor’s being wailed at his powerlessness to leave the hotel, to discard the rehabilitation program, abandon the job, forget the crew and break his deal only so he could spend every waking minute with Vox.
Failing to dissuade the other, Alastor instead proposed "How about this," His tone held a jump to it, sobering the other up. "You let me go, and in exchange I give you a kiss."
Vox raised his other eyebrow, intrigued. "I wasn't aware I had to pay for kisses now."
"Do you not want it?" Alastor teased, his voice lacking any bite.
Vox pondered it, his eyes narrowing in irritation. "Two kisses." he gambled.
Alastor smiled further and countered "Three."
"I don't think that's how you're suppose- Four." Vox quickly amended, seizing the opportunity.
"Five?"
"...Six?"
Alastor lifted his gaze, feigning contemplation as he tapped a finger against his lips. "Six kisses just so you can let me go? It's a steep price, my dear." He allowed a few seconds of needless quiet to traverse through the room.
"What can I say, I was a businessman." Vox said, propping his chin on Alastor's shoulder and staring at him with a glazed, sparkly shine in his eyes.
Alastor droned. "Well, you are my only and most loyal customer." he conceded with a heartfelt sigh. "I suppose I could spare a kiss or two."
"Six." Vox corrected, relentless. "We agreed on six."
"Were you always so insistent as a businessman?"
"Six." he deadpanned, unyielding.
Alastor couldn't restrain his smile from widening further, mellowed from the delightful, albeit ridiculous, conversation when both of them knew he would gladly sacrifice himself to an eternity of showering Vox with kisses.
Finding his will to retort depleted, Vox's affection having snatched any wit left in him straight out of his throat, Alastor lifted a hand and gently cupped Vox's face. Slowly, purposely building suspense by maintaining eye contact, Alastor closed the distance and laid a tender, deep kiss on the other's cheek.
His screen was warm and Alastor barely survived the riveting shudder that flowed through him at the sensation. Staying true to his word, he placed another kiss in the center of Vox's monitor, where his nose would be. The motion was so intimate, so enticing, Alastor couldn't help but nuzzle his own nose against it.
Vox hummed, the sound bordering on a soft moan, and clutched him even tighter, as though fearful that Alastor would escape him. Vox's fingers gently kneaded Alastor's back as he resumed his kisses.
He brushed his lips against Vox's monitor, feather-light, the electric, heavenly tingle of it dancing on Alastor's skin like freshly fallen snowflakes, as he progressed upwards. He stroked the sides of Vox's head gently and lowered it to plant the third kiss.
Vox shuffled their bodies closer in response, his grasp on Alastor further pulling him in, needy, delighted. His chest rose and fell deeply, serene, relaxed, thoroughly entranced into the moment.
When Alastor laid the fourth kiss on Vox's other cheek, Vox - unable to refrain himself - snuck a quick, passionate kiss of his own on Alastor's jaw.
Alastor melted into the affection Vox offered him with no cost, his body lax as the demon then kissed his cheek, as his hands roamed over his back and threaded through his hair. The soft noises of pleasure Vox was unconsciously making threatened to crumble Alastor on the spot and he would have voluntarily stopped breathing if it meant this moment could be preserved, if it meant the invincible, fickle whims of time would show him mercy by trapping him here forevermore.
Keeping his promise, Alastor trailed his way across Vox's screen, his skin brushing lovingly against the glass, and placed the fifth kiss on the demon's temple. He cradled his face with both hands as he pressed his lips, by now addicted to the other's warmth.
He sighed contentedly before reluctantly ending the kiss. Lowering his forehead against Vox's temple, Alastor closed his eyes, unable to bare the torturous storm of love and devotion simmering in his soul.
"I'm afraid..." he whispered, breathless, his body glued to Vox’s, impossible to will it away. ”That I'm going to be quite late."
Vox grumbled, mournful and peevish. "You still owe me one more kiss."
Alastor vaporized into the shadows and flew out of Vox's grasp.
He smiled mischievously when he saw the demon's head droop downwards before his eyes shot open with a jolt. He snapped his head towards where Alastor had materialized and hit him with a betrayed, yet impressed smile.
"I will give you the last one after I get back." he announced with firmness that didn't belong to someone whose soul was currently bawling to reconvene its lips with Vox's face again. "You will have something to look forward to." he added while fashioning his bow tie in place.
"I always look forward to you coming back."
His voice was so earnest, so gut-wrenchingly honest, Alastor nearly fell to his knees.
For all of their teasing and playful joking, Vox's capability to crush Alastor - whenever he even slightly lifted the curtain hiding the full extent of his feelings - never failed to annihilate his will and frail composure.
Alastor gulped, surprised by the heat stalking its way to his face. He coughed, a feeble, sheepish way to hide the flush that reddened his skin. He felt embarrassed, just a fumbling, inarticulate teenager experiencing his first love, yet at the same time he felt as though he had braved through a millennia alongside this man, infinitely devoted.
"Good. That's why I always never-" he clasped his mouth shut, his ability to form coherent sentences reduced to ash, something only one person had ever managed to inflict on him. He sighed again, relenting, "I should know never to let my guard down around you. A charm like yours is dangerous, my friend."
Vox had the audacity to smirk, self-satisfied. "Well, now you also have something to look forward to."
"I always do." Alastor confessed, dauntless. "Every day since I found you."
Vox smiled further, his eyes crinkling into half-moons from the sheer, unabated adoration wafting between them. "Alright, now who's got the charm?"
Alastor went to pipe back an equally witty, yet cheesy, retort when a dark blotch of shadow invaded his vision.
He stifled a yelp when it harshly slapped him across the chest, causing him to stumble back. His expression twisted into incredulity and he wacked his cane through the air.
It missed. He pursed his lips as his shadow pushed him again, guiding him away. He could hear Vox laughing in the distance and he clenched his teeth, thoroughly unamused by his shadow's theatrics.
"Alright, I'm leaving! Calm down." he demanded, his voice incapable of reaching the authority needed to subdue his shadow from its eagerness to be left alone with Vox, despite being able to feel exactly what Alastor felt and vice versa.
Impatient, his shadow impudently made a shooing motion with its hands, all too chipper to reel Alastor out.
Alastor bared his teeth in a snarl, baiting it, as he flourished his cane in a pointless warning.
Inches from the door, Alastor quickly called back to Vox "There's breakfast in the fridge, leftovers from last night!" He smacked his shadow's hand, annoyed by its persistence. "I don't think I will be held up the entire day this time, I should be back by dinner."
"So, the muffled screaming from behind that tree was..." Vox trailed off, pointing towards the bayou.
"Dinner."
"Ah."
"But, that's just for me. I was feeling particularly famished for sinner meat. I bought steak yesterday for you. I'll cook it after I get back." Alastor finished hurriedly, his shadow already opening the door.
Vox brought a hand to his heart, a bright smile still decorating his face. "I'll miss you!"
"I'll miss you too, dear!" Alastor practically shouted through the doorway, Vox already out of sight.
With one last shove, Alastor was pushed out of his own room. Gathering himself, he managed to catch his shadow giving him an obscene gesture with its middle finger all the while donning a wry smile.
"Oh, you insolent, little-"
The door slammed in his face.
Alastor clenched his fists, his features harrowingly contorting in disbelief. After releasing a few shaky exhales to steady himself, he dusted off his shoulders and straightened his coat.
He began walking towards the parlor when he felt a wave of warmth encompass his front. He smiled, his shadow wasting no time in snuggling with Vox as the other most likely resumed reading his book. The blissful, grounding sensation would help him trudge through the day.
When he reached the sitting area, he stopped when a cheery voice greeted him.
"Oh! Alastor!" Charlie waved at him welcomingly, gregarious as always. "Come join us, we were just discussing new designs for the flyers!"
Alastor walked over to her and situated himself on the armchair. Across from him Vaggie and Angel sat - both of them writing notes and suggestions on separate leaflets. Behind them was the bar, where its disinterested bartender tended to it as per usual.
Only Vaggie offered him an acknowledging nod, a censorious expression still plastered on her face. Angel however acted as though he hadn't noticed Alastor had joined, unsurprisingly, the demon had been pointedly ignoring him for weeks and the few times he had approached Alastor's room for whatever reason he had found it locked
Alastor leant forward, assessing the different styles, patterns and texts. "My my, you have been busy. May I ask why the sudden change in your usual design?"
Charlie stopped her perusing through the flyers in favor of regarding Alastor's question. "Well, I was thinking, since we've done a complete renovation of the hotel, that maybe we should do the same thing to the flyers. It would look nicer if they matched."
Alastor hummed, faking contemplation. "Meticulous, as always. Though if you want my advice, best stay clear of that batch over there." he pointed pompously towards the far corner, where Vaggie and Angel's efforts lay.
He received a vexed sneer in return as Vaggie bit back "Yeah, we don't need your advice, dipshit. You're the whole reason we need to change our style at all."
Evidently, she was still angry about Alastor demolishing V Tower.
Alastor shrugged. Feeding her ire, with an unperturbed smile, he unhelpfully added "I hardly think I'm the only reason."
Vaggie's hands clenched around the flyer, crinkling it. She bared her teeth. "Well your little stunt didn't exactly help, did it?" she snapped, her voice full of scorn. "I wouldn't be surprised if people aren't checking in because they're afraid of you."
Charlie raised a finger, jumping to mitigate the hostility. "Hey, let's all just take a breath. Alastor is a valued member of our group and, hopefully, guests will realize that this is a safe place."
"I mean... I wouldn't be opposed to kicking him out." Vaggie murmured under her breath. When Charlie gave her a horrified, pleading look, she mollified "I'm just saying, hun."
Charlie straightened up and plastered a comforting smile back on her face. "Alastor you don't hang out with us as often now, so we would love to hear what you think."
Her words might have been inadvertently tainted with disappointment, but her tone was radiating with genuine earnestness. She pointed such a sincere, encouraging expression his way that Alastor almost felt bad for riling up her companions.
Almost.
But, even the implication, the impermissible possibility that he could be shunned out extinguished any fiery jab he might have brewed.
Forcing a genial, good-willed mask, he relented "Well, my dear, if you're so intent on this little project, then my advice would be to trust your own intuition." He ignored the still incensed angel ready to pounce should he offer any insult. "You did work on the design of the hotel, after all."
"Mhm, that was mostly dad." Of course, it was. The tasteless, gaudy exterior made more sense now. "Maybe I could ask hi-"
Before she could finish that sentence, the TV next to them crackled to life.
All four of them lifted their heads towards the sudden motion, surprised. The TV flickered with static and a high-pitched frequency briefly resounded through the room. White and black buzzing danced across the screen before the image finally cleared out.
As the picture sharpened, the familiar, grotesque faces of Katie Killjoy and Tom Trench appeared before them.
"Huh, they don't usually do this." Vaggie queried. "Is it some kind of emergency?"
"Every day is an emergency, toots." Angel supplied with a grimace, his own curiosity piqued. "They're probably just desperate for viewers. Where's the remote?"
"Can they even do that?" Charlie asked, slightly alarmed.
"Apparently."
"Right... creepy."
Charlie went to give him the remote, but her hand hung in the air when the two newscasters began to speak.
"Hello everyone! Katie Killjoy here coming to you-"
"And Tom Trench-"
Katie kicked his stool away before resuming her announcement, her voice irritating and shrill. "And today we have some news for you. You're probably thinking how unusual this is! Turning on your television screens without your consent? Well, get used to it folks, you're in Hell. So, buckle up and don't even think about signing off because we have a treat for you!" she beamed, as though she had heard Angel's words.
The spider only slumped back in his seat, his eyebrows creased in both puzzlement and concern. "Okay, that was weird."
"Now, I'm sure you're all aware by now of the difficulties V Tower, aka the main source of entertainment, aka your only saving grace and power supplier, have had to go through after The Radio Demon sent their entire business down the drain."
Vaggie and Angel's necks twisted murderously towards him.
Alastor only sighed with a roll of his eyes as he redirected his attention towards the TV again.
"Well, you guessed it, they're getting back on their feet as we speak. And to not keep you ungrateful fucks stranded any longer, they've been hard at work with what little they had and prepared a few clips for you."
Alastor barely managed to restrain a contemptuous groan, the false consideration and over-performative, deceptive care roiled his gut with nausea.
"A sort of... teaser, so to speak. A preview of what else they have in store. Let's take a look!"
Angel leaned further back as he crossed his arms, getting comfortable. "Well, this should be interesting."
Unfortunately, Alastor had to concur, his own curiosity building. He had never had any particular inclination towards whatever VoxTek offered as "entertainment", but upon discovering how Vox had been involuntary enmeshed in their appalling, corrupted schemes, a prudent need had awakened in Alastor to be more aware of their dealings.
The TV blipped in and out for a couple of seconds before the image settled into a black screen which momentarily reflected their expectant faces.
A footage of an animated forest bled into that darkness, slowly growing more vibrant and lucid.
"Let us tell you a story."
A voice rang from the speakers, deep, monotone and unidentifiable to Alastor, almost as if the being to whom it belonged to wasn't even human.
For some irksome, inexplicable reason, it caused the hairs on Alastor's neck to stand up.
"A story about ambition and curiosity." it continued, as an animated depiction of a deer cheerily hopped into the frame. "A story about a deer in the deep, dark woods."
Alastor's ear twitched, caught off guard, before he brought his instincts under control. Maintaining that unshakeable demeanor, Alastor purposely ignored looking at the other's faces.
"Since when do they do cartoons?" Vaggie remarked.
"Oh, they've been doing those for a long time." Angel flicked his hand dismissively. "There's all sorts of freaks who get off on that shit."
"Ew, they hijacked our TV's to show us porn?" she complained, sounding genuinely offended and revolted.
"Should we... turn it off?" Charlie squirmed in her seat.
"Mm, dunno. It's not their usual style." Angel opined. "Plus, I wanna see what they're promisin' that's so great."
They all quietened, allowing the story to be told.
The deer on the screen bounced, carefree, as the narrator spoke "The deer lived happily in those woods. Agile and quick, it managed to survive against the monsters lurking there with it. But one day, it got curious."
The voice gradually dropped in volume as the story progressed. Alastor felt his palms beginning to sweat, the direct, unmasked threat blazing from the television and the possibility that they had created this belittling display just for him caused bile to rise in his throat.
Outwardly, he moderated his building concern, upholding that stoic, blithe aura, but inwardly, he sent an urgent warning to his shadow through the ether. A warning to stay vigilant, to not let its guard down for a single moment until Alastor returned.
"And we all know how fatal curiosity can be, especially when there's so much peril from every side." the voice echoed, disquieting, ominous. "But, the deer was confident, even comfortable in its abilities. It started thinking that it was so good at running and escaping that no one could ever catch up to it."
From behind them, Alastor heard quiet footsteps shuffling, his enhanced hearing abilities able to pick up on Husk's arrival. Even he, as unenthusiastic and pallid in any affairs the hotel partook in, had walked over to assess the footage.
Husk's weary eyes briefly flicked towards Alastor before he could evade his attention. Understanding and cognizance radiated from that shared look, the demon fully aware that this was a deliberate threat towards Alastor.
As impressive as his abilities to analyze and recognize people's hidden thoughts and feelings were, that insight didn't currently benefit Alastor. Without breaking that tense eye contact, he slowly and inconspicuously raised a finger to his lips, a clear command to stay silent.
Husk only blinked, apathetic, unfeeling. Taking a chug of his bottle, he redirected his gaze back at the TV.
Alastor followed suit, focusing once more on the story.
"So, one day, it got bored of the woods and decided it should explore the outside world." The background evolved through different, varied landscapes as the film played, the deer still in its center. "As it traveled, its wonder and adventurous spirit slowly grew. It grew and grew until finally the deer reached a point it couldn't cross."
The deer paused before a blue, sparkling body of water. Its face histrionically fell in dismay as it pointed a dejected stare at the audience.
"After years of exploring, it had finally reached the sea. The deer knew it couldn't pass through it. It wasn't the best swimmer and the waters were unpredictable, dangerous."
In that moment, the voice dropped an octave. It's sonorous, cavernous nature buried it so harshly in Alastor’s gut that he felt his vision briefly spiral, the world spinning at its periphery, untethered.
The deer's face hardened, angry and resolute.
"...But, it was too stubborn to let that stop it."
Alastor bit the inside of his cheek, disregarding the boiling, ruinous wave of apprehension that built in his very core, awaking his muscles and gnawing at his bones to stay wary.
Throughout all of it, the demons next to him remained quiet, their expressions disturbed, yet their gazes glued to the screen.
The deer walked into the sea.
"It swam. It swam and swam and swam until it got so far it couldn't see any land-"
The cartoon suddenly got replaced by a real, authentic footage of the sea from underwater. The camera swirled with the current, perfectly capturing the crepuscular, filtered sunbeams piercing into the terrifying depths.
Just as quickly, the animation returned in a dizzying switch accompanied by screeching static, as though the disturbance had never occurred.
"But still, the deer continued to swim. It swam so confidently that it didn't notice the hungry, vicious beasts beneath it."
Once again, the film blacked out, only this time a gruesome, foul footage of a dead deer filled the screen.
Its guts were spilled out, the blood dark, dried up, covering the ground and its body. Its eyes were glazed over, lifeless, empty. Its tongue lolled out of its mouth, limp and gray, as dozens of flies buzzed everywhere, crawling over its face, digging and eating at its skin.
Static perforated the room, further mortifying the reality of the image.
"Eugh." Charlie gagged, covering her mouth.
Vaggie grimaced in disgust. "Yeah, I agree. This is gross."
"Ugh, can we turn it off now?" Charlie bemoaned, ostensibly uncomfortable, her entire body twisting away from the screen.
"I don't know..." Angel replied and to Alastor's surprise there was no revulsion on his face. He almost looked... calm, unfazed, yet his eyebrows were pinched and his gaze was narrowed in foreboding unease. "Maybe we should watch it."
Charlie groaned again. Yet, despite her lack of voiced concern, Alastor didn't miss the sneaky way she subtly glanced at him. It seemed, Husk wasn't the only one with a talent for keen insight.
She still didn't say anything, but he could feel her fretful, unnecessarily worried eyes on him. It annoyed him. What right did she have to be considerate, to be kind to him?
His own silence spoke volumes.
With a sharp screech, the cartoon plastered itself on the monitor once more.
"The deer noticed how far away from shore it had traveled. It started to panic, turning every which way, but it could only see endless blue for miles and miles."
On the screen, the deer flailed in the water, terrified, and beneath it a shadowy, lumbering mass stalked, its tail menacing, powerful.
"It screamed for help, except no one could hear it. It began to swim faster, but its legs were tired and the sun had slowly begun to set."
The screen snapped back to the underwater footage again. This time however, the diver was not alone.
The waves rocked the camera, but it maintained its steadiness just enough to capture the great, gargantuan, blood-curdling body advancing towards it, growing bigger in size.
The animation buzzed back in place, the previous footage disappearing.
"It searched and searched for land, but it was already too late." the voice boomed, its amplitude decreased so low the words were hardly distinguishable. "Now, dear friends, you see why this is a story about the consequences of curiosity. The deer was cocky, entitled to anything the world had to offer, that it did not see how it was walking to its own death."
Alastor grit his teeth, not understanding why his heart had increased its pace. The beats against his ribs were harsh, hurried, and the lack of vocalization from the crew only amplified his anxiety.
As the speaker detailed the story, the footage of the diver flashed again on the screen.
The shark was much closer now, its sharp, menacing teeth glinted in the water, its steadfast, hollow eyes, like infinite pools of ink, fixed on the camera. It torturously crept closer, its massive size even more imposing as it neared.
Once again, the animation broadcasted itself on the TV, replacing the previous film.
"It was alone. Completely alone, with no friends and no one to protect it. And now, the sharks had come. That's when the deer realized..." the voice paused, the thunderous silence potentiating its pernicious effect. "...he had made a horrible mistake."
The feed abruptly cut to the footage of the diver again.
Before any of them could fathom the image, the shark lunged at the camera, lightning-fast, and swallowed it whole.
The four demons next to Alastor jumped. An array of startled yelps left them at the unexpected scare.
"The fuck?!" Angel appropriately accused, his incredulous, stunned frown replicated on the others.
Alastor didn't make a sound. He didn't move a muscle. He only watched with unflinching, stolid resolve as the film finally cut.
The infuriating presence of Katie Killjoy and Tom Trench reappeared on screen again.
"Well, that sure was something, wasn't it?" she commented, as though she had seen anything but the sinister, gory clip that just played out. "Don't we all just love our cartoons with a dash of horror? VoxTek sure knows its audience and they're kicking back with a bang!"
"Uh, no the fuck they're not." Angel criticized with a scowl, his body strung, his voice narked. "That was shit."
"Yeah, no, I'm done." Husk mumbled behind him, equally annoyed, as he retreated back to the bar.
When Katie proceeded to list the numerous charities VoxTek had donated money to to help the unfortunate citizens without electricity - and then immediately after detailing the latest innovations in Velvette's perfume collection - completely glossing over the clip that they showed, Charlie spoke up, flaunting the remote, "Now, can we please turn it off?"
The others grumbled their assent, slightly wrung. The silence that followed was even more nerve-wracking.
Charlie fiddled with her hands for a few seconds, uncomfortable, before she broke in "Okay then." Her voice was lighthearted, high-spirited. "Where were we? Oh, right! Alastor! I'll go get a new stack of papers. Be right back!"
She sauntered over towards one of the backdoors of the foyer.
Alastor watched her depart with sullen disinterest. The video was over, the threat blown away in the wind as nothing more than a speck of dust. And yet...
He couldn't shake off the tingling on his skin, the vague sensation evoked by the precise punctuality the TV expressed by awakening exactly when Alastor had entered the room. A worm of apprehension slithered its way into his mind, loud, pervasive.
He wrinkled his nose in disdain, knowing precisely why he could feel as though someone was watching him. Sparing a glance at the demons on the couch - who had resumed their previous project - he took advantage of Charlie's temporary absence and walked over to the nearest window.
He cursed the idiotic architect of the new version of the hotel, and he cursed himself for not being present and overseeing every minute detail and decision. These windows were wider, the mosaic, kaleidoscopic arrangement peeved his mind and he wanted to reshape every single one of them for so blatantly allowing unwanted outside view directly into the parlor.
He could see it. Right there in the sky. A blue, buzzing, incessant drone aimed directly at the sitting area, the camera lens locked onto Alastor's every move.
He stared back at it, unwavering, utterly livid, knowing it wasn't an inanimate object he was challenging, but the obsessive monster hiding behind it.
His smile strained as he clenched his fists. From the near shadows he summoned a tentacle, menacing, intent, and rammed it straight at the drone.
It curled itself around it like a whip, merciless, its speed staggering, and without any derail, crushed it in its grip. The broken fragments fell lamely to the ground, scattering everywhere brokenly.
He observed the shattered remains for a few seconds, making sure it wouldn't reconfigure. His head whipped back, that cordial expression painted once more onto his face, when Charlie piped in, bubbly and exuberant as usual with a handful of unused leaflets in her arms.
The next few hours passed by in a haze. Alastor focused on Charlie's instructions, dutiful, but listless.
His mind was elsewhere. The tasks proved otiose and superficial, just another vain attempt at hoping for a sliver of success, further muffled to dullness by Alastor's inability to actually concentrate on them.
The situation was utterly ridiculous. The persistent nabs of stress and concern nipping at his frigid heart caused his irritation to skyrocket. There was no reason for him to dawdle on those futile, inane threats, they were simply the product of asinine, nonsensical minds whose voracious, boundless ambitions had no power here.
It was child's play, absurd, laughable.
And yet, it had accomplished precisely what it was supposed to. To instill fear.
Several times throughout, he would check in on his shadow, compulsively confirming that Vox was unharmed. The warm sensation of Vox on Alastor's own chest, where his shadow had shamelessly latched onto him, accompanied him as a potent comfort the entire time, alleviating that encumbering distress that just wouldn't unhook itself.
He had underestimated these demons once. It would be foolish and perilous if he decided to repeat that mistake due to naught but ego and heedlessness.
Now, he understood Vox's afflicting conviction that these sinners wouldn't give up, their avarice lethal, relentless.
When he deemed his contribution sufficient, Alastor excused himself, ready for another unproductive day to end.
As he headed towards the staircase, he felt a light hand land on his shoulder.
A gentle voice rang out "Alastor?"
He turned towards Charlie, a warm smile on his own face. "What is it, my dear? Is there something else I can help you with?"
Surprisingly to him, his words lacked the sharpness, despite the imperishable knowledge that he couldn't refuse her even if he wanted to. What Charlie didn't know about his deal wouldn't hurt her.
She must have noticed the sincerity in his tone, because her smile brightened further.
"No. No, I don't want to hold you up too much, I know you must be super busy. I just wanted to say," Her expression morphed sheepishly as she nervously picked at her nails. "I just wanted to say I know Vaggie and Angel are a bit... sensitive, because of what happened, but I want you to know no one actually wants you to leave. They'll come around, eventually, I'm sure of it."
Alastor listened intently, not interrupting her, further annoyed by the genuine care in her tone when she was the exact reason he had been pulled into this scheme of rehabilitating sinners. Her faultlessness of his forced affiliation didn't moderate the internal battle in his core between resentment and the unwanted fondness in his core that perpetually kept growing for her.
"Oh, sweetheart, I'm not offended at all." he responded, the fake honesty over-the-top. "You don't need to concern yourself with that. Such trivial, fleeting emotions mean nothing, and you know I'm always happy to help."
Charlie grinned even more twitchily. "Of, course. But, that's kind of what I wanted to talk to you about."
Alastor couldn't undermine her consistently impressive - admirable even - determination.
"Look, I don't know what exactly happened between you and the Vees - and I don't want to know! I mean, that's your business, you can share it if you want to, or not! Both is fine." she waved her hands in the air in a placating manner. "- I just wanted to let you know you can talk about it."
Alastor's dry expression as she babbled might have worsened her confidence. Maybe, if he just gawked at her patronizingly and fiercely enough she would cease the sentimentality. Still, she didn't back out.
"I want you to know we're here for you, like you're always here for us. And if you need help you can always ask us, you can always ask me." She concluded with a lopsided, sweet grin.
Alastor allowed a few agonizing seconds to pass in silence, unable to resist tormenting her a bit. He blinked as she shifted, no doubt worried she might have overstepped.
Finally, he opened his mouth to facetiously bounce false reassurances as he would often do to dissuade any pointless attempts to get him to share his feelings.
...only, to immediately close it.
The words lodged in his throat. He bit his own cheek, miffed at his own rebellious, difficult mind.
A whisper floated through the air, insistent, good-natured despite how inadvisable it was. An idea snaking its way through his better judgment that maybe Charlie's offer held some merit.
Alastor wouldn't say he wasn't amenable, he had just never considered openly disclosing Vox's presence, so used to wading through his hardships alone.
The proposition was incautious, it would put Vox in far more danger should the situation get out of hand, should any of these people elect a safer, easier path by betraying him.
That voice whispered again. The two words it kept voicing swirled in Alastor’s head.
What if.
What if he simply confessed? Not to everything, naturally, Charlie would never need to know Vox had stayed at her hotel for two months, she would never need to know exactly who Vox was, as a person, as an ex-Overlord, or what he means to Alastor. Should Vox decide to relay the details that would be his decision, not Alastor's.
Alastor would never speak the truth without Vox's permission, but he could propose to bring an anonymous guest, not specifying that said guest was the reason the very politics of Hell had permanently bent, that reality itself had been warped, that Alastor's instincts had been strung back to life with devotion, care, revenge, affection, hate and love all equally debilitating and vitalizing.
The footage of the deer and diver flashed in his mind, invasive, sickening. The stunt that the Vees had pulled served as an intentional reminder that they would never stop, that Vox would be hunted relentlessly until either they or Alastor met their demise. And Alastor knew now they were not so easy to defeat.
If anything happened to him, Vox would be left alone to defend for himself, but should that possibility occur just so Alastor could uphold that stone-cold, emotionless reputation? Was his pride and paranoia truly more important than Vox?
What if... Charlie - someone who consistently showed kindness and generosity - could help keep Vox safe.
Abruptly, he realized he had been quiet for an improper long period of time.
Charlie's face was patient, but her eyebrows were knitted in worry.
Finally, Alastor opened his mouth to speak again.
"Charlie!"
A sudden, aggravating voice blared from behind Alastor, cutting him off.
Speak of the devil.
His eye twitched as Lucifer brazenly brushed past him - as though Alastor was invisible - and hugged his daughter.
"Good morning." Lucifer gushed, uncaring whether he was suffocating Charlie who nearly squeaked from the tight embrace. "How are you, duckie? I hope I'm not too late for breakfast."
Charlie heaved in air when he let go of her. Her face turned flummoxed as she informed "Dad... It's four in the afternoon."
Alastor barely managed to restrain a contemptuous scoff when Lucifer's eyes widened in surprise. "Oh, is it that late? Hah, I must have lost track of time. I've been working all night in the workshop, you know how it is."
Now that Lucifer had mentioned it, Alastor could vaguely see faint, dark bags under his eyes. His outward appearance was refined and polished, something Alastor could unfortunately never derogate, but his eyes were sunken, tired.
Whatever mess the King was dealing with didn't concern Alastor in the slightest. His daughter however looked downcast.
Her expression was bleak, pained, saddened even. "It's okay, we just finished lunch, there's still some in the fridge. But, dad, you promised you wouldn't stay up so late."
For a moment, Lucifer dropped the cheerful, jolly façade. "Yeah, I know, Charlie. Sorry, the time got ahead of me."
The man sounded genuinely remorseful which only frustrated Alastor further. The most powerful and untouchable being in all seven rings couldn't collect himself into some semblance of functionality, couldn't muster enough respect to spare his own child from needlessly worrying. That lack of consideration, that blatant selfishness was redundant in Charlie's life.
Alastor huffed, loud enough for both of them to hear. If he was at all surprised by his willingness to free Charlie from the conversation, indignant on her behalf, he decided not to ponder it.
Lucifer regarded him for a moment, as if he had just noticed he was there. "Oh." he groaned, supercilious, disdainful, frowning at him the way someone might frown at a rotten fruit. "You."
"Yes." Alastor snickered behind clenched teeth. "I see Charlie has some babysitting duties to attend to, so I'll leave you to it."
He turned to depart, but his body stilled when he heard an offended scoff.
"You mean the one that barely broke a sweat when I defeated the first man, who - oh that's right," Lucifer laughed, the sound reeking with insincerity. He paused to accentuate his derision. "- Who thoroughly handed you your ass."
"Guys..." Charlie interrupted, imploring and sapped.
Alastor rotated his head around with a gnarly crack. "Ah, yes. The one time you performed your obligations as King, how could I forget. You can have the last biscuit."
Lucifer pressed his lips into a thin line, Alastor’s baleful, condescending words evidently well-aimed. "I think I deserve it after Charlie asked me to fix that cane of yours. Or did you forget that?"
A screech of high-pitched, earsplitting static harshly filled the room. Alastor’s hands instinctively clasped around his cane, his glare baring straight at Lucifer with what could only be described as undiluted, murderous intent.
The other simply smiled back at him, arms crossed in satisfaction, smug.
Alastor berated himself for allowing whatever force had possessed him into agreeing to accept Lucifer's "help". But, without his cane Alastor would have been left almost entirely defenseless, his main source of power snapped in half, depleted, stamped out, and Lucifer was the only person - well, one out of the three individuals who could potentially fix it for him.
That ruinous, unquenchable fury writhed in his gut, further magnified by the conceited, vain expression on the King's face. Alastor almost preferred the daunting, unpredictable vulnerability as opposed to acknowledging that Lucifer had helped him.
Which was precisely what the other wanted. He looked straight at Alastor, baiting him, provoking him to somehow overreact and present to everyone how intemperate and uncouth Alastor truly was, how his presence at the hotel was ill-advised, disposable.
With that thought, any possibility that Alastor would hurl an equally demeaning insult extinguished.
He blinked, biting his lip, as the same maddening thought repeated in his head:
Lucifer was the only reason Vox was still free.
As much as Alastor needed to expel Lucifer from the hotel since he was the only factor threatening the crew's dependence on Alastor's power and bringing to question the necessity of Alastor’s stay, Alastor couldn't dismiss the undeniable truth that the man was essential, vital, indispensable in keeping Vox safe.
What would Lucifer do if he found out that information? What would he do should he discover that Alastor had not only gone behind Charlie's back, but that Lucifer could put a stop to his deception as easily as breathing?
Or would Lucifer promise to keep Vox safe? Would he do so if he knew he was Alastor's friend?
No. No, Alastor didn't think he would.
His daughter might be a bleeding-heart and the residents might consider him a good, kind person, but Alastor could see Lucifer for what he really was.
He was a man who hadn't lifted a finger to help his people who have been butchered, massacred and slaughtered for thousands of years. He was someone who had completely lost himself in the bloodlust during the last extermination. From the captured footage of it Alastor recognized that frenzy, that addicted, vacant glee when Lucifer had been consumed by the violence, how he had reveled in it. The only thing that had stopped him from killing Adam with his own bare hands was his daughter, someone who Lucifer would bring down the world for, someone he believed to be in danger due to Alastor's presence.
He wouldn't willingly help Vox, particularly because of Alastor's antagonistic, nasty behavior towards him. Lucifer might not have the authority to personally evict Vox, but as Charlie's father, his opinion would be held in high regard.
Which was something Alastor could never allow to pass no matter what, even if it meant swallowing his pride and abandoning his principles.
He felt a piece of his soul shrivel when he finally spoke up "Hmm, you're right." He was going to annihilate himself on the spot, the embarrassment, the humiliation burned his withering heart. "I don't think I've properly thanked you for that."
For a moment, only utter, unbroken silence could be heard after Alastor's statement.
Charlie looked as though she had seen a ghost, face fallen, impassive, blank, shocked puppy eyes blown wide open, shiny and latched onto Alastor.
Lucifer however upheld that arrogant expression for a few seconds before he stammered, caught off guard, "I- Uh, yeah. No, you never did." He shrugged haughtily and lifted his chin, clearly waiting for Alastor's gratitude.
Still, Alastor could see the uncertainty in his body language.
He resisted the urge to roll his eyes, or perhaps to completely decimate the entire building, as he surrendered.
"Thank you."
He was going to die, he was actually going to die. A thousand years of being subjected to torture, of having his skin flayed from his bones, of having his flesh torn and reshaped, would have been more tempting to the soul-crushing shame that pillaged every cell in his body.
The silence was deafening.
Charlie was slack-jawed, wordless in her empty stare. Every other demon in the sitting area had turned their heads towards him, soundlessly gawking at him, their mouths agape in shock. Angel and Vaggie were dumbstruck, unmoving and still like corpses. Husk had stopped working, the glass he had been polishing lay neglected in his hands, his eyebrows raised comically high. Even Niffty had crawled through a loose board in the floor and was staring at him with her big, wondrous eye.
Lucifer however appeared both unaffected and astonished in equal measure, most likely waiting for the underhanded degradation to follow.
When Alastor didn't offer it, Lucifer gracelessly blurted out "Huh?"
Next to him, Charlie sniffled, her eyes teary. "Alastor..." she hushed, and her voice was so full of pride that Alastor nearly retched.
Then, Lucifer scoffed "Yeah, no. I'm not buying it. He's either hiding something or he wants something, that's all." he flicked his cane snidely, excluding Alastor entirely.
Evidently, he wasn't as massive of a fool as he had let Alastor to believe.
"Dad!" Charlie admonished with a gasp.
Alastor inwardly smiled, delighted that the agony he had plunged himself into hadn't completely deprived him of some benefits as he watched Lucifer struggle between appeasing his daughter and his skepticism of Alastor’s sincerity.
"Well," Alastor inserted, brushing invisible crumbs off his sleeves. "As I was saying earlier, if there's anything you need Charlie I'll be up in my room."
With that he turned his back and finally walked away.
Climbing the main staircase, he distantly heard Charlie and Lucifer arguing not as quietly or discreetly as they would have hoped. Knowing he had inadvertently caused that rift, Alastor smiled wider, a faint thread of joy weaving through his damaged, dishonored dignity.
When he finally reached his room he swiftly entered and locked the door behind him. He rested his back against the wood and released an exhausted exhale.
Immediately, his gaze mellowed when it landed on Vox.
The demon gladly put his book down and threw such a heartwarming, tender smile Alastor's way it ignited all of his nerves to fly with happiness. Finally, he was where he wanted to be.
He strode - practically skipped - over towards Vox, but he only crossed a couple of steps before he heard a rattle behind him.
Someone tried to open his door. Alastor paid it no mind, knowing it was locked, but his eyes blew wide in panic when he saw a gust of golden, sparkling magic undo the lock.
It was too late to stop it, Vox didn't have time to hide and Alastor could only watch in alarm as the door swung open.
"Okay, let's get this straight. I'm only here because Charlie wanted me to-"
Lucifer prattled, entitled and insolent, before he halted in his tracks.
His expression was nothing short of stunned, speechless shock when his gaze landed on Alastor, then on the other demon in the room.
Notes:
Hi! Just mentioning again that constructive criticism is more than welcome, if there's any way this story can be improved you can say so I won't be mad <333 I've noticed a slight drop in interest that's all and I don't want to string anyone along if the quality is decreasing. I really don't mean anything by this, just checking in if people want me to continue this story ily all very much <333
Also, in my eyes Charlie isn't gullible in her conversation with Alastor, she is just being kind. Alastor is just too much of a bastard to let his guard down.
Also (again) if it seems like Vox is completely fine and doing better, well... appearances can be deceiving. I'm saying this in case the chapters come of as me undermining what he's been through (I'm not, he's still deep in the woods, something that will be more prominent in later chapters)
Chapter 9: That old feeling
Notes:
I just want to thank each and every one of you who've left kudos comments and bookmarks on this fic because they mean the absolute world to me. Thank you so much <<333333
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
For a moment, one painful, agonizing moment, there was only silence in the room.
Deafening, drowning silence.
Alastor’s body had grown completely stiff, torn between pouncing at Lucifer and leaping in front of Vox - to shield him or to hide him, he didn't know. All he could feel was the buzzing, crawling swarm of bees itching under his skin and setting his instincts ablaze.
Lucifer was equally as still, a stupefied, floored look on his face, and if anyone had entered the room they would only have encountered three, unmoving, frozen statues.
Then... Lucifer grinned.
Every cell in Alastor’s body ignited as the King relaxed against the open door and huffed out "Ha hoo. What did I just walk into?"
His voice was borderline thrilled, needling, like a child who had discovered grounds for blackmail, as his eyes flicked between Alastor and Vox, amused.
The irksome, aggravating effect it had on Alastor set his teeth on edge. He breathed in deeply and heavily and the difficulty of the motion nearly taxed him out, leaving his lungs burning.
He didn't say a word as he stomped towards the door with the intention to slam Lucifer out of the room with it, preferably as violently as physically possible.
He was fuming and the other could see it. Lucifer's smile further brightened, gleeful, gloating.
Alastor’s hand touched the doorframe and in the exact moment Lucifer suddenly disappeared in a dazzling, starry puff of gold, shimmering sparkles.
When he heard Lucifer had manifested behind him Alastor whipped his head around only to see the demon standing next to Vox.
"Hello there." The King took off his hat gentlemanly and bowed slightly. He extended an introductory, friendly hand as he addressed Vox. "I'm Lucifer, what's your name?"
Alastor’s breath caught in his throat, worried, unsure how Vox might react to Lucifer's unexpected, inconsiderate close proximity to him.
From his place on the ground, Vox promptly shuffled into a straighter, more mannerly position. His expression was still slightly stunned, rocked by the unpredicted turn of events and the strange, befuddling image of the King of Hell greeting him so informally.
Vox gulped, then timidly raised his hand to take Lucifer's.
"Vox." he stated, cordial, brushing off the dazed awe. "It's an honor to meet you, your Majesty."
Lucifer gently shook Vox's hand. If he hadn't done it so calmly Alastor would have clawed his skin off and scattered it throughout the entire hotel.
Alastor didn't move a muscle, Lucifer's uninvited integration into Vox's personal space granted the demon an enormous advantage should Alastor sour their interactions with any kind of hostility. He could do nothing but watch the situation unfold before his wary, anxious, terrified eyes.
"Please, Lucifer is fine." he waved the customary decorum away. "Though, you do have much nicer manners than your friend over there. So," he sighed, pausing. "...what's a handsome guy like you doing with the bellhop?"
The question sobered up Alastor's mind, sharply jolting him to reality. Lucifer's coy, playful grin as he regarded Vox from above set Alastor's legs in motion.
"Alright, that's enough now." Alastor broke in flatly, his hurried pacing speeding up his words.
Both demons lifted their gazes to him, but just as Alastor was about to grab Lucifer's arm and tear him away from Vox, the demon once again vanished into a cloud of shiny dust with a sizzling pop.
"Whoaa, easy there." he jeered from behind - no, from above Alastor, still sounding irritatingly amused while Alastor’s very guts were churning with nerve-wracking dread. "I was just saying hi. Someone's a bit possessive. Honestly," he spoke to Vox this time, his hands in his pockets as his wings flapped over Alastor's head, keeping Lucifer steady. "What do you see in this guy?"
Alastor swung his cane in the air with a snarl, rash, unthinking, impulsive, tactless - panicked.
Lucifer only veered away from him, his wings sending a burst of wind and leaves in Alastor’s face.
"Missed me!" he mocked, spinning aimlessly, joyfully in the air. "You'll have to try better than that, buddy."
"Oh, I can." Alastor didn't even try to moderate the scorn in his voice, his teeth grating from how lost he felt, incapable of rewinding back time and smacking the living daylights out of the insensitive, entitled idiot giddily swirling above him.
Lucifer pressed his lips and hunched his shoulders sarcastically.
The gesture only added fuel to the indignant, blazing fire traipsing across Alastor's bones. With a twirl of his wrist he sent two swift, determined tendrils of shadow Lucifer's way.
The demon disappeared so quickly he managed to spare a few seconds to roll his eyes at Alastor.
The tendrils dissipated in the air, their unsuccessful attempts to coil around Lucifer and snuff the life out of him reduced to meaningless wisps of smoke.
With a glistening flash, Lucifer reappeared a short distance away, his hands still in his pockets and that arrogant, snobbish grin still wide on his face.
"I gotta say, Al." he enunciated Alastor's name with a nasal whine. "I didn't miss you at all these last few weeks, actually I enjoyed the peace and quiet, but I at least gave you the benefit of the doubt that you might be doing something productive."
"How hilarious. I wasn't aware you were familiar with the concept." Alastor bit back.
Lucifer raised an eyebrow and in a dizzying, incomprehensible rush he propelled himself forward.
He stopped an inch short of Alastor’s face. Air and dust whipped at Alastor’s hair as he stepped back, caught off guard by the, admittedly, staggering speed of the demon, his movements unpredictable, spontaneous and desultory.
Lucifer beamed, as though Alastor’s scorn meant nothing. For some reason, that aggravated Alastor even more, to have the prime, steadfast tool that never failed to belittle or infuriate Lucifer be muffled, the table tipped towards Lucifer's side. His wings held him in the air - carefree as though this was nothing but a harmless game for him, when Alastor’s entire world was quivering from its uncertain future.
"But no," he exaggerated, scandalized, overly-performative gushing tainting his tone. "Here you are." he winked. "You've been keeping secrets, haven't you?"
Alastor knew he shouldn't antagonize Lucifer with Vox in the room and even though Vox had been practicing regaining control over his powers, they were barely qualified enough to deter a sinner, let alone the King of Hell. Alastor knew he should bite his tongue, or fawn or humor the demon on the slight chance he might relent, but the gruesome, horrifying reality that Vox was currently in the presence of the most dangerous and invincible being in Hell - despite how amiable he currently presented himself as - and that Alastor wouldn't be able to protect him, no matter how fiercely he fought, violently shook his very soul into action, into the most primal, basic instinct of his bones.
Alastor reflexively shot the butt of his cane directly at Lucifer's face, remorseless.
The demon's eyes momentarily widened, but before his face met a gnarly, blunt destiny he vanished.
Alastor released a nervous exhale, his muscles enervated from his dreary incapability to throw Lucifer out.
The demon whisked back to existence on his right.
"Yeah, you have." he continued, relentless in his victorious glee. He slightly lowered his voice, so that only Alastor could hear. "You've been busy. No wonder Charlie says you've been nicer lately, you've been getting some-" he trailed off to gesture suggestively with his hands as he let out a long whistle.
Alastor swung his cane again, habitually - not even irate from how incorrect Lucifer's inappropriate implication was - this time followed by several, ferocious tentacles.
And again, Lucifer unfailingly eluded them. He routinely popped up on Alastor's other side, unaffected.
Alastor instantly spun around, by now breathy and disoriented from the repetitive motion.
"Who would have thought?" Lucifer queried as he nonsensically spun clockwise in the air. "The big, bad Radio Demon is neither that big or that bad." he taunted.
Alastor disappeared into the shadows. His hand was raised, claws lethally sharp, menacing as he rematerialized behind Lucifer and swiftly brought his arm down.
His claws sliced through thin air. Alastor gawked at the vacant space where the King had been, his reflexes evidently not as stale or obsolete as Alastor had thought.
A cough resounded from the middle of the room.
Alastor snapped his neck with a sickening, audible crack only for his knuckles to creak from how firmly he clenched his fists upon seeing the King impudently, callously, lackadaisically draped over Alastor's bed.
He smiled impishly at Alastor, one of his hands casually slouched over his knee as the other supported his head. He looked bored.
"Is that really your best?" he griped with a slight laugh accompanying his insufferable voice. "Though, this bed is very comfy. How come you get a good room?"
Alastor would have called in every single tentacle, every shadow, every moppet no matter how formidable or worthless it was to wipe that grin off the King's face, but then he took notice of his own position.
Vox was now behind him, blessedly away from Lucifer and Alastor gladly swallowed his detestation and blind, over-consuming rage - overflowed from relief.
He fortified his stance, his shadows eerily stretching to create a makeshift, intimidating ring of protection around him and Vox. A cavernous, ominous chorus of anguished, duplicitous voices wailed from within, intent on ensnaring any brave, foolish soul who would dare to trespass.
Lucifer raised his eyebrows, intrigued. He clucked and nodded his head in an insincerely impressed manner. "Wow." he drawled dramatically. "So scary."
"I think it's time for you to get out." Alastor snarled. "You're ruining the sheets. Though, I wouldn't mind using those feathers for a new pillow."
Lucifer waved a hand leisurely and a beam of intense, radiant light shot towards the grass. The shadows screeched, the rays expelling the darkness back into its odious cage. In the blink of an eye the shield was gone, scorched.
Alastor reeled from the brisk flash, but his and Vox's bodies had been meticulously avoided.
"Ouch," Lucifer pointed a derisive finger towards Alastor, observing Vox. "Really? Him? There's someone for everyone I suppose. My wife - well, ex-wife - I mean... it's complicated, anyway," he babbled, his wings flourishing along with his gestures. "Listen, I just find it difficult to believe anyone would willingly tolerate him. He didn't kidnap you or anything, did he?"
Alastor scoffed, he didn't think he could get any more insulted. Why was everyone suddenly convinced he had kidnapped someone?
"No, no." Vox assured, his voice like an angel's mercy entering the field. "He's alright."
Lucifer squinted as he chatted with Vox nonchalantly. "Are you sure? He didn't blackmail you?" Vox must have shook his head because Lucifer's expression twisted even more incredulously and doubtfully. "Huh, interesting. Bribe you? Threaten you? Pressure you?"
"Oh, please." Alastor exclaimed, his tone dripping with rancorous vitriol, thoroughly affronted by the indirect slander. "Just because you lack any class doesn't mean the rest of us should be vilified."
Lucifer fluttered his lips soundlessly, mockingly imitating Alastor’s words. He smiled at Vox plaintively, sympathetically. "I'm so sorry." he confessed with a hoarse laugh, not sounding remotely sincere.
Alastor’s eye twitched, but his face fell slack when he heard a chuckle behind him.
He turned towards Vox, betrayed.
Vox immediately plastered a blank, serious expression. His hand quickly dropped to his lap from its previous purpose of stifling his laugh.
Alastor tilted his head. "Oh, I'm sorry. Is this entertaining for you?" he accused, his poor attempt to deflect further trivialized by his inability to actually be upset at Vox.
"No." Vox amended quickly, annoyingly unapologetic. "No, you're doing great."
Alastor’s smile strained. Hushing his voice so they could keep the conversation between them, he hissed "It's not funny."
Vox had the audacity to giggle in his face. "It's a bit funny."
"No, it's not." Alastor insisted, grouchy, offended.
Vox only sucked in his lips, a feeble, obvious way to prevent himself from laughing again as he peered innocently up at Alastor.
Alastor opened his mouth to chime back a snarky retort when he unexpectedly found his will depleted.
The sight before him, the wonderful, priceless way Vox was gazing at him, carefree, joyous, his eyes gleaming effervescently in the quaint, dreamy atmosphere of the picturesque bayou, the distant, countless stars of the endless, flickering night sky caressing them with their divinity, as well as the mirthful, utterly effulgent expression on his face repelled any nasty contempt in Alastor’s heart.
...He looked happy.
The world suddenly didn't matter anymore, drowned out by the heavenly, delightful wave of bliss seeping into Alastor’s core.
He hadn't even noticed how shamelessly he had been staring at Vox until a grating, loathsome voice whispered directly in his ear:
"Yes, it is."
Alastor's head sharply jerked away. His hand instinctively wacked at the space next to his ear, outraged.
Lucifer coolly flew back with an immature cackle that did not belong to someone who was thousands of years old - anticipating the temperamental reaction.
Alastor grimaced in disgust as he wiped his ear with his sleeve, petty - ashamed at how he hadn't even noticed Lucifer's approach, enchanted by the mesmerizing smile of his beloved. He was nothing more than a lovestruck, oblivious fool and he would have gladly paraded the title if he could lose himself in that smile.
Shaking off the revulsion causing his tongue to roll to the back of his throat, Alastor hurled a tentacle in Lucifer's direction out of sheer spite.
This time, the shadow managed to wrap itself around his ankle. Alastor bristled, the motion embarrassing from how blaringly it admitted Alastor’s previous failed attempts.
He twisted his fist and the tentacle hurled Lucifer directly towards the open door.
Though, the force Alastor would normally have invested in such a wrathful strike lacked the intended ardor. It seemed the storm of mind-numbing, inconsolable fear and incandescent rage in his heart had been quelled by the absence of those emotions in Vox's demeanor. Further aided by the lack of animosity in Lucifer's actions - mostly deriving from him mindlessly delving into humiliating Alastor rather than focusing on Vox - that forced Alastor to question whether he might have been the one to overreact, his past mistakes haunting his mind, igniting his terror and protectiveness to searing levels.
Despite the undeniable dip in power Lucifer's mere presence weighed over them, Vox wasn't afraid - in fact, this entire, unnecessary interaction was apparently fun for him.
Something in Alastor settled at that thought.
In front of him, Lucifer barely flinched as his wings balanced his descent. Before he could hit the ground, he vanished again and Alastor groaned when the demon suddenly sprang into form a few meters away.
"If you're quite finished," Alastor gritted, slightly calmer now. "I do believe you should find some place where your existence is less intolerable."
Lucifer dusted off his shoulders and straightened his coat, nonplussed.
"You know what?" His head slightly nodded contemplatively. "I probably should, I did come here because Charlie wanted me to apologize, but I've already taken up so much of your time." he coaxed the icy atmosphere, his tone phony, devilish, like a thief in the night caught in a jewelry store.
Slowly, unsuccessfully inconspicuously, he began to inch his way towards the door. "Vi-Vix was it? It was lovely meeting you, you seem like a pretty decent guy - I have no idea how you got meddled in with this - no, not my place to judge." He twirled his staff in his hands, simultaneously keeping his eyes on both of them as he walked back, occasionally peeping behind him not to bump into any furniture. "I'm going now, this was fun, uh, have a nice day Vix." His bright smile dimmed exponentially when he added "Alastor."
Alastor watched him with a tetchy expression as the demon rounded the doorway, jabbering the entire way, before finally disappearing out of sight.
The calmness that descended on the room was even more quiet and taut than the one before, as though the very trees and birds had been exhausted into silence by Lucifer's incessant prodding.
The only sound that broke the chilling, pervasive stillness was the long, repressed exhale that broke through Alastor’s throat.
He lifted a hand and slid it down his face, sobering his mind up, wondering what the Hell had just happened.
"So, that was the "obnoxious fool" then." Vox asked, quoting Alastor from the many times he had complained to him about Lucifer.
Alastor huffed, the tense knot of worry and fright unwinding around his neck. "Yes."
A beat of silence traversed between them again, both of them trying to comprehend the situation.
Vox lifted his head. "He's going to tell everyone isn't he?"
A stone dropped in Alastor’s stomach.
"Yes."
They stared at each other for a few seconds, their faces blank, their minds useless and empty.
"I'll be right back." Alastor added eventually, realizing the King was undoubtedly bouncing with the news, already on his way to spill everything.
He vanished into the shadows, swiftly darting out of the door and hurriedly rounding his way down the staircase. Perhaps, if he was fast enough he could yank the demon by that wagging tail of his and wind it around his neck before he reached the rest of the crew. The idea was enticing.
A few steps short of the foyer, Alastor heard an overly-eager voice engagingly calling everyone forward.
Alastor sped up and in a whirling daze he rematerialized next to Lucifer. Keeping his smile uplifted, he harshly clamped a hand on the demon's shoulder, cutting off his incriminating announcement.
"Oh, I see everyone's already here then." Alastor simpered, trying to hamper the breathiness of his tone as he addressed the demons - who had all barely moved a finger since last he laid eyes on them. "Excellent! Now you can tell everyone how lovely that apology you just gave me was."
Alastor narrowed his eyes as he squeezed Lucifer's shoulder in a vain warning, improvising his way, desperate and clinging to whatever frail rope could pull him out of this plight.
Lucifer's expression twisted into an explosive combination of confusion and anger.
"You- an apology-" he fumbled, trying to catch words that impudently kept escaping his grasp, stunned from indignation. "You lying piece of-"
A cough supervened from the room, cutting off Lucifer's foreseeable profanity. "Dad," Charlie chimed in, ever the peacemaker. "Alastor. It's great that you accept his apology," Lucifer guffawed, his body seizing. "Now you can both try to be nicer to each other."
Lifting his hands in a placating manner to somehow anneal the misunderstanding, Lucifer objected "Wait, wait, that's not what I came here to say-"
"You are absolutely right, Charlie!" Alastor cajoled, lying through his teeth. "It's so good that his Majesty has finally overcome his wanton bitterness and seen sense, isn't it?"
If Alastor focused intently enough, he was quite certain that steam began to roll out of Lucifer's ears. All of his features contorted lethally, not having prepared for Alastor’s expeditious adaptability and preternatural aptitude to weave lies.
Alastor only smiled further, relishing in the cards he had been dealt. Lucifer had held no remorse in bludgeoning Alastor's vulnerability since the moment he had discovered it, and now Alastor was needling his and he wasn't cushioning his attacks on the other's most innate, chronic and prevailing insecurities.
"We are both so thrilled that your mind will be freed of that weight in the future." he continued, relentless. "There's no point in sullying the harmony you are working so hard to create, now is there?" he potentiated his words with a comradely smack against Lucifer's shoulder that reeked of insincerity.
Lucifer bared his teeth at him in a silent rumble, caught at a standstill, torn between surrendering in favor of preserving his daughter's comfort as well as his flaking, slippery image as a good father, or persisting in his pursuit to humiliate Alastor.
He gleefully watched that debilitating dilemma unfold in Lucifer's eyes. His hands were rubbing against his cane as he seemed to be fending off every primal instinct in his body to crush Alastor into a pulp. The awkwardness and tension was only exacerbated by the quiet expectancy of the demons in the room, waiting for Lucifer's response, doubt etched clearly on their faces.
The King only pressed his lips in a thin line, not looking at either Alastor or Charlie as he seemed to debate his options.
Alastor brazenly slung an arm around the other's shoulder, intending to lead them both away, when Vaggie suddenly asked "What did you come here to say?"
Alastor sighed, irritated. The day had revealed itself to be a difficult and harrowing experience that granted him little mercy even with the easiest of feats.
Lucifer straightened up, as though invigorated that someone had chosen to listen to his side of the story.
"Well..." he began, building suspense. "It aughh, it wasn't a big deal, just something I found out about Alastor. Nothing more."
His words were facetious and flippant, but Alastor felt that smugness, that stubborn need for victory, boiling off of them. He deigned a glance at the demon's face and his bones nearly shattered from the inexorable rage that coursed through him upon seeing that mischievous smirk.
He grit his teeth, his mind whirling faster than the inside of a tornado from predicting the future course the conversation might undertake and the different routes to navigate it.
When Lucifer made no move to elaborate, Charlie gently nudged "Well, what is it?"
Lucifer raised his eyes to stare at the ceiling, feigning innocence. Then, he directed his gaze at Alastor and he smiled wider.
Lowering his voice so that only Alastor could hear him, he asked "Should you tell them, or should I?"
Alastor’s lips curved in distaste at how Lucifer was cornering him. He held the demon's gaze, unflinching and unyielding.
"Okay, what's going on?" Charlie broke in, the silence and cryptic secretiveness fraying her nerves.
Alastor knew he should say something, produce a half-hearted, ingratiating lie or even deny the whole thing, but he found himself rooted to the spot, his wit and resourcefulness reduced to nothing.
The demons stared at him intently, waiting for some clarification as Lucifer pinned him under his leer. The room was quiet, agonizingly, painfully quiet.
"Alastor fucks."
Every head in the room sharply snapped towards the small voice.
Niffty was sitting on the sofa, chillingly relaxed and blithe after the lewdness she had just said.
Alastor gaped at her, unable to even blink from the shock.
Everyone had grown silent, staring at her, anticipating her - most likely non-existent - reasoning. The demoness only took a sip of her drink, cradling it in her tiny hands as she remained heedless of the growing pressure.
Alastor felt his breath deplete, the fury and panic dulled into inconsequential whispers. His body sagged in defeat, his muscles worn down, lethargic, his mind disbelieving, shivering from the brutal betrayal.
His heart jumped when everyone simultaneously turned towards him again.
"Pff, yeah right." Angel piped in unhelpfully.
"It seems," Alastor snarled, ignoring him, his eyes latched onto Niffty, his voice eerily low, wounded. "That even in you, my dear, the barest hope for trust has been nothing but an illusion."
His soul shrunk even further when Niffty exasperatedly rolled her eye.
He had never seen her do that, not towards him anyway. Alastor wondered whether their drinks had been somehow tampered with, or poisoned, or perhaps the air had been infused with some potent irritant that would explain the neurotic fluctuations of everyone's behavior.
Every fragment of his body withered when Niffty calmly set her cup on the table and shuffled down from the sofa.
She scuttled towards him, her chin held high, and stopped to peer up at him.
"Alastor." she said, her voice chiding. She took a few steps forward.
"I," she continued, her words drawn out, severe as she began to climb up his pant leg.
"Have," her hands tugged and twisted at the fabric, using it as handles.
"Been," Finally, she reached his coat and fiercely latched onto his lapels.
Her eye widened vibrantly, a red, bloodthirsty hue seeping into its edges as she aggressively hissed in Alastor’s face "-Dying, to tell someone."
He could feel her trembling from the enthusiasm, barely restrained at having been freed from the secret.
Perhaps, he had been a smidge too cruel and inconsiderate by forbidding her from relaying the truth of Vox's presence at the hotel. She hadn't broken her promise once, not until the barest sliver - courtesy of Lucifer - had been opened.
He sighed again, the motion dreary from how repetitive it had become. With a prickly expression, he carefully picked her up by the scruff of her dress and set her back down on the ground.
"Niffty," Vaggie pressed, her tone agitated. "What the Hell are you talking about?"
"Is this appropriate?" Charlie squirmed, the only person who had the barest shred of decency and respect.
"What she means is," Lucifer diverted the conversation back, inspecting the apple of his cane. "That Alastor has been slacking in favor of ...hanging out with a friend."
Alastor scoffed, dusting his hands off his coat, the residual lingering touch of Lucifer's clothes unsavory and dirty on his skin. "Even if that were true, I fail to see how this is anyone's business but my own."
"Oh, spare me." Lucifer finally turned towards him. "The pillows and blankets on the grass? A bit rowdy for my taste."
A retching noise resounded through the room.
Vaggie had hunched over the armrest of the couch, apparently fighting off some form of nausea.
Angel nodded next to her approvingly, his voice smooth and sultry, discordant to Vaggie's sounds of discomfort as he purred "Niiice..."
"Vaggie," Charlie smoothed her hand in circles on the other's back, soothing. "It's not a bad thing, you and I do it all the time. In fact, it's nice that Alastor has found someone."
"No, I know, babe. It's just..." she refrained from gagging. "It's Alastor... I don't want to picture that."
"I do." Angel said.
Alastor’s teeth were nearing their breaking point from how strongly he had been clenching them. All of this was beyond ridiculous. Here he was, the spotlight shining accusingly, hauntingly down at him for something as innocuous as Vox living with him, forced to fend off hounding and unwarranted, groundless beliefs of the nature of their relationship.
He snarled when Lucifer suddenly butted him with his cane, drawing back his attention. "Mhm, why are you denying it? Do you really think I didn't notice the bandages on his wrists? You two have been getting freaky."
Vaggie groaned again.
"I wouldn't underestimate you to not see the most obvious things even when they are in front of you." Alastor matched Lucifer's contempt in equal, lowering himself to sneer in the other's face. "Though, from your viewpoint it's unlikely you would miss anything." He tapped the top of Lucifer's hat condescendingly.
Lucifer fumed. "It's better than the view you will have after I shove your face twenty feet underground."
"Ha! Then who will be here helping Charlie run the hotel and provide proper parental support?" Alastor all but growled. "From experience, I can confidently say it won't be you."
"Don't you dare even imply-"
"Enough!" a booming, rippling voice bellowed from the room.
Everyone jumped in surprise, their mouths sewn shut in self-preservation, their bodies stiff, motionless.
Charlie had stood up, her horns protruding from her forehead, a striking indicator of her anger, almost palpable in its intensity. Her hair whipped around her, loose, wild.
She stomped her foot, fed up. "That's enough! I'm sick of seeing you two arguing. This is my hotel and it's completely empty! No one has even called to reserve a room or even show interest in what we're trying to do here! And neither of you are doing anything to help fix that!"
She was rambling, disordered, erratic, as she berated them. Both Alastor and Lucifer evaded her steely gaze and curled in on themselves shamefully, regretful as Charlie proceeded to chew them out, her uncharacteristic ire scathing their frigid, guilty conscience.
"This is ridiculous, who Alastor fucks is not our concern." Alastor rolled his eyes, worn out. "I've been trying to run this place for more than a year and we're nowhere close to rehabilitating someone - no offence Angel. Sir Pentious died to protect this place, because he believed in it. And here you two are."
"But, that's exactly my point-" Lucifer fumbled, trying to excuse his actions and reinstate himself in Charlie's good graces.
"Dad, look." Charlie broke in before he could retort, sitting back on the couch, her benevolent, sunny complexion returned, calmer as the momentary explosion of temper alleviated. "I know you don't really like each other, and it's nice that you went to apologize, but - like Alastor said - I don't see why any of this is our business." she implored, vouching for Alastor’s dignity.
If Alastor could have snatched the gates of Heaven open specifically for her he would have. He would have torn them down entirely with the sheer power of his gratitude and appreciation alone.
"Charlie," Lucifer gasped, adamant, as though her statement was absurd. Alastor had half a mind to string him up by that brash, audacious, forked tongue of his just for that uncalled reaction. "It's clear that he's more than capable of keeping secrets for a long time. He went behind your back. I've been saying we can't trust him and now he's proved it."
Evidently, Lucifer was still determined to reel Alastor out of the hotel, taking advantage of even the most meager, trivial slip up.
"We don't know how long it's been." she argued, pointlessly, ineffectively. "Alastor, how long have you two been together?" When Alastor went to answer, Charlie firmly inserted "The truth."
A part of Alastor considered lying, completely altering reality and forging new, thickly-winded routes of deceit, ones that only his cutthroat perfidiousness would be able to slot through and navigate. But, Lucifer would undoubtedly contest his words, further aided by Niffty's confirmation.
In less than ten minutes, the balance of his daily consistency had been shoved off its hinges, exposing the deepest, most tender weaknesses that privacy and even his notorious, estimable reputation were inadequate to prevent.
He exhaled, the air leaving his lungs as the last grace of his identity diminished.
"Two months."
Charlie's reaction to those words combated everything he had expected. Her brows furrowed, her mouth downturned and the most plaintive, saddened look overflowed her eyes.
She looked disappointed.
For some reason, Alastor would have gladly stood on the receiving end of her fury or condemnation, rather than have that expression directed at him.
"Two months. Alastor," she repeated, her voice quieter, hushed. "I don't understand why you would think you have to hide something like that. If we've ever given you the impression that you can't trust us, then I'm sorry. But, I thought we were past that stage."
"Wait, wait, wait." Vaggie intervened, her previous woozy pallor tuned down as color returned to her cheeks. "Two months?" she paused, pensive, her eyes raking across the room. "Fuck, is he the guy you kidnapped from V Tower?!"
Alastor tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling, tired, chagrined, and muttered "As I have said a hundred times before. I did not kidnap anyone."
"Hmm..." Vaggie hummed, suspicious.
The only one who did not partake in the latest direction of the conversation was Angel. The spider demon was slouched on the cushions, his expression impassive, yet inflexible, ironclad, as he stared unblinkingly at Alastor.
Alastor wasn't certain what he had done to upset him or when the shift in demeanor had occurred, but, in all honesty, he cared very little to amend his vexation.
"No, I don't think he did." Lucifer spoke. Alastor turned to him, astounded. "The guy seemed to genuinely like him. It's weird I know, I'm still wrapping my head around how that's even possible."
Alastor clicked his tongue, more than eager for this conversation to end. "Well, there you have it." he brandished his cane in the air to punctuate his breezy, detached words. "Now, if this pointless debacle is over, I would very much like to rest in my room."
"Alright," Charlie mumbled, unsatisfied at this conclusion. "But, Alastor... who is he?"
Alastor had no intention of conveying the true, profound depth of everything that Vox meant to him, the day would never end if he did. So, instead, he looked at her for a few tense, preliminary seconds, before he supplied "A guest. With your permission."
Charlie nodded again, understanding. "Of course, he can stay here. Maybe we can meet him, sometime?"
Her voice was hopeful, considerate and so caring that Alastor wondered why he had ever held any qualms in the first place. Her mellow, encouraging expression softened even his cold, selfish heart and his own voice eased its barbed, treacherous edge.
"I will ask him, dear." he conceded, balmier. "Until then, I wish you a good day."
He bowed slightly in Charlie's honor and walked away, ignoring everyone else.
The pounding effect of his shoes against the carpeted floor grounded him as he allowed his mind to clear of the abject stress, panic and rage.
The room seemed to congeal before his dry, drooping eyes and he almost failed to perceive the small figure hustling along with his steps.
He stopped and peered down at Niffty, his expression stoic, hardened.
"Do you have anything to say for yourself?" he reproved, his tone riddled with splintered dejection. "Or to defend your blatant lies?"
Niffty only shrugged, unacceptably lighthearted, as she kept her curious eye fixed on him. He returned her gaze, the discomforting silence permeating the air.
After a few seconds, she provided "I just wanted to help you."
Alastor raised his brows, genuine puzzlement decorating his features. Apparently, her incapability to resist the temptation to gossip hadn't been her only motivation.
"Help me?" he wondered. "And how exactly has revealing my secrets helped me?"
"They won't think he means much to you if they think you two are just having sex." she elaborated, an amicable stream of consideration following her words. "If they will think he's not important to you, they won't use him against you. I don't think they would do that, though. And it makes you sound cooler too."
Alastor listened to her intently, processing. Her explanation for her actions boggled his mind from the sheer embarrassment and shame at not having schemed it himself.
She was right. He had never understood why the majority of sinners placed such a high value on sex and allowed it to cloud their judgment and determine their thoughts about another person sorely based on their relationship with the act. But, whether he approved of that line of belief or not, the fact remained unchanged and regardless if the residents of the hotel have adapted it as well was unimportant. Niffty had provided him with a safety net.
He observed her, the realization that she had not only remained trustworthy, but that she had also lifted most of his potential, future worries, quelled that simmering fire in his heart.
He squinted, musing.
Then, he flicked his wrist and in a burst of green sparks a long, heavy, gleaming needle appeared in his hands.
The point was dangerously sharp, the metal undented, flawless and unscathed, as smooth and lethal as if carved from the very flames of the Earth's core.
Lowering himself down, he presented the needle to her.
The reaction was instantaneous. Her eye widened exceedingly, exhilarated as she began to bounce, gleeful, frenzied.
She grabbed the needle impatiently and spared no mercy in ramming it into the floor. A faint whooshing sound pierced the air as the force of the blow cracked the wood.
She violently maneuvered the steel before pulling it out with a creak. She giggled "It's perfect."
Still jumping with uncontrolled excitement, she wasted no time in locating a formation of bugs hiding in terror of her. Alastor watched her rush towards them with the most murderous, maniacal cackle he had ever seen.
He shook his head, a soft grin stretching across his face from the charming - albeit concerning - sight as he resumed his previous path.
The trek towards his room seemed shorter than any previous ones, muffled by the storm of thoughts and emotions pillaging Alastor’s feverous mind, and before he knew it, he had entered his room.
"Do you need a chair?" joked the most heavenly, beautiful voice that had ever blessed Alastor’s ears.
The sound of Vox soothed his fatigued nerves and he huffed mirthfully.
"A seat by your side would be far more therapeutic, I believe." He limped towards Vox, lazily flinging the door closed. "I take it you managed to hear some of the conversation."
"I couldn't resist the opportunity to take a look." Vox admitted, straightening up as Alastor neared him. "The wallpapers in the hallway are quite interesting."
"Not as interesting as the residents as you can see." he tipped his head back slightly, no longer concerned about maintaining that insouciant mask. He was around Vox now, free to be himself, with no one to judge or ridicule his emotions in sight. "How much did you hear?"
The corners of Vox's lips quirked up. "Well, I arrived just in time to catch a remarkable 'Alastor fucks'."
Alastor deflated. He sat down, fearful that his legs would fail him. "Oh, no..."
"Mmhm." Vox confirmed, nodding humorously. "They have no idea how good you fuck."
Alastor's shoulders sagged and his face fell in despair. "Not you too."
With all the pitilessness of Hell, Vox laughed at him. "Oh, yeah. All day and all night. I can barely keep my hands off you." he whistled, mimicking Lucifer.
"Vox, please..." Alastor implored, exhausted. "No more..."
"You're a proper stag."
Alastor smacked his palm against his forehead as a breathy, throaty laugh bubbled out of his throat.
The first sincere, earnest reaction he had produced throughout the whole day. Almost all of the consternation and distress instantly evaporated, exorcised simply by Vox's mere presence and the brilliance of his charm.
When he looked back up, Vox was studying him peculiarly. The demon looked lost, his eyes were shiny, wonderfully glistening, their edges curved upwards by his smile, and he wore a tender, delicate expression as his gaze seemed to have glued itself to Alastor.
Alastor knew that beatific expression far too well. It was the magical enchantment that would often curse his own features with happiness whenever his eyes landed on Vox, or when his ears heard his laugh, or when his fingertips gently brushed against his screen.
He lifted a hand and placed it over Vox's. Shyly, he interlaced their fingers together and he sighed as the other's warmth spread into his skin.
"As renowned - and as useless - as my skills in the art of intercourse are rumored to be." he jested with a laugh. "I do have to ask what you think of the Princess's proposition? Of meeting everyone?"
Vox hummed, mulling the question over, before he bluntly stated "I think I'm ready. It would have happened either way."
"Hmm." Alastor agreed, squeezing Vox's hand, hoping the small gesture conveyed the pride that currently zapped through his system.
If only the demon knew how astonishing, how empowering he was. To have suffered so horribly, so unfathomably in the most despicable, gruesome ways imaginable for nearly two decades, and to still have the strength to fight, to live.
"Well, then." Alastor reflected, nibbling on the inside of his cheek. Suddenly, he sprang from his seat, jolting Vox. "If we are to introduce you to everyone, then perhaps you should practice on your walking?"
He bowed down courteously, and extended an open hand to Vox.
The other gazed at him curiously. "I can walk just fine by now - no, I know that look, what are you thinking?"
"Oh, just take my hand, dear." Alastor grinned mischievously, coquettishly.
Vox did exactly that as he smoothly slid his fingers over Alastor's. "When you're looking at me like that, how can I refuse?"
Alastor lifted him up and took his other hand. He gently began to lead Vox towards the center of the room, not breaking eye contact for even a second.
Vox's smile brightened further, intrigued. "Alright, what are you up to?"
"I've found the best method to improve someone's footwork is," he paused when they reached their destination and deftly pulled Vox flush against him. "-by dancing."
Vox raised an eyebrow, then, he barked a laugh.
The demon pressed firmer against Alastor's chest, his body relaxing in his hold. "You were right. No one could ever say you don't have class."
"Yes, indeed. And remember, I only dance with the finest." Alastor shuffled their bodies accordingly, resting their hands in a manner that let Vox take the lead. "Though, there is something missing."
Vox pinched his brows, waiting in anticipation.
Alastor released a brisk crackle of static, the frequency no doubt tingling Vox's processors as it waved through the air.
Then... a familiar melody began to play.
"~I saw you last night and got that old feeling."
The rusty, antique radio on the mantelpiece buzzed to life and Alastor's heart melted when that old, bittersweet song - the one they had danced to the night before Vox had been taken, the one Vox had resurrected in a waning, crippled hope that Alastor might still love him even after everything that had happened - reached his ears.
"Oh, god..." Vox breathed out, his grip tightening. "Alastor..."
"Is this alright?" Alastor hurriedly asked, worried he might have misconstrued Vox's feelings in regards to the song.
Vox flung his arms around Alastor's neck. His hold was strong, clinging onto Alastor as his chest rose and fell deeply, caught off guard by the memory.
"It's alright." he whispered, his voice small, a mere breath against Alastor’s cheek.
"~When you came in sight I got that old feeling."
Alastor fervently wrapped his own arms tightly around Vox, the same nostalgia flowing through his veins and turning his muscles sluggish. He breathed in, the lavender and pine aroma wafting from Vox's clothes diffused with his distinctive, unique scent pooled into the darkest corners of Alastor’s mind, more striking, more vitalizing than any flower, or spice, or ray of sunshine that could ever invade his senses.
"~The moment that you danced by, I felt a thrill."
They moved slowly, their feet shuffling in feeble, dragging movements, unrushed, free.
Free to enjoy each other, free to hold each other, to dance with each other, to touch each other, to breathe in each other's presence, the world finally granting them unimpeded respite.
"~And when you caught my eye, my heart stood still."
"We never did finish that dance, did we?" Vox suddenly asked, his voice quiet, delicate, as though it was careful not to disturb the intricate, gossamer peacefulness.
"No. No, I don't think we did." Alastor hushed against Vox's shoulder. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to drown in the moment. "If I had known what would happen, I never would have let you go. We would still be in my radio tower dancing from dusk till dawn."
"~Once again I seemed to feel that old yearning."
Vox gently brushed his fingers against Alastor’s shoulders, absentminded, serene as he melted against him. The song swept through the room like an ethereal, mystifying river of devotion and love that dulled the rest of the world into an inconsequential mist. A warm blanket, shrouding them and loyally staving off the odious darkness that would threaten to disrupt the harmony.
"~And I knew the spark of love was still burning."
Alastor exhaled, allowing himself to get whisked away by that beguiling, nurturing river, trusting it completely for he knew its waters were kind.
"So," Vox mused, the breathiness of his voice a stark indicator that he himself had been plunged into that divine, splendorous torrent. "This is it, then."
Alastor furrowed his brows, a sullen pang snaking into his heart at Vox’s words. "What do you mean?"
"It's over, isn't it?" A bleak, gloomy edge marred his tone, contrasting the enchanting melody soaking into their bones. "Those months... what we had together, alone, are over now."
Alastor maneuvered himself to better assess Vox's expression. "Of course not. We will still have this. They might hog you for a few weeks, but they will relent, eventually." His voice dropped to a balmy mutter, devoid of static entirely. He cupped Vox's neck with both of his palms, steeling his focus on him as he added "And if anyone thinks they can steal the time we have together then I'll flay them alive."
A flattered huff escaped Vox as a doting, loving smile crept onto his face momentarily before that forlorn glaze shone in his eyes again.
"I know. I just didn't think it would end so soon." he said, his thumbs kneading the smooth, cushy dip under Alastor’s shoulder blades, the motion almost habitual.
"You can tell me." Alastor began to stroke his own thumbs across Vox's neck, his fingers gently grazing the soft, light hairs on his skin. "You can tell me anything. We have time."
A shimmer traipsed across Vox's face almost imperceptibly at Alastor’s words, unidentifiable, ineffable. He didn't know what it meant, but he stayed true to his word as he waited patiently.
"I think..." Vox began, hesitant. "I think that some part of me hoped it would never end. Just us two, it's... it's everything I could ever want or need and somewhere deep down I think I'm afraid."
Alastor tried to hinder any dismay threatening to express itself as he slowly swayed with Vox, who's gaze flicked intermittently between Alastor and somewhere far in the distance.
"I'm afraid that when this dream that I'm living with you is over, then everything won't be so perfect. I don't know if I pretended that this was a really good hallucination, or if what happened was just a horrible nightmare, but whichever it is, it's going to disappear now." His voice wavered, his eyes taking on a glistening, shiny hue and Alastor's heart broke at the image. "I'm afraid that... if I try to live a normal life - around normal people - I'll fail."
Alastor felt the beginning warnings of upcoming tears building up in his throat. He licked his lips, the new perspective Vox was charitably, unconstrainedly providing him tingled his mind.
They had combated nightmares, Alastor had held Vox's hand during the worst of them when his body would seize from shaking, when uncontrolled tears would stream down his cheeks and when Vox would latch onto Alastor as though he was the last lifeline in the middle of a ceaseless thunderstorm. The evidence of his imprisonment was clear any time Vox would flinch, any time his powers failed him, any time his gaze would get lost, vacant, empty, as his mind undoubtedly battled the plaguing memories that refused to leave.
Against it all, Vox held on. There had always been that sliver indicating that what Vox valiantly presented on the surface might not be the complete truth of what hid underneath, of all the feelings he was refraining from showing in front of Alastor, of all the pain he tried so desperately to stifle - despite the mask, Alastor knew him. He had known him all his life and he knew the demon would put Alastor first, much to Alastor's discontent.
"Oh, my dear." he inhaled, mulling over his next words as he raised a hand to softly caress Vox's screen. "I understand. You don't have to do anything, you don't have to meet anyone or talk to anyone if you don't want to. But, whatever you choose I'll be with you, always. And know this," Alastor leant his face towards Vox, his eyes boring straight into the other's. "You don't have to pretend. This is a dream, and what you suffered was a nightmare. I won't disappear or leave and nothing would be spoiled if we allow ourselves to acknowledge what happened."
Vox closed his eyes, his throat bobbing as he undoubtedly fought against the emotions overflowing him. Suddenly, he closed the distance between them and pressed their foreheads together.
Alastor followed his directions, circling his arms around Vox's waist and holding their bodies flush against one another.
Vox's claws slightly dug into Alastor’s clothes from how vehemently he committed to the embrace, his body magnetized as though it was pulled by an irresistible, universal force.
Alastor could stay like this forever. There was not a single other soul in existence that he felt comfortable enough to do this with. There had never been anyone else that had rendered him so helpless against his desires, against these hedonistic, all-consuming, unbeatable tendencies.
"~There'll be no new romance for me, it's foolish to start."
He couldn't deny that he had changed since Vox's return. That malcontent, that bitterness in his weak, wounded heart had resurrected into the joy and life that the demon so effortlessly poured back into Alastor's. He couldn't help seeking him out, his body naturally drawn to him, thoroughly bewitched.
A soft, breezy exhale left Vox. He smoothed his palms over Alastor's shoulders, further pulling him in. One of his hands temporarily abandoned its position to settle behind Alastor's neck.
Alastor was only granted a moment to bask in the warmth that seeped from Vox's palm into every fiber of his being before Vox tipped his head to the side to lay a tender, featherlight kiss on his cheek.
"I don't want it to ruin this, what we have. Because-" Vox's voice was barely above a whisper and from his wobbly, sporadic breathing Alastor didn't need to look to know tears had gathered in his eyes. "Because I'm afraid it won't be the same, I'm afraid I won't be the same."
"You could never ruin this." Alastor quickly reassured - the contrition born out of his failure to prevent Vox's abduction unremittingly burning his soul - more than eager to dispel the belief that there was even the slimmest possibility that Alastor wouldn't love him. He stroked Vox's sides comfortingly, feeling his muscles shift under his hands, how the ridges of his ribs danced with Alastor’s fingers, his warm, tender skin, how his flesh gently overlapped above his waistline. "What happened was not your fault. None of this is your fault and whatever a future with you looks like I want to experience it. I want you. I will always want you."
Vox leaned his forehead against Alastor’s temple and said "I still wish it had never happened. I wish everything had turned out different. We lost so much time together. Moments like these. I don't want this to end."
"I know." Alastor choked out, the adamantine grief and never-ending sorrow raging in his heart. "I would give anything to erase it from ever happening. But, you're here, now. I'm dancing with you, and oh-" he trailed off, the fragile, yet mighty words lodging in his throat. He pushed his forehead against Vox's, nudging it to the side and intertwining their bodies so they flowed with the song gracefully, fluidly. "Sometimes I can hardly breathe from the way it hurts."
Vox muttered "What does?"
Alastor gulped, stiffly fending off the sob trying to claw its way out of its shallow grave as he answered "...how much I love you."
For a moment all Alastor could hear was silence. The forbidden, powerful sentence had been exchanged between them countless times before, but with the song dousing every corner of the room, the undeniable, unforgettable past of what they had suffered through combined with the electrifying, breathtaking close proximity somehow amplified its vivifying, deathless effect.
His pulse thumped in his ears, booming and deep, yet relaxed, and an intoxicating shudder ran through his spine when Vox tightened his hold impossibly further.
"I love you too." he whispered, painstakingly quiet.
His voice sounded like a prayer.
Alastor could have blended their bodies together, inseparable for the rest of eternity, if only to preserve the riveting, insurmountable, raw beauty that tumbled out of Vox's lips as he reiterated "I love you, I love you, I love you."
Alastor couldn't breathe. He couldn't even think from how lost and thrilled he felt being surrounded by Vox's unconditional, divine love. Enraptured, thoroughly conquered, his body hung loose in Vox's hold, pliant, eager, malleable to his enchanting melody as though needle-like, silky threads have been delicately woven through his limbs, keeping him standing.
The idea that he was holding something important in his arms, something irreplaceable, something so precious it muted the rest of the world into a reverential, obsequious silence.
"~For that old, old feeling is still in my heart."
He chased Vox's warmth, nuzzling his face against his screen as he surrendered to that hypnotizing rush of alluring delight.
Softly, Vox added "You still owe me that sixth kiss."
A surprised, delighted huff escaped Alastor. He tightened his hold even further, his gaze helplessly locked on Vox's face. "That I do."
It all just felt so... good. The static buzzing of Vox's monitor pricked his skin, as though inviting him in. He could feel his own breath drifting along it and he could hardly control his lips from planting an airy, tender kiss against Vox's screen.
He glanced up at Vox’s face briefly, gauging out his expression, careful, making sure he wasn't overstepping, a habit he had built whenever the proceedings developed into a more heavier, heartfelt intimacy.
When all he could discern was wistful adoration and unmistakable willingness in his features, Alastor leaned in and softly pressed their lips together.
Vox instantly responded, deepening the kiss and shuffling their bodies closer.
Alastor surrendered to the other's desire, growing lax in his hold. Even though he had never understood the appeal of locking lips, a seemingly unfulfilling, disillusioning concept, the consistent feel of Vox's screen, digital, inorganic, yet warm and unbearably familiar, enthralled him because fundamentally it was Vox who he was kissing. It felt like kissing any other part of his screen, divine, blissful, and it always appeared to have a particularly igniting effect on Vox.
The heavenly way the demon melted into Alastor eliminated any inhibitions he might have had towards such carnal, intimate closeness. He felt like he was flying, so high above he could relish the nurturing sunbeams heating up his skin and even if they eventually lit him ablaze he wouldn't ever willingly settle back on the ground. The rest of the world, muddy and distant as it was, had nothing to offer him, he would have traded the universe itself with all the splendor its stars embellished it with for a lifetime spent in Vox's arms.
His mind had liquefied, overcome by the pure joy that encompassed every fragment of his soul, so when they eventually separated he immediately went in for a second kiss.
Vox obliged, his lips moving greedily against Alastor’s. The kiss was deeper than the first one, passionate, evocative and desperate, yet soft and gentle, filled with longing. Vox threaded his fingers through Alastor’s hair, a needy, hungry moan danced at the back of his throat as Alastor’s hand stroked his cheek.
"~There'll be no new romance for me, it's foolish to start."
When they broke away Vox was breathing heavily, his eyes glazed over, almost opalescent as a thoroughly drunken look brimmed from them. Alastor was quite certain his own expression wasn't too dissimilar.
“I missed doing that too.” Vox said, the previous dismay quailing in the face of the healing, cathartic joy buzzing in the air.
Closing his eyes again, he pressed his forehead against Vox's and sighed, bleary and enraptured by the sparking embers sizzling through his nerves and lighting them on fire.
"Me too. I think you're right," Alastor breathed, his voice shriveled from the numbing, yet exhilarating happiness enveloping him from every side. "When everyone finally meets you my reputation will be ruined."
Vox puffed out a laugh, the previous wave of glum despair that had overshadowed him momentarily thwarted. He rested his head on Alastor's shoulder and allowed himself to drown in his firm, loving embrace.
Alastor nudged his face into Vox's neck, scooting even closer. The reality that he was currently holding the most vital and resplendent person he had ever met sent goosebumps trailing wonderfully along his skin. The person he loved more than anyone, more than anything in this life or the previous, was back in his arms and Alastor would tear down the world itself to keep Vox safe, to keep him happy.
"~For that old, old feeling is still in my heart."
They danced, heedless of the time that flowed by neglected. If Alastor had rewound the radio to repeat the song again, and again, and again, and again, there was no one there to interrupt them.
They could have been swaying for a few minutes or they could have been holding each other for hours, lost in each other's warmth, their tranquil surroundings clouded behind an opaque, cozy curtain laced from cords of love, care and safety.
Sunken as they were in the vast sea of immersive, unabated affection they didn't notice the curious, observant pair of eyes lurking behind the door and monitoring their every step since the beginning.
Notes:
Well, this one was super fun to write. The next chapter will be a little shorter mostly because I couldn't fit it here since this one ended up longer than I expected, but it will be an important one.
I just want to say that I'm going to be a lot more busy in the next two or three months so chapters might take a little longer to release, but I'm not abandoning the fic <3333
(Also, I literally had to correct grammar and spelling mistakes like thirty times I have no idea what happened or if the last editing reread didn't stick with ao3 but sorry if anyone caught them)
Chapter 10: Something to live for tomorrow
Notes:
I'm so so so sorry for the delay! I am fighting demons (exams) and I am completely flooded I barely have time to breathe. I swear the time flew by in a heartbeat.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The gloomy dimness of the hotel's hallways weighed heavy on Angel's mind. His heels dug heavily into the carpet as he tried to mitigate the volume of his footsteps.
Slowly, as inconspicuously as he possibly could, he crept towards Alastor's room. Remaining surreptitious and undetected was vital as his very life laid in uncertainty should the other demon take notice of his presence. Angel had waited weeks - weeks for an opportunity like this. Weeks of returning to the studio empty handed, weeks of brewing up excuses for why he couldn't find the man Valentino was looking for, weeks of waging through hundreds of texts, messages and demands for why he hadn't finished the job yet, weeks of being pressured by the demon's ire and growing impatience.
He had tried to sneak into Alastor’s room plenty of times, but whenever he had attempted to peep through the lock he would be greeted by nothing but an endless, pitch black darkness. The door had been locked every day Angel had tried it, whenever Alastor was asleep, whenever he tended to his obligations to the hotel and even whenever he would retire and rest.
Alastor had simply been accepting no visitors lately. The cryptic seclusion and concerning secrecy grated on Angel's dismaying consciousness, but it also served as unimpeachable proof that what - or rather, who - he was looking for, resided in that room.
Therefore, after Niffty's deliciously remorseless disclosure of Alastor’s dealings, Angel's mood had exponentially lifted. The idea that Alastor of all people had been inattentive and distracted in his duties because he would rather indulge his hedonism and lust was ludicrous. It was hilarious even. But, whatever amusement Angel might have experienced in the moment had been swiftly stamped out when Lucifer had mentioned seeing bandages on the man's wrists.
Two months. That was how long Alastor had been keeping that demon in his room. No wound, angelic or otherwise, should take that long to heal.
A rabid, restless fragment of Angel's soul contorted in that moment, having realized how dire the situation had truly been. He had known that the man had been supposedly kidnapped by Alastor, the still deteriorating structure of V Tower confirmed that, and he had still dawdled and procrastinated finding him only to conserve his own untarnished physical state.
Angel had initially been reluctant to believe he rumors. But he should have known that Alastor - a ruthless, cruel, infamous Overlord and cannibalistic serial killer - might be hurting that demon. Out of sight, guarded in the safest, most secure place in Hell - he had rendered him completely powerless, far-away from the city, and he had meticulously insured that no one would find out about his presence.
And... Angel also felt betrayed.
Betrayed that he had bitten the hook intended to lure him into a false sense of comradery and peace. Betrayed that Alastor would so heinously lie and deceive every member of the crew in the most diabolical, inhumanly way possible. Betrayed that the demon still persisted in upholding that wicked delusion while simultaneously benefitting from the hotel's impenetrable protection.
At least his guilt born out of indignation and contrition would be alleviated, no longer being burdened by considering Alastor's well-being in the whole ghastly, unfortunate affair. Now, Angel's mind was free to concentrate on only one goal.
He needed to get that man away from Alastor.
His heart was hammering in his chest. He could feel his pulse in his ears as the eerie quietness stretched to infinity, further punctuated by the unperturbed stillness of his surroundings.
Then... a slow, gentle melody wafted through the open air.
Angel halted. Several feet away from Alastor's room, he pressed himself firmly against the wall to stave off the increasing stress vibrating in his bones. It seemed as though the very walls soundlessly creaked and groaned along with Angel's movements, whether in warning or encouragement he didn't know.
He took in a long, deep breath, grounding himself as the song snaked through the corridor unimpeded. He could almost feel the notes grazing his skin in soothing, soporific pats as they invaded his senses like a tranquil, still river flowing with the current, the sun's ever-reaching rays twinkling atop its serene, glossy surface like persevering embers of an old flame.
Angel shook his head, bringing himself back to the present. He couldn't afford to lose focus, not for a single moment because not only was his own life at risk, but that of the "target" he was either rescuing or dooming further.
Yet, there was something peculiar about the music. He couldn't pinpoint it, but the melody didn't contain that deceptive reassurance and wily perniciousness. On the contrary, it sang with comfort and an irresistible sense of undiluted peace.
He gulped, warding off his slowly weakening durability in the face of such promising calm. Quietly, he closed the remaining distance and crouched in front of the door.
He bit his lip, weighing the risks, before he hesitantly peeked through the keyhole.
He almost staggered back. What greeted his eye was a clear, unobstructed image of the indoors of Alastor’s room. Whatever shadows had previously been shrouding it has been miraculously lifted or unintentionally broken through. Something told Angel that Lucifer hadn't particularly cared for whatever frivolous pretense of privacy Alastor always maintained.
The song still danced from within the room, and Angel took another steadying breath as he flexed his fingers, steeling his resolve. He exhaled slowly before he raised a hand and timidly twisted the doorknob.
The motion was blessedly unaccompanied by any sound and a full-body shudder ran through Angel when the door gave way.
This was it. This will be the moment where Angel finally finishes the job for he knew he wouldn't be granted another chance like this.
He lifted a hand towards his chest fluff and cautiously extracted the angelic blade Valentino had equipped him with. He didn't want to use it. Oh, god, how he hoped he wouldn't need to use it, but Alastor had imprisoned someone, he had jeopardized Angel's life, he had jeopardized Husk's life. Angel would mercilessly and unflinchingly cut down hoards of demons if he needed to before he let anything happen to him.
His hand fell forward as the barest, slimmest opening of the door widened before his eyes. Shifting closer, Angel opened it further and tilted his head to glance into the room.
For the next couple of moments, all he could do was stare at the scene in front of him.
The rest of the world drowned away, muffled by the haze overtaking all of Angel's senses begotten from the unfathomable sight. He blinked several times, clearing his vision, but the same image greeted him after each attempt as his gaze thoroughly locked on the two figures gently swaying in the middle of the room.
Their movements were subtle, lazy, as though they were both drunken from the peacefulness infusing the very air, and they both wore the most beatific, lovestruck looks Angel had ever seen.
He didn't understand what was happening. The softness of Alastor's hold and the endearing glaze in his eyes as he gazed at his companion - the very one Angel had been sent to retrieve - addled Angel's mind. He had never, ever, witnessed such an expression on Alastor's face. Angel didn't even know the demon was capable of it.
At some point, Alastor’s hands raised to cup the demon's neck. From his hidden position, Angel could vaguely see the tender, comforting way Alastor's thumbs kneaded against the other's skin. His expression turned from blissful to solemn as it replicated itself on the screen of the other demon. They appeared to be talking as their moods variously interchanged between sorrow, happiness, wistfulness, care and dismay.
This was nothing like what Angel had expected to intrude on. The entire scene reeked of something unidentifiable, something so intimate and beautiful Angel wasn't even able to comprehend its nature.
He shook his head, momentarily retreating from the room to anchor himself back to reality. He hadn't even noticed how quiet his surroundings had become, almost as if a fortuitous omen had granted him the time to moderate his shaky bearings. His heart was excitedly beating against his ribcage, but his fingers were steady and his limbs were moored.
Something about that song, about that dance, about the incomprehensible expressions on both demons as they swayed with each other had melted Angel's withering vigilance.
Reaffirming his grip on the blade, Angel fortified his will and peeked into the room.
Once again, his breath abandoned his lungs.
Angel pressed his lips together for naught but fear that he might betray himself lest he allow his soul to wail from the inconceivable, utterly heavenly image.
It felt right and wrong in equal, painful measure. Alastor had stolen the demon. He had supposedly been keeping him hostage for months in a devious ploy to strike against his persistent foes. But, with each passing second that precarious belief lost its conviction. The demon in question was holding Alastor so tightly, so gently Angel almost crumpled on the spot.
His arms were hungrily wrapped around Alastor's shoulders as though he wanted to latch onto him for the rest of eternity and condemn them to be inseparable. His hands tantalizingly, soothingly brushed along Alastor’s back in a manner which conveyed utter, indubitable devotion and his eyes bore that same bewitched, fond look that mirrored itself on Alastor's own.
Alastor had always been an indecipherable enigma, reclusive and mysterious to a fault, but Angel had pegged him well enough to know the demon never felt the urge to seek out such affection and closeness. Could Alastor have somehow hypnotized the demon? Or perhaps he had drugged him into compliance.
But, immediately as that suggestion entered Angel's mind it got swiftly whisked away.
Angel knew the insidious, underhanded mechanism of how Hell operated in regards to such matters. V Tower was the top most successful and prestigious establishment selling aphrodisiacs, virulent drugs and potent love potions and he had a lifetime of experience with each and every one of them. He knew firsthand what the effects look like, what those drugs do to a person's body, to their mind, how they overtake it, how they mould it.
He found none of that in the TV demon's demeanor.
His body was sluggish and at ease, but not in a lethargic, sickly way, but from a serene, balmy calmness that practically diffused itself into every inch of the room. His smile wasn't forced, or confused, or driven by a euphoric high. The bandages that Lucifer had mentioned were indeed wrapped around the demon's wrists, but they were clean and the bleak, unblemished material shone accusingly in Angel's direction as he realized - from the demon's actions, his healthy, vibrant complexion and manner of movement - that he hadn't been harmed at all in the recent weeks. And there lay plastered a sincere, doting, joyous expression on his face that was a marvelous rarity even by Heaven's unreachable standards. And his eyes...
Oh, his eyes...
Angel didn't understand how such a loving, enthralled gleam could sparkle in someone's eyes. They looked almost effervescent, as though they held the very stars of the universe itself in their endless, crimson depths as they gazed at Alastor.
Who was this demon? This one individual who had upheaved every rule and law that Hell abided by. This single person who had not only unleashed chaos and widespread panic simply with his absence, but had somehow captivated the unattainable, cutthroat, stone-cold Radio Demon. What unimaginable power did he possess to accomplish that?
Had he been the "complication" Alastor had encountered that distant night that now seemed so long ago but had truly been the turning, pivotal point in all of their lives? A person Alastor regarded as so important and worthy that he would not only sacrifice a deal and forfeit Angel's soul, but that he would openly declare war on the three deadliest, most influential and brutal Overlords in Pentagram City.
Suddenly, Angel got rocked by a nauseating, untethered wave of guilt and remorse at the inundating, thorny feeling that he shouldn't be here.
It felt like he was witnessing something forbidden. If he had known how intimate and visceral this moment had been for the other two he never would have stepped a foot into the hallway.
Shortly, the demons exchanged what looked to be bittersweet, almost mournful words and Angel's whole world tipped to the side when they slowly embraced each other.
Angel's mouth softly hung open as his gaze glued itself to their movements. The hug was steady, careful and nurturing, but the unbridled sense of raw desperation that emanated from it could have shaken the very foundations of the hotel. Their bodies almost plunged themselves into the motion, as though their very cells sought out the other, needy, adoring and thoroughly mesmerized.
Angel fiercely clutched his shirt, the motion absentminded, out of his control. He could feel the embrace on his own body, that vicarious, besotted, unbeatable fondness in its divine radiance as it challenged even the hottest fires in all of Hell. An irresistible, heart-twisting warmth seeped into his very bones which had grown both weaker and stiffer during the indeterminate amount of time Angel had spent spellbound.
He felt like a puppet, a mere toy whose strings kept getting pulled at the whims of any bystander and onlooker that deemed him a worthy amusement. He still couldn't comprehend what he was seeing. A part of him waited with bated, strained breath for Alastor to lash out, to somehow twist that balmy grin into the foul, perfidious one that matched with his grim reputation and shatter that harmonious atmosphere.
But, it never happened.
The two kept holding each other as they danced to the music, lost in one another with the rest of the world muted to insignificance, so absorbed in the alluring sensation they hadn't even noticed Angel's presence. That undisturbed, unprecedented sense of peace blared into Angel's conscience and he suddenly realized that whatever was transpiring between the two demons it hadn't been sprung up on a whim.
This wasn't a fleeting, unmemorable one night stand, or even a spontaneous, giddy relationship in its beginning stages.
No.
No, this was something far deeper and far more profound than Angel could have imagined.
There was history between them. Even he, as oblivious and inexperienced in the art of pure, unadulterated romance, could deduce that they had known each other for far longer than several weeks.
The meager, frail sprouts of that recognition branched out to a splendorous, imposing tree of clarity when Angel saw the TV demon softly lean his forehead against Alastor’s temple.
Angel could feel his heart thumping in his ears, a repetitive, mind-numbing drumming reminding him of the severity of so callously infringing on such intimacy. He should leave. If he had a shred of respect or decency he should turn around and never speak of this moment again. But, he couldn't tear his gaze away.
He was thoroughly transfixed as his whole perception of Alastor sharply curled in on itself. Out of everyone he had ever met, in this life or the previous, Angel could never have expected to see such vulnerability and adoration brimming from someone's expression or such care and ardor singing from their movements as he was currently witnessing in Alastor’s and the person in his arms.
Angel's hand had gripped the blade so fiercely that he hadn't even noticed how white his knuckles had gotten from the unconscious exertion. Everything was so... quiet. As though the earth itself had halted to take a breath, lured in by the precious spectacle unfolding in the room.
They swayed together for a while in that delicate position, talking in hushed tones, their foreheads pressed together so gently it felt like their bodies naturally gravitated to each other. The music washed over them, over every blade of grass, over every splinter of wood, extinguishing any resentment, anger or bitterness that might be poisoning the tranquil environment.
Then... Alastor closed the distance between them and softly pressed their lips together.
Angel's heart froze.
He gaped dumbly at the scene, his mind confounding. The sheer tenderness with which the demons held each other was staggering, their mannerisms akin to holding something impossibly vital and irreplaceable, yet beaming with a deep-rooted, unrestrainable yearning to pull the other as close as they could and in that moment - that one, arcane moment - Angel understood.
Alastor hadn't kidnapped this demon... he had saved him.
He had pulled him out of that tower and he had been protecting him ever since. Angel had never believed Valentino’s intentions had been harmless or good-willed, but witnessing the two demons he truly, painstakingly comprehended just how despicable and sickening the Overlord was even by the bottomless low standard he had already set.
Angel knew what this was. He just never thought he would ever see it in a corrupted, vile place as this. Once, he had been foolish enough to believe he had found it, but the deceitful illusion had swiftly been stamped out, its broken shards piercing his heart whenever he even dared to look into those sharp, pupil-less eyes that had once promised happiness and safety. A part of him often wondered whether Valentino had ever truly cared about him, or if their years spent together before the signing of his contract had been nothing more than a mere ruse to lure him in.
Sometimes, he would even be so bold as to let himself dream of experiencing it with a certain ex-Overlord tending to the hotel's bar. Brief, evasive glimpses of that unnamable feeling would lace his mind with jealousy and despair whenever he was in the presence of Charlie and Vaggie, but this was different.
There was pain in this kiss. There was adoration, grief, sorrow, longing and abject heartache in it. The way their faces both relaxed and earnestly creased in dismay, the way their fingers clutched at the other's clothes in anguish and relief, the way their palms softly stroked and caressed was indicative to a lifetime spent relishing in that mutual feeling.
Angel knew what he was looking at. He had known for quite some time now. He had simply lacked the strength to admit it to himself, but now he understood what it was.
Love.
Pure, indefatigable, deathless love.
The dagger nearly fell from his grasp.
He shifted slightly, reaffirming his stance and reawakening his enervated muscles as he exhaled a long, ragged breath. His face felt warm. Timidly, he raised a hand to touch his cheek and he blinked when his fingers came away wet.
Tears had fallen from his eyes, incited by that genuine fondness and desire that seared at his wounded, miserable heart.
It hurt. It hurt to look at them, to know that what lay only a few meters away was actually out of reach. It was something Angel will never get to experience for himself, no matter how much he hoped or dreamed or how much he bloodied his hands and emptied his guns, it would never find him.
A billowing, unsettling wave of acrimony washed over his whole body, soaking it in an engulfing sense of acidic venom that swallowed him whole and darkened his vision with one clear, sour question:
Why did Alastor deserve to have this?
Why had someone so wicked and merciless been gifted such a wonder? Angel heavily doubted the demon had earned it. No amount of good deeds, or optimistic support, or sincere care could accumulate to the expensive price needed to pay for this. Why did Alastor have it and he doesn't?
A part of him - that hidden, evil fragment of his irredeemable soul - wanted to spring out and stab the dagger directly into Alastor’s heart. It wanted to pull out that awful, horrifying syringe and jab it into the TV demon's neck, then Angel would swing him over his shoulder and drop him at V Tower without ever changing a shade.
...he felt sick.
He felt disgusting.
The thought that had just flashed in his mind caused bile to rise in his throat. Charlie's face briefly entered his vision. Her consistent, unyielding faith that he truly was a good person and not the spoiled, rotten exterior everyone had carved out for him sent a flaming torrent of guilt and disappointment through his nerves.
He was failing her. He was accepting all of that care, hope and love that she gave him without price or condition and he was throwing it away. He glanced back up at the two demons, his mind only now taking notice that the song had been rewound as they continued to dance in each other's arms.
They looked... wonderful.
What right did he have to ruin that?
Who did he think he was to break them apart? Would he destroy this beautiful, inviolable, rare thing just to avoid his own agony and Valentino's wrath? Was his pain more important than their love? Had he fallen so low that his own preservation had been raised to an unquestionable demand, dulling any grace, marvel and happiness to the doom he would inflict to sustain it?
Finally, after mustering enough strength, Angel unlocked his gaze from the scene.
He looked down at his hand, at the angelic blade glinting lethally in the cozy light of the hallway and examined his own blurred reflection in it. His face was indistinguishable, devoid of his features, a blank canvas that could be painted with anyone else's face.
He didn't recognize it. No matter which way he turned the dagger, his expression remained blank. It could be anyone staring back at him, people he aspired to be, people he dreaded to become.
He sighed, his body coaxing out the pressure as he quietly closed the door. He stood up, invigorated, yet dispirited, having made his decision.
If he was damned, then so be it. Carefully, he took the knife and resolutely pocketed it back in his chest. Then, he soundlessly turned around and walked away.
Notes:
This was a rather short chapter and I'm sorry it took so long to release but I got a bit busy writing my one-shot OH DEER.. If anyone wants to read some trans Vox fluff :)
Also, the art that I promised to post IS ON THIS LINK
Everyone please go see it and give it a bunch of love <333The next chapter will be Vox meeting the crew :) yay!
Chapter 11: A love everlasting
Notes:
Hi! So so so so sorry for the delay! I had a lot to deal with and I wasn't able to write, but hopefully this chapter is enjoyable :) <3
Also, I didn't want to delay the chapter any longer so if there are any spelling mistakes pls ignore them I'll fix them later. <3
This turned out soo loooong lmaoo I don't know how it happened
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Warm, humid air infused the space, casting an opaque, dense fog over the bathroom. Vox exited the shower and walked over to the mirror on the wall. The fog had blurred it, causing his expression to be muddled into a featureless, obscure, blue glow.
After he grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his middle, Vox lifted a hand to clear the mirror. He blinked at his now recognizable expression. Even now, even after so many weeks of getting reacquainted with his visage, he struggled to comprehend the person staring back at him.
He bit his lip as he trailed his eyes along his form. His screen was unblemished, his skin was healed and undamaged, a sight he still couldn't get accustomed to as it protested against the thorny storm of ceaseless apprehension and hurt writhing in his gut. Somehow, the indecipherable glow from before felt more befitting to his character, a faceless, nameless figure wandering the earth in search of an identity, of an anchor to ground itself.
The gradual transformation was imperceptible. Every hit, every grab, every curse and cut and lash that the TV demon had dealt him chipped away pieces of himself until he could no longer hold the foundation together. His own face felt foreign, an ancient whisper dissipating in the wind. That body didn't feel like it belonged to him, what should be his had been taken, touched, used, abused and controlled for so long that he had relinquished ownership of it. It felt like an eternity had passed in less than a minute, as though only yesterday he had been a revered and renowned Overlord and the next he had been reduced to a powerless, frail shell of a man whose depleting hope kept abandoning him.
He felt like a fraud. An untalented, vain actor pretending he was still someone who had been killed a long time ago, a mere candle hoping to imitate the greatness of a mighty wildfire.
Vox should be able to remember his face, he should be able to accept that smile and that charming glint that had always been present in his eyes, but now a task as easy and effortless as that proved strenuous and taxing. They had taken that shine from him, that vibrant, splendorous light and he couldn't even find the fury required to snatch it back. He felt barren. A cruel, cold void of despair suffocated him perpetually from all sides like a veil of shadow he couldn't shake off. The only ray of sunshine that could pierce that endless, oppressive dark was...
...was Alastor.
Vox sighed, lifting another towel and cleaning his face with it as he tried to tamp that indecipherable wave of emotions running through him at the thought of Alastor, the single sliver of hope Vox had been clinging to throughout all those years of torture and misery. He didn't think he would be alive if he didn't have the image of Alastor’s smile, or the melody of his laugh, or the warmth of his touch indelibly planted in his mind. Alastor had been the one to pull him from that hell - as Vox had always known he would despite his acceptance of his fate rotting his will, and he had been taking care of him ever since.
As strongly as Vox hampered that pernicious, chronic monster of pain hovering over him every day, voicing malicious, hateful memories in his ear and clenching its claws around his heart, he knew Alastor was aware of its presence.
He just couldn't risk him getting hurt because of it.
He couldn't risk the clouds that had dimmed Vox's spark to extinguish Alastor’s, he couldn't let the people that had kidnapped him and had permanently ruined him to hurt Alastor too.
He loved him... He loved him so much and witnessing him cry and tremble because of what had been done to both of them broke Vox's heart. To see the trauma that burdened Alastor, to observe the effects of the lies and cons of the man that supplanted Vox, that posed in his place, that stole his identity and used it to deceive the person that meant more than anything to him. To know that he had been so close to Alastor, that he had slept in the same bed with him, had eaten meals with him, had held his hand and had had countless opportunities to kill him, but had instead refrained for what an alliance with Alastor could contribute to his aggrandizing, intemperate ambitions. To have no choice but to live with the fact that Alastor had been demeaned, shamed and devalued by who he thought had been Vox the entire time and that he was now forced to live with the fact that he had spent ten years with a violent, deceitful monster. That Alastor had been led to believe Vox had stopped loving him...
The thought was too heavy and grievous to even contemplate.
Therefore, Vox would uphold that fierce façade, he would pretend that he was still the same person from seventeen years ago and he would fight against that inextricable darkness, blind and disoriented, kicking and screaming, he would wage through a blizzard if it meant he had kept Alastor safe and happy.
Yet, at the back of his mind, stuffed somewhere hidden and unseen, he knew Alastor could sense that dwindling, flagging battle.
With a sharp inhale, Vox shook his head, bringing himself back to the present. This too was an unfortunate habit he had attained. His mind was not as strong anymore, memories and self-slighting thoughts would often conquer it, snatching Vox's attention and plunging him in a whirlwind of disassociation and doubt. He had been staring at his reflection for an indeterminate amount of time as he noticed the droplets of water on his skin had dried out.
They were supposed to be introducing him to the hotel crew today after all, there was no point in delaying it. Vox had been surprised by his hesitance to reenter the outside world, having believed being cooped up and imprisoned in the same, dank room would ignite his mind with a restless need to live his life as freely as he could. But, should he fail in his act as a normal person - as though he could ever dream of being that again - the thought of others witnessing his downfall, of risking Alastor seeing how damaged Vox truly was, Vox was rather reluctant to even try.
And it had been so... easy relaying all of those detrimental inhibitions to Alastor just yesterday while they danced. Purging his mind of those invasive, unhelpful scenarios, Vox took one long, steeling breath before he exited the bathroom.
As soon as he stepped out, something red and impatient planted itself in his path.
Vox raised an inquisitive eyebrow, ignoring the awkwardness as he observed the twitching of Alastor’s demeanor. The demon held something behind his back in the most conspicuous way imaginable.
Alastor blinked at him oddly, not uttering a word.
"Hello." Vox greeted, stilted.
"I've brought you something." Alastor informed him casually, as though he hadn't been - what others might describe as eerie, but to someone like Vox who knew Alastor’s expressions and consistent habit of dissembling his true emotions even when he shouldn't, he could easily recognize it as jittery - transfixed on him like an actual deer in the headlights.
Vox's expression mellowed. Alastor just couldn't resist the temptation to be cryptic, could he? His brows lifted even further when Alastor brought forth what he had been hiding.
Vox's eyes widened in awe as he stared at the bundle of clothes in Alastor’s arms. That familiar yellow, fluffy turtleneck that Vox had practically trademarked in the days of his prime was presented to him. Beneath it, lay his old black vest and trousers that had always been his favorite to wear.
Tentatively, he reached a hand to brush against the fabric and his fingers tingled from the nostalgia the sensation evoked.
"Husker retrieved them from the tailor just this morning." Alastor supplied. "Though, I do confess the poor chap might have been threatened to speed up the sewing process."
Vox unlatched his astonished gaze to gawk at Alastor. "You..." he said, his voice quieter than he intended it to be. "-Had these custom made?"
He shouldn't sound so surprised. Alastor had done far more for him to receive that kind of tone, but Vox couldn't prevent the wonder that filled his heart from shining through.
"I did." Alastor confirmed, his voice lighthearted which ameliorated the buzzing under Vox's skin. Somehow, the demon always knew how to make him feel better and he never failed in exercising that skill. Not once. "I've ordered more of them for you, but I specifically asked for one pair to be delivered early. I assumed you would want to look your best."
A flattered huff escaped Vox. "This is amazing." He shook his head, delighted at this marvelous, thoughtful gift. "Is it the same tailor that you usually go to?"
"The very same." Alastor chipped back.
"I can see why you still stick with him." He lifted the sweater up to inspect it closer. "It looks identical."
"I..." Alastor began, but unexpectedly trailed off. Vox glanced over to him and saw the demon studiously flicking his gaze over the sweater. "I may have lent him your old clothes so he could recreate them."
Vox viscerally felt his heart skip a beat. A warm, airy flush seeped onto his screen, tainting it a shade darker as his features creased in bittersweet affection.
He lowered the turtleneck, not wanting anything to obscure his view of Alastor.
"You still kept them?" he croaked, his voice barely above a hush, both bewildered and lovestruck. "Even after-"
A lump ascended to his throat, blocking his words. He gulped, trying to tamp down the wave of dismay that had briefly overshadowed him.
Alastor only steeled his gaze, unflinching and firm as he replied "Yes."
Evidently, the sentence Even after what He did needed no further elaboration. They had already grown habituated to the inerasable hurt and trauma He had dug in their souls.
Observing the resolute manner Alastor kept his gaze affixed and the stoic press of his mouth, as though his statement allowed no room for disputation or challenge, Vox took the clothes in one hand and with the other he intertwined his fingers with Alastor's.
He took a step forward and brought their hands to his own chest as he bowed his head.
"Thank you." he whispered softly, so light even the air itself strained to hear the words.
Alastor answered him in equal, shifting closer and cupping Vox's shoulder in a display of support.
Vox hardly understood how Alastor still cared for him, even after so long, even after what he had thought Vox had done to him. Alastor had always been a magnanimous, incomprehensible person, a radiant star in all its divinity, but even the limits of Vox's veneration were being broadened with every passing day he spent in the demon's presence.
"You're welcome." Alastor spoke, his tone dulcet as he gently stroked Vox's upper arm. "Now dearest, if it's alright with you I would very much like to see you in-"
He didn't get to finish that sentence as Vox jumped away and hurriedly sprinted to get dressed.
Though, Vox still found it quite amusing how Alastor turned away and busied himself with nothing to give him some privacy, as though they haven't been in a relationship for decades and haven't seen each other undressed countless times. He was always a proper gentleman, Vox mused as an endearing smile stretched across his face.
Rolling his eyes with a huff, Vox realized he needed to replace the bandages on his wrists after his shower. He retrieved a fresh roll and began to wrap it around the appendage, not for any risk of bleeding, but out of wanting to spare anyone from looking at the mangled, brutalized flesh. His hands were experienced and efficient, having done this regularly for the past two months.
It was odd, Vox thought to himself. His ears were so used to hearing the clanking of his chains with every minute movement and now that the noise was gone the world felt almost too quiet, the absence of that expected, dreadful sound unnerving. His body, now fed and healthy, caused him to feel untethered and light, his surroundings made brighter and clearer, a stark contrast to the heaviness and exhaustion of being starved and malnourished for so long. His wrists had been drilled straight through, but he had grown so accustomed to the pain that his mind barely registered it anymore. They were the last evidence of his abduction still present on his body and they seemed intent to remain there. They were healing, but slowly, despite being fully replenished and the power of a thunderstorm brewing in his bones again.
His power...
Vox sighed, lacking the energy to ponder why his powers weren't surfacing on his command. Any time he tried to summon them it felt like trying to catch a wiggling, evasive snake. He could sense them slithering in his veins, a deep, rumbling echo of a force capable of widespread, unfathomable destruction. His antennas refused to obey him, no matter how meticulously he grasped for the radio waves dancing in the air, and his left eye swirled in vain.
They had taken his strength from him. They had chained him to a ravenous, thieving machine that had drained him dry so proficiently his power refused to rise out of fear of being mutilated again. He wasn't good for anything anymore. He could do nothing to protect Alastor should He deign to strike. Weak, pathetic, useless.
He blinked, forcefully dragging himself back to the present and cursing his mind for so easily succumbing to a daze again.
When he finished wrapping his wrists, Vox stepped towards Alastor.
"Well?" he asked, spreading his arms and showing off his fit.
For a moment, Alastor only stared at him. His face was impassive, as was his usual style, but the shimmering gleam in his eyes betrayed his true thoughts.
He took a few steps forward and his silence only amplified the expectant, yet serene tension in the room. With a deep sigh, Alastor laid his palm flat on Vox's chest. His hand brushed the fabric, as though drinking in the sensation, as his eyes raked over Vox's outfit.
"I've missed this look on you." he said after a while, straightening Vox's lapels.
Vox's smile quirked in a lopsided grin as he tried to tamp down the whiplash of wearing his signature clothes after so long. "I take it the blue wasn't up to your tastes?"
"It's rebarbative." Alastor deadpanned, a humorous tilt decorating his tone.
Vox released a breathy laugh. Yet, even as the sound escaped him, he felt a pang of unease worm its way in his conscience. For reasons he had not the time to count, whenever Alastor slightly insulted or mocked Him, Vox's joy would momentarily stiffen. His instincts would flare up, alerting him and keeping him wary of the fist that would soon strike him, of the knife that would soon lace fire across his skin or of the punishing hands that would soon wrap around his throat and choke the breath out of him for even daring to think badly of his captor.
He blinked, knowing Alastor was aware of those thoughts - there was little Vox hadn't told him at this point, believing Alastor deserved the full truth of what had happened - but he wouldn't allow them to dampen the precious, mirthful moments like these. He wouldn't.
As Alastor’s hands fiddled with the collar of his shirt, adjusting it, Vox couldn't help but melt into the touch. He had always been malleable to the comforting sensations of physical contact, but after seventeen years of being deprived of them his body yearned for Alastor, for his warmth and affection. Vox's desire - his hungry need - to feel Alastor, to be close to him, to reaffirm that he was here, manipulated his thoughts like a masterful puppeteer and Vox had no intention of inhibiting it.
Squaring his shoulders, Vox added "Whenever you're ready." He offered his hand for Alastor to take.
"After you." With a satisfied teetering of his head, Alastor locked their hands together and allowed Vox to lead them out of the room.
They descended the staircase together with Alastor occasionally pitching in on information about the rooms they passed. When they reached the bottom floor, they heard muffled voices.
They subtly hid behind the corner of the staircase leading down to the foyer from where the ramblings of a very excited, very stressed out young woman could be heard.
"No, no. We can move the couch over here. It looks more welcoming like this, doesn't it?" Charlie fretted anxiously, fussy yet thoughtful as she seemed to be directing the rest of the crew. "Vaggie? Vaggie, is the spear really necessary? We don't want to frighten anyone. Do you think we should have done something more? Do we still have those banners from dad's visit? No, I think that's way too much."
Oh, dear.
Vox felt his smile warming from the genuine consideration and anticipation brimming from her voice.
"Sweet." he mumbled.
Alastor huffed a laugh next to him. "She is rather." he echoed, gently squeezing Vox's hand. "Should we put them out of their misery?"
Vox raised an intrigued eyebrow as he regarded Alastor. "I never thought I would see the day where you would vouch for ending someone's misery. You've grown soft, Al."
"Hmm." Alastor mused, matching Vox's tone. "Perhaps."
Something in Vox shifted, not an unpleasant tingling, but a foreign one. He analyzed Alastor’s expression and valiantly staved off the jab of grief that struck him at the realization of just how much both of them had changed, how much of Alastor’s life Vox hadn't been present for, of how much of his growth he hadn't been able to witness.
"Oh my god! We should change the carpet, this one is too worn out!" Charlie proposed unhelpfully, breaking Vox out of his musings.
"Yeah, we should go." Alastor urged. "Quickly."
Vox bit back a chuckle. A mere introduction was causing his bones to vibrate which for something this mundane was utterly ridiculous.
Stepping out into the lobby, he felt as though he was stepping back on the live screen with the entire world's attention on him and, for a moment, he allowed himself to believe that plastering a charming smile and acting as someone else wouldn't be as difficult as he thought.
"Charlie!" Alastor called out, alleviating any awkwardness that might have taken over.
The Princess's face instantly brightened and Vox could have sworn literal stars danced in her eyes when her gaze landed on them. She beckoned the others, informing them that their "guest" was here. Vox resisted the urge to fidget from the uncomfortable way everyone gathered in a circle around him.
Alastor stepped to the side and with a flourish of his cane he elevated Vox's figure. "May I introduce you to my dear friend and one of the most distinguished, respected and formidable Overlords to have ever lived in Hell." His voice was dashing and ceremonious. "And Vox, may I officially introduce you to Charlie Morningstar, the owner of this fine establishment, Princess and heir to the throne of Hell."
"Wait, wait-" Vaggie waved her hands frantically in the air. "Vox?! As in the Vox? Notorious Overlord and one of the Vees?"
Her girlfriend however brushed past her with a speed that shouldn't be natural even by demon standards and halted in front of Vox.
"Hi!" she squealed, extending a hand in greeting while unsuccessfully mitigating the jubilation in her voice. "I can't believe Alastor actually brought one of his friends over! It's so nice to meet you!"
"You motherfucker!" Vaggie brandished her spear in Alastor’s face who primly smiled down at her as though it was a regular occurrence - which it probably was. "You invited a Vee into the hotel?!"
Out of the corner of his eye, Vox could quite clearly note the fuming, apprehensive angel ready to pounce on his partner. He hurriedly shook Charlie's hand, hoping to spare Alastor’s face from a gnarly destiny. "It's a pleasure to see you again, your Highness."
Her brows creased and a moment of silence passed as she processed his words. Vox could see the gears in her head overtly working before her mouth dropped open in recognition.
"Holy shit!" she gasped, her eyes blowing impossibly wide. "You're the one who gave me that interview!"
Vox's smile widened and he nodded in confirmation.
"What interview?" Vaggie questioned.
"Vaggie!" Charlie pointed an exuberant finger at him. "You remember that first time decades ago when we went to 666 News to ask for an interview to promote the hotel?"
"Yeah...?" Vaggie winced skeptically.
"Well... Everyone refused until-" The delight that currently flooded her could have illuminated the entire room. "I finally spoke with the CEO and ta-da!" she gestured energetically towards him in a sing-song voice. "-he approved it! All this time I thought it was that guy in the blue suit, but it had been him all along!"
The Princess was practically jumping, her gratitude more than evident.
"Huh." Vaggie tilted her head, pensive, reevaluating her initial opinion of Vox. "That was you?"
"Indeed, it was. Vaggie, correct? You must be the hotel manager?" he asked formally.
"Yes." she replied curtly, but calmer than before.
"Your dedication in protecting this place is honorable." He extended his hand and offered a genial smile. "But, you don't need to worry, I'm not a Vee. Though, it is a common misconception."
He wasn't lying. If he thought a Vee had infiltrated his home he would undoubtedly react just as defensively to protect the person he loved, if not worse. His own opinion of Vaggie had improved exceedingly. Her sharp reflexes, constant vigilance and unreserved care for her girlfriend was respectable.
Yet... even the impression that he was the same person as Him caused an acrid sensation to sweep through his mouth. His hand hung in the air as he waited a few seconds longer for her to concede. With a reluctant frown she shook it, lowering her spear while still maintaining a firm, stiff grip on it.
"There!" Alastor dramatically whisked his hands in the air before poking Vaggie's spear condescendingly. "Always so quick with that stick of yours. Vox here is as affable as any of you and has only the best of intentions in mind."
"Well, the last friend you invited brought an entire mob with her and blew up our windows." Vaggie argued in an acerbic tone.
Vox tilted his head towards Alastor. "Mimzy?"
"Mimzy." Alastor confirmed with a worn out expression.
Vox grinned softly, reminiscent of the spry, free spirit that Mimzy was. Perhaps, one day they could reconvene over a glass of beverage.
Alastor ignored the sarcastic grumble from the angel and instead spared a moment to observe the vacant faces of the rest of the crew which mostly consisted of four people.
The awkwardness that permeated the silence was deafening and Alastor's face dulled in exasperation despite his uplifted smile as he addressed them. "Words are funny things. I've always thought the phrase 'Hello' or 'Good evening' is a far better conversation opener than staring like a fool."
In unison, a cacophony of mumbled greetings tumbled out as though they had woken from a deep sleep. Alastor’s conviction that the crew would be rather inept at conducting themselves normally in Vox's presence had proven correct. Vox again resisted the urge to laugh in amusement.
"Great!" Charlie clapped her hands together and with a sweep of her hand she named the other guests. Vox respectively nodded to each of them and when she finished she lively whirled on him. "Now that we are all properly introduced, why don't we all sit down for a nice meal and get to know each other better?"
"What a marvelous idea!" Alastor indicated towards - where Vox assumed the dining area was - with his cane, herding everyone forth and very ostensibly refraining himself from sighing in aggravation. "Come along now, no point in lurking in the middle of the lobby."
As they walked, Vox used the opportunity to take aside a familiar member of the group. One he hadn't spoken to in seventeen years.
Husk lifted a grumbled eyebrow inquisitively, but once he saw who the person leading him away from the others was, he relaxed.
"Thought you'd check in with an old friend?" the demon asked in a low voice, wanting to keep the knowledge that they knew each other private.
Vox only hoped he wasn't being resentful about their lack of communication in the past years.
"It's been a long time." he answered, though naturally Husk couldn't know just how long it had actually been for Vox.
"You can say that." Husk mumbled and Vox couldn't ignore how weary and jaded the demon looked.
Alastor had told him of Husk's new status as an ex-Overlord and his struggles with alcohol addiction, but Vox hadn't expected him to appear so tousled and fatigued. His image was so far from the refined, pristine Gambling Demon that all of Hell knew to fear, as though the very weight of the world pressed on his shoulders.
"I heard what happened." Vox added, forthright about his thoughts. They had been equals once after all, fellow Overlords who protected one another and formed a semi-stable companionship. Husk deserved Vox's honesty. "-About your deal with Alastor."
The demon barked a laugh, bitter and full of scorn. "Yeah, well..." He raised a beer bottle to his lips and took a long sip before he supplied "It's like you said: 'It's my fault for being dumb enough to gamble all my souls away.'"
Vox slowed down, his muscles nearly spasming from the repulsion that seeped into them. Husk noticed, falling behind to accommodate Vox's pace.
"He told yo-" Vox cut himself off, muffling his blunder. "That... wasn't right." he mammered, not wanting to disclose too much too soon.
"No. It wasn't." Husk bit back. "I could think you had been replaced with an entirely different person when you said that."
Vox froze.
His whole body tensed up, his mind reeling from the sudden bomb Husk just landed on him.
He raked his eyes over the demon's form, wondering whether his choice of words had been accidental or intentionally suggestive.
Husk glanced back at him over his shoulder and the intensity of that intuitive gaze informed Vox that while the demon's reputation might have crumbled, his wit had retained its astute sharpness.
The game was up.
"You knew?" Vox exhaled breathily.
Husk regarded him for a moment, discerning Vox's mannerisms and words. Eventually, he responded "No." He indicated with his head to follow the others, the motion softer than expected which alleviated some of the strain in Vox's body. "I didn't know back then, but now that I'm lookin' at you? ...Yeah, it's kind of obvious."
Vox took tentative steps, mulling the information over as his gaze flicked over the fluffy red carpet. With a humorless huff, he released a very graceless "Shit..."
"Mhm." Husk nodded. Leisurely, he leaned over towards Vox and more quietly whispered "Look, I don't know what happened with you, but whoever that bastard was he fooled us real good." His eyes glazed over as mixture of vague, indecipherable feelings seemingly washed over him. "Even Alastor. It's why he took my soul, he just didn't care about anything or anyone anymore. He didn't exactly handle what happened between you two well."
"Yeah," Vox assented, reaffirming his grip on the mournful sorrow threatening to surface. "I know." Weighing his options and Husk's credibility, Vox decided to add "He - that man, planned it for a long time. I'm sorry for... anything he did in my stead."
"Hey," Husk stopped him with his hand, his features hardening. "I ain't gonna tell anyone and for what it's worth, I'm glad you're back."
Vox raised an eyebrow, yet a serene, soothing sensation coaxed the stiffness out of his muscles at Husk's admission. "Really?"
Then, Husk laughed, an earnest, throaty laugh, before he said "Hell, yes. Alastor’s been way less of an ass since you came back."
Vox snorted. He had dreaded this conversation, haunted by all the wickedness and abuse the TV Demon had inflicted on Vox's closest confidants, but now that it was over, he felt a heaviness being lifted off his shoulders.
"Thanks."
He didn't allude to Husk's deal again, as Overlords they were both aware of how these situations were handled. So, in comfortable silence, they entered the dining area.
The rich, intoxicating smell of various spices and freshly cooked food wafted through the air. The warmly lit room was fairly spacious and ornate, with a long table in the center which had already been set up. Vox's gaze instantly landed on Alastor who was waiting patiently with his hand laid on an empty chair.
Vox sat next to him and winked impishly down at Alastor.
The other lifted his brows in curiosity and Vox knew Alastor was aware of his and Husk's conversation.
Vox nodded wordlessly, indicating that everything had flowed well.
The tension in Alastor’s face eased up and in return he nodded back understandingly.
Before Vox could even ascertain his surroundings, an enthusiastic, impatient voice rang through.
"Okay, now that we are all together, Vox, Alastor-" Charlie took a long, steeling breath before she unleashed a flurry of accelerated, rapid questions. "So, how did you two meet? How long have you been together? Have you been staying at the hotel this whole time or did you visit on occasions? Were you two friends before you started seeing each other - Oh! Are you seeing each other or is it casual? Tell us everything!"
"Babe-" Vaggie interjected with a hand on Charlie's shoulder. "Remember what we talked about."
Her words were chiding, but her tone was gentle, intended to mollify Charlie's incandescent, animated energy. Charlie reclined in her seat, visibly staving off the need to probe for answers further.
"Right. Of, course. I'm cool." She took a long, deep breath to emphasize the veracity of her statement.
"Nah, I wanna know." A third voice spoke up.
Vox turned his head towards the chairs opposite him and was met with an attractive, tall figure. His four arms were adorned with pink gloves and his attire had been chosen deliberately to accent the fluff on his chest in a provocative display. His expression was sharp, as though his eyes pierced straight into Vox's soul in a way that made him overly self-conscious and flushed.
He must be Angel Dust, Vox concluded.
"Come on, let's hear it toots." The spider added, meeting Vox's gaze. He propped his chin on his upper hands as he rested his elbows, drawing closer over the table. "You must be quite the catch for Smiles to take a shine on you. Tell us somethin' about yourself."
Vox didn't understand why he was being so intent on targeting him specifically, but he pushed the thought to the back of his mind for later.
"Well..." Vox began, side-eyeing Alastor to gauge his expressions. They had worked through the story they would deliver and all the intricacies that might arouse suspicion, so Vox was quite confident in what he would say. "I was born in the 1900s. I was married at a young age and I spent most of my adult life as a housewife."
Vox resisted the urge to grin upon observing the perplexed expressions as the demons examined him up and down. Revealing that he had once been a woman had always been an unfailing method to filter out any pestilential company and as a powerful Overlord he had never needed to fear being accosted for it. Besides, he doubted an assorted, unconventional group such as this one would find issue with him.
"Oh, sweet!" The funky, buoyant girl sitting next to Angel - Cherri, Vox recalled - piped in. "So, you were married before getting with him?" She pointed to Alastor. "What happened to the ex?"
The question was bold, but luckily Vox wasn't too sensitive on the topic. He just hoped no one would ask him if he had had any children. He wasn't very eager to delve into how he used to secretly drown in pills, spend thousands of dollars, blackmail a handful of people, book countless doctor appointments and undergo very illegal operations to prevent that from happening to his body.
"Oh, I killed him." he said casually.
Silence descended on the table as everyone gaped at him. Vox could feel Alastor’s silent laugh from next to him and decided to allay the horrified tautness of the room.
"I'm joking!" he added playfully and only when their reactions appeared to be soothed did he say: "It was an accident. I had a persistent habit of tinkering with the electronics in our house - mechanical engineering had always been a fascination of mine. I couldn't go to college to study it, women rarely had the means, money and opportunity back in the day, so my only outlet was the equipment I managed to snatch. The friends I had hadn't approved of it, naturally, it was difficult finding like-minded people at the time. Then, one evening - sometime in the late 1940s - I was in the process of disassembling the TV when I accidentally electrocuted both me and the man I lived with."
Vox hadn't experienced many occasions where he could freely disclose the story of his former life, but he found he quite reveled in the stupefied, transfixed gazes directed at him. The untouched food on the table was getting cold.
"When I arrived in Hell, which was no surprise, I hadn't been the most sin-free person in life, I didn't bother looking for him. He wasn't a bad person, not to me, he was just the average, condescending man that I had no interest to reunite with." He wrung his hands, as he elucidated. "I had a fresh start. A new face, a new head, no one could recognize me. I started my own company and it quickly began to prosper."
"So, at what point did you meet Alastor?" Angel briskly nagged.
Ah, the important questions. "Not long after."
"Indeed." Alastor joined in, balancing the conversation and lessening some of the burden from Vox. "I called his company and requested a service. Low and behold! The man himself knocked on my door. The rest dear friends," He concluded with an enticing nod of his head. "...was history."
A frail sniff sounded from the room.
"That's..." Charlie wiped a stray tear from her eye. "That's so lovely."
Shaking off the surprise that the girl had actually gone teary eyed, Vox forced a smile in appreciation.
"Uh huh, uh huh." Angel mumbled monotonously, his expression studious. "And I'm guessin' you met again when Alastor over here trashed V Tower."
Vaggie audibly scowled.
Alastor only shrugged his shoulders. "Yes we did. Quite the coincidence, wasn't it?"
"Right..." Angel groaned, unsatisfied. "Definitely, not a few days before that?"
Alastor clanked his fork against his plate, eliciting a ringing sound that grated on everyone's ears. "I'm quite sure." he sneered, his upper lip curling in distaste and scorn.
Vox was also taken aback, now slightly worried whether Angel's deal with Alastor lent him keen insight, knowledge and opportunity to reveal them.
Then, Angel asked the dreaded question that filled Vox's lungs with acid.
"-and mind telling us why you look and sound like the guy from the TV?"
Suddenly, the curious attention from an entire table of people transformed from exciting to downright terrifying. Vox couldn't allow them to see how weak he was. He couldn't allow the clawing, snarling beast of despair and fear to knock him down.
The air congealed. His lungs fought to breathe normally and Vox threaded his fingers to keep them from fidgeting.
He was supposed to be stronger than this - he had been stronger than this. Now, he was nothing but a fragile whisper of something that had once been meaningful - whose fake smile kept dwindling with each passing second. A porcelain doll, glued and stitched together, that shattered into pieces anytime someone spoke the name of the person who first broke it.
"What an odd question." Alastor guffawed and Vox realized in embarrassment how long he had remained quiet. To nullify the awkwardness, Alastor reached over and began to put food on his plate.
"How is it odd?" Angel rebuked defensively. "They even have the same name!"
Vox chewed the inside of his cheek, now feeling interrogated rather than interacted with. Why was the demon so insistent on grilling him for information?
Alastor had told him his steady rapport with Angel had been rocky ever since he had attacked V Tower, but Vox had apparently underestimated the extent of Angel's indignation and resentment.
Now that the encumbering buzzing had slightly dispersed from his senses, Vox could quite clearly notice the uncomfortable tension between Alastor’s and Angel's icy gazes. They both appeared intent on staring the other down and the animus that suddenly diffused into the room nudged him to speak.
"He was an employee." he heard himself saying. He just needed to stick to the script he and Alastor had formulated. "I hired him to take over in my place while I took a vacation. There was no need to force everyone to readjust to a new CEO so we agreed that he will use my name as well."
"So, you are the CEO of VoxTek?" Charlie asked for clarification.
"Mhm."
"Okay," she mused. "That's so cool."
"Isn't it?" Alastor echoed, and to anyone else his tone was insouciant, but Vox caught the slim strand of pride that the demon wove through his voice.
Vox eyed him closely and he felt his screen warm up when Alastor returned his gaze with equal adoration. The way his eyes exalted Vox's actions, as though Vox had been brave, caused his body to shiver with goosebumps and the thick cloud of shadow that had momentarily shrouded him before slowly ebbed away.
"Yeah..." Angel's brows furrowed as he seemed to be reflecting. "...how the Hell did Alastor pull you?"
Vox laughed. Charlie and Vaggie groaned in tandem while Alastor appeared to be glaring daggers in the demon's direction.
"Much appreciated." Alastor ground through gritted teeth.
"I'm just saying!" Angel lifted his hands placatingly. "Don't get me wrong you're hot as hell babes - like, really hot. But, you get what I mean?" He pointed towards Vox and opened his mouth to defend his argument again when his gaze caught on Husk. "You've been quiet."
The demon slowly looked up, irritated that his attention had been forcibly drawn back.
"I'm too old for this." he slurred lazily.
Vox doubted Husk's lack of contribution was due to boredom rather than his reluctance to not accidentally disclose something he shouldn't, whether out of respect for Vox or fear of Alastor.
Angel's face twisted in incredulity. "The fuck you mean you're too old for this?" The pitch of his voice rose comically high. "Apart from Cherri you're the youngest one here!"
A painful, agonizing moment of silence fell upon the table.
Husk's face was emotionless, then, almost robotically, he rotated his head to coldly assess each resident of the hotel. When he returned his gaze back to Angel, his expression was filled with horror.
"Oh my god."
Alastor shook his head, abandoning his fork in favor of pinching his nose in disappointment.
Vox extended a hand under the table and laid it on top of Alastor’s thigh subtly enough to not be noticed. Alastor peeked out of the corner of his eye and smiled softly at him.
Shifting in his seat, Alastor laid his palm over Vox's hand and comfortingly squeezed it.
Keeping his voice low, Vox whispered "I've never known many people who were able to get under your skin like this."
"Is it that obvious?" Alastor asked, almost imploring for his question to be refuted. "How embarrassing."
"Hmm." Vox hummed as he brushed his knuckles against Alastor’s hand. "One might think you're fond of them."
"Ha! What a laughable notion." Alastor glanced at Vox knowingly before he continued to eat his food in undemanding silence.
"Mhm." Vox eyed him with interest, unconvinced.
The next couple of minutes passed in comfortable chatter. The atmosphere itself was unexpectedly... homely. Vox presumed the demons were fond of each other, but the sheer relaxation that radiated from their body language and manner of speaking to one another surpassed his impressions.
However, that sense of peace violently got disintegrated when Vox made the mistake of grabbing his knife.
It was an instinctual reaction. He took the knife to cut his veal, but now that he held it, he realized what a fatal miscalculation that had been.
His hand hovered in the air, his knuckles white from the strain of gripping the blade so fiercely. He couldn't move. He couldn't speak. His body froze in place as images of his own skin being slashed open flashed in his mind.
He felt the exact moment Alastor’s gaze landed on him and he nearly recoiled from the shame. Alastor had seen him in far worse conditions, but watching him breaking apart in public over something as simple as a damn knife unleashed a torrent of suffocating, searing lava in Vox's chest.
No.
No no no no, he can't allow this to happen.
He can't allow everyone to see just how broken and pathetic he truly was now. This was exactly what he had feared. The aplomb exterior that he had maintained up until that moment fiercely crashed down as his mind petrified from the pervasive memories.
A blinding, blue light achingly blazed down on him. Vox's senses had practically dulled from the pain and his eyes could no longer focus from the gruesome damage the demon on top of him had been inflicting for hours. He whimpered in fear and heart-wrenching dread at the flickering gleam of the blade as it descended on his chest again, prepared to slice off another portion of his flesh.
Vox snapped back to the present.
In mounting horror he realized his hand was blatantly shaking, his whole body racked with tremors. His breathing had quickened, raspy and shallow as his heart harshly pounded against his ribcage.
"Say it." The man ordered him mercilessly. - the one who had stolen everything from him, the one who had been torturing him relentlessly for years for no other reason than self-indulgent fun. "Say how worthless you are."
His throat burned. He tried blinking in the desperate hope that the motion would anchor him to reality.
"I'm- worthless..." Vox sobbed out, his voice sickeningly punctured, his breaths coming in short, heaving wheezes as he fought for air. "-Please!"
Distantly, he felt something caressing his thigh, but he couldn't focus on it, he couldn't escape the heavy blanked of distress and terror that draped over him and darkened the rest of the world.
Everything hurt. There wasn't a part of his body that hadn't been beaten or bathed in his blood. The sound of his chains clanking invaded his mind, his hands unable to stay still - further over-stimulating him.
His entire vision wobbled, causing the world to tip to the side disorientingly. Vaguely, he felt beads of sweat forming on his forehead, but he couldn't move. He just couldn't move!
"Again." The man demanded.
He was falling. He was going to shatter and Alastor would eventually stop trying to pick up the pieces. No one would want to be obligated to such a disappointing, pitiful excuse for a sinner.
"...I'm worthless."
He was worthless.
He just wanted it to stop.
He was worthless.
That blazing, gut-twisting, blue light invaded his mind, drowning out his surroundings. All he could see was blu-
...
... was red.
Vox softly gasped. In front of him was a giant, curious red eye that encompassed his entire vision.
Vox leaned back, staggered. The small maid - Niffty, had climbed on top of the table in front of him and decided to wordlessly stare.
"Hello." Vox stammered flatly, slightly alarmed. His voice was winded and shaking and he gulped, trying to steady it.
She and Alastor were two peas in a pod with their unsettling habits to get in people's faces and just stare. Vox had only ever met her on rare occasions after Alastor had obtained her soul during the last few years before Vox had been taken. But, from the way Alastor spoke about her, Vox knew she was special to him.
"Hi." she responded, and while her tone was friendly, her persistent gaze was no less nerve-wracking. "How are you?"
The question slightly caught him off guard, but it really shouldn't have. She had probably noticed his empty, far-away stare and trembling form. Internally, he kicked himself before mustering his will to answer "I'm... good." Then, a clarifying thought popped in his brain and he added "You... were the one who helped Alastor with my wounds... weren't you?"
In all of his life and afterlife, Vox had never seen someone's expression light up so vividly. If he thought Alastor’s smile was glowing, the innocent, wholesome one that the demoness currently directed at him caused his heart to melt.
"I am!" she exclaimed elatedly. "You were a mess. I'm glad you're feeling better!"
"Yes, Niffty has been quite the angel lately." Alastor piped in, but he didn't hide his worried expression. "I honestly don't know what I would do without her."
She tilted her head coquettishly, enjoying the attention, and Vox’s posture had slightly relaxed, having deemed her presence benevolent and enjoyable. Her unorthodox method of distraction - whether intentional or not - had lifted that harrowing, bleak daze he had unwillingly plunged himself into.
"I never properly thanked you for doing that." Vox said softly, his heart calming down. He hoped his balmy tone relayed his gratitude.
For both of her rescues.
"Well..." she drawled as she rocked her feet back and forth over the table's edge. "I wanted to come and see you, but I didn't know if you wanted any visitors."
"Oh." Vox hushed, genuinely surprised by her consideration.
"Also, Alastor wouldn't let anyone in."
"Ah."
He spared a moment to simply breathe as his pulse slowly returned back to normal and the trembling in his limbs began to diminish. Evidently, the shock of having a gigantic, piercing eye thrust right at his face had somewhat grounded him.
"You can come and visit if you want." he proposed quietly, and her reaction was instantaneous.
She beamed, her smile shining brighter than the sun itself as she gazed in wonder up at him.
"Yes!" She jumped up, her tiny body vibrating. "I can show you my bug collection!"
Her eye blended from a gentle, harmonious red hue into a frightening, crimson color. Vox nodded quickly more out of a sense of self-preservation than anything else. She was a small sinner, but Vox had a sinking feeling she could be quite creative with that pointy needle of hers.
Before they could continue their conversation, a shrill, narked voice rang through.
"Just because you have fucking back problems doesn't classify you as the oldest!" Angel complained, his voice growing in volume.
Had they been arguing about that this whole time?
"It should." Husk deadpanned with evident irritation.
The two demons continued to bicker, the topic drab and insignificant. Vox allowed his gaze to wander over to the Princess and saw her deeply engaged in a conversation with Vaggie.
A moment passed in dense silence as Vox realized that thankfully, no one had witnessed him getting enveloped by his past, horrendous memories.
No one... except Alastor.
Niffty had disappeared from her place in front of him, leaving him alone with Alastor. When Vox glanced towards his face, he could have sworn his heart nearly split in two.
The demon's eyes were glistening. His brows were knitted together and his concerned gaze was locked onto Vox. No matter how many times Alastor saw him breaking down, no matter how many times he held him through the worst of it or how many sweet, comforting words he whispered in his ear, Vox still felt guilty for being such a nuisance.
Alastor would reassure that he wasn't of course, but that only deepened Vox's guilt.
He didn't deserve him.
He didn't deserve that care and affection that Alastor showered him with daily. He didn't deserve that worried gaze, or that tense posture prepared to end the entire ordeal and take Vox somewhere secluded, or that gentle caress on his knee. His mind couldn't compute how someone as breathtaking and impressive as Alastor could still love someone as filthy and...
...worthless as him.
He really was worthless.
A tear slid down his cheek.
Vox immediately turned his front away. Fumbling for an excuse, he occupied himself with taking off his jacket and draping it over his chair.
His hands were still shaking and the sight only fed the thick lump gnawing up his throat. He tried to swallow around it, desperate to tamp down the flood of tears threatening to spill.
Oh, how he had hoped to avoid this. He had overestimated himself.
Unable to excuse himself for fear of spurring any suspicion, yet unable to compose himself, stuck in a boiling standstill. He licked his lips, not having the strength to look at Alastor, but he knew the demon could see everything.
Vox was embarrassing him. He couldn't even eat a simple meal without crying. He usually needed Alastor to remind him to eat since Vox wasn't even capable of sensing his hunger and thirst, he had relegated both of them to the floor because Vox couldn't sleep in a bed without crumpling into a shivering, cowering mess.
Alastor deserved so much better. He deserved to be happy instead of being burdened with Vox's issues.
No matter how many times he blinked, the tears kept coming. All he could do was try to muffle his haggard breathing. His chest rose and fell unevenly and his eyelids were shot open in an attempt to dry his eyes which flitted aimlessly around the room.
Then... something tender brushed against his cheek.
Vox looked down and softly exhaled when he saw a thin tendril of shadow wiping away his tears.
The gentleness with which it caressed him caused another wave of tears to cascade down his screen. He gripped the handle of his chair, racked by a wicked flood of mixed emotions he didn't have the energy to untangle.
The tendril kept lovingly caressing his face, and after a few minutes, Vox managed to subdue his crying long enough to look at Alastor.
That same empathetic, heartfelt gaze met him and in that moment Vox realized that Alastor wasn't ashamed of him, not in the slightest. Of course, he wasn't. He had never once shown any remorse, disdain or derision when Vox had been hit by flashbacks. All Vox could see in his expression was pure, unconditional love.
He was wonderful, and Vox couldn't comprehend how someone as successful and respected as Alastor was still choosing him even as broken, spoiled and fallen as Vox was now. He couldn't understand how Alastor wasn't disgusted by him or his touch. He couldn't understand how Alastor still wanted to hold him so dearly, to cup his face, to kiss his temple. Impossibly, Alastor loved him.
Alastor’s devoted caressing and resolute stare calmed him down slowly. After a while, Vox took a few deep, fortifying breaths and nodded his head, indicating that he was alright now.
Alastor smiled warmly at him and the shadow vanished.
Using the cover to tie his shoes, Vox ducked under the table and roughly wiped at his eyes. When he deemed them sufficiently dry, he resurfaced and put a smile on his face again.
They ate in uneventful peace and Vox relayed a silent thank you to Alastor for... everything.
His body had relaxed, though slightly drained, and his mind had liquefied. Vox used his fork to cut up his meal, discarding the knife entirely. The more time that passed, the more at ease he became.
The rest of the day was filled with merry chatter, the occasional almost-resulted-in-violence insult, earnest laughter and immersive anecdotes where Vox mostly took the lead. Angel appeared to be satiated for the time, and Husk had kept his promise about keeping their secret. Several times throughout, he was forced to dispute the theories and reaffirm that - no, Alastor had indeed not kidnapped him or had nefariously threatened him to play along which Vox found quite amusing. Alastor did not.
Overall, they all got to know each other better and Vox could gladly admit he enjoyed himself a great deal.
When they were done, Vox spared a few minutes to thank Charlie for welcoming him and letting him stay at her hotel.
"Oh, pff." she waved her hand dismissively. "You're more than welcome here! And if there's anything you need, just let me know."
Vox swirled the glass of whiskey in his hand, mulling over her words.
"Actually..." he began before his manners could catch up with his mouth. "There is one thing."
Charlie gasped. She took his hands in hers and stepped closer. "Yes? What is it?!"
He shouldn't bother her with this, she had already graciously given him more than he could repay. But, perhaps with what he could gain - with this auspicious request he might have a chance to settle that debt in the future.
"Since I'm... retired." he detailed, choosing his words carefully. "I don't have access to my private workshop anymore and I was wondering if you could lend me the space and materials for me to resume my work?"
Charlie listened with rapt attention. She hummed in thought as she rested a finger against her chin.
"Hmm... Well, I suppose... I could give you Pentious' old workshop." She scratched her chin, as though she was deliberating on the decision as she spoke. "Sure! Why not? He... won't exactly be needing it anymore..." Her face turned downcast and her voice dropped mournfully at the memory of her friend's death. "And it's taking up a lot of space."
Vox refrained himself from brightening at her words. He had missed working, as odd as that sounded. But, he had always loved his job, how the computer components slotted together like puzzle pieces, how his fingers flexed in anticipation when testing a new program, how the tools fit perfectly in his hands like they belonged there, how his focus would sharpen so intensely the rest of the world faded into the tumultuous river of time.
"Thank you, Princess." He extended his hand, his habits for professionalism taking over. "I hope someday I can return the favor."
"Don't worry about it!" She accepted his handshake with equal respect. "Now that you're staying here we will have so many more opportunities to spend time together. I can't wait for you to join the hotel's activities! It's going to be so much fun!"
The joy shimmering in Vox's heart screeched.
Oh.
Oh, she was good.
Alastor had warned Vox she would try to enroll him in her redemption program, he just hadn't expected her to accomplish it so stealthily. She might appear naïve and gullible, but the fires of Hell burned in her blood. Vox would do better to remember that.
Yet, the negotiation being a crafty transaction rather than a favor eased his conscience.
She rocked on her feet gently as she directed a light, innocent smile at him.
"I'm sure it will be." he conceded, unable to restrain the grin from stretching across his face, impressed beyond belief at her wiliness. "Until then, I wish you goodnight."
"Goodnight!" she waved at him. "-Oh, Alastor!"
Vox followed the direction of her gaze and was met with Alastor's approaching figure.
"Yes, dear?" he asked, standing next to Vox.
"I wanted to talk with you about something." she folded her hands in front of her.
Vox took that as his cue. He downed the rest of his drink and whispered so that only Alastor could hear.
"I'm going to eavesdrop."
"I know." Alastor said smoothly.
Vox squeezed his arm before bidding Charlie goodbye.
Once he exited the dining area, he verified that everyone else had retired to their respective rooms and inconspicuously darted behind the doorway.
Pressing his ear against the wooden frame, he did his best to remain quiet as the sound of Charlie's muffled voice reached him.
"-two seem really close." she said, her tone skittish.
"One could say that." Alastor answered flippantly, prudent not to disclose exactly how close him and Vox truly were should anyone decide to use the information against them. Vox doubted that Charlie would, but during these times - while both of them were hunted by three of the most powerful beings in Hell - they aren't going to test their luck. "I can see that you approve of Vox? Splendid! He really does make pleasant company, doesn't he?"
"Uh, yeah..." Charlie sighed uncomfortably. "We all like him, he's great! But, Alastor..." she paused briefly, letting the silence hang heavy in the air before she asked "Who is he?"
Alastor chuckled low, feigning amusement. "Why, he told you, dear. Should I fetch him so he could retell his story?" he concluded patronizingly.
What a cheek, Vox thought.
"No." Charlie said flatly, her eyeroll obvious even through the doorway. "I meant... who is he to you?"
Vox stiffened, feeling Alastor’s disconcertion.
"I mean," Charlie amended, perhaps having sensed the inappropriateness. "He's the boss of your archenemy, and you say you've known him for a long time and I can't help but feel like he means a lot to you."
Vox's breath hitched. Not at Charlie's analytical mind, but at what she said about Him.
Archenemy.
The word circulated incessantly in Vox's head, rebounding through it with a freezing bite. The ground felt distant, as though the world was falling away from him.
He had known something had happened ten years ago that had ended the relationship between Alastor and Him, but Vox had imagined their mutual opinion of the other to mostly consist of unadulterated loathing. Alastor hadn't told him they were archenemies - that he had lived ten years with Vox as his archenemy.
"Yeah, there's also the cupid eyes you two are hurling at each other." A third voice spoke plainly - Vaggie's. "You're not subtle."
She and Charlie seemed to be joined at the hip.
"I see someone has changed her tune." Alastor snapped back, matching her sarcasm. "I seem to remember you were very convinced I had oh, so cruelly abducted him."
"I'm still holding onto that theory."
"So, you're calling Vox a liar?" Alastor prodded, needling her temper.
"No." Vaggie groused, agitated. "I'm saying there's more to him than what you're telling us."
They were persistent, Vox will give them that.
Another beat of silence bounced through the room.
"Well, come on." Vaggie insisted impatiently. "Spill it."
"I hardly see how the specifications of my affairs are anyone else's business." Alastor deflected, clearly growing annoyed at their questioning.
"It is our business because you're jeopardizing the hotel for him." Vaggie groaned, now trying to promote her rationality. "Look, we don't know what's going on between you two - frankly, we don't really care - but, you fucked up our chances for an alliance with two very influential Overlords. And you also put Angel's safety at risk. So," she stomped her foot, standing her ground. "Who. Is. He?"
Faintly, Vox heard Alastor’s sigh and a pang of sympathy washed through him at how they had cornered his friend.
"He's..." he trailed off, searching for a response.
Vox wouldn't know how to answer that question. What would he say to avoid igniting Charlie and Vaggie's interest further while not outright lying? Even if those factors weren't taken into consideration, how could Vox possibly abbreviate their relationship? Alastor was his best friend, his colleague, his oldest and most trusted confidant, his business partner, his romantic lover, his lifeline, his main reason to live and the most vital and irreplaceable person in Vox's life.
What description could possibly do Alastor justice?
Vox breathed against the stillness of the atmosphere.
Then, Alastor relented "...he's my friend."
Vox's heart melted.
Alastor knew Vox was listening, his answer had been intentionally chosen. Charlie and Vaggie might not understand the significance of Alastor’s admission - they might even be disappointed in it - but Vox knew the underlying sea replete with care and affection hiding behind it.
Vox might be his partner in every aspect of Alastor’s life, but above it all, he was his best friend. Vox viscerally felt all of his muscles dissolving into jelly as the most tender, vivifying sensation spread through him.
While the response had been involuntarily extracted from Alastor, his words weren't any less beautifully, agonizingly candid.
"You saved him." Vaggie stated bluntly, but her tone was softer. "Didn't you?"
"Oh, I wouldn't call it saving." Alastor corrected, fully lying now. "I simply helped him out. It wasn't my fault I had a few obstacles and unfortunate bricks in the way."
"Alastor..." Charlie teared up, her voice watery.
"Now, if you two are done pestering me," Alastor knocked his cane against the floor, making his willingness to end the conversation known. "I have some business to attend to."
A shuffled thump resounded from the room accompanied by a startled help distorted by high-pitched static.
"I'm so proud of you..." Charlie sniffed as she - apparently, hugged Alastor. "I knew you didn't kidnap anyone..."
Vox could only imagine and silently laugh at the other's discomfort, intently aware of all the sinners Alastor had stuffed in his fridge in just the last two months.
"Yes. Yes, I'm sure." he clucked his tongue. "And to think Vagatha, you had been so angry with me."
Evidently, the demon couldn't pass up an opportunity to toy with their guilt and torment them a little further. Oh, he was a proper bastard.
Vox released an unreserved, breathy laugh this time, shaking his head.
"That's not my nam - fuck it."
"All those dreadful accusations." Alastor continued, utterly relentless, his tone taunting. "All of that rage directed at someone who had done something good. Tsk tsk." he paused, like a martyr starved for drama and chaos. "And I never even got an apology."
Vox covered his mouth with his hand, stifling his laughter. He couldn't put into words how much he had missed this impossible man.
"Still an asshole..." Vaggie huffed in disbelief and resignation.
"Hmm. I'm sure you could do better than that." Alastor poked, obdurate, quite keen on putting the integrity of his face on the line in exchange for some entertainment.
"No."
"Not even a teensy, small apology?"
Vox was quite certain the sound of Vaggie grinding her teeth could've been heard even at the uppermost floors of the building.
"Fine." she exhaled begrudgingly, but Vox could sense she wasn't as irate or spiteful as before. "I'm... sorry."
Alastor hummed in contemplation. "See? Was that so hard now?"
"I hate you."
"Duly noted, dear."
The clicking sound of footsteps echoed into the lobby and Vox retreated before the door opened.
Alastor stepped out, collected and unaffected, and his eyes lightened up when they locked onto Vox. An invoiced message passed between them before Alastor wordlessly took Vox's hand and enveloped both of them in his shadows.
His surroundings faded away as Alastor led them through the never-ending, disorienting darkness. Vox still remembered the first time Alastor had offered to teleport him with his magic and how afterward Vox had spent several nauseating minutes hunched over as he tried not to hurl.
However, now the journey passed as light as a summer breeze and before Vox knew it, they found themselves back in their shared room.
Alastor stretched his arms with a groan and Vox would have teased him with a witty comment, but his mind was still seized by that one haunting word.
Archenemies.
"Tell me." The words escaped him before he could stop them.
Alastor turned towards him, his eyes widening with genuine puzzlement. "Hmm?"
Vox shouldn't be troubling him with this, Alastor deserved to tell the story on his own terms. He had already sacrificed so much for him, his respected reputation as an Overlord, his good standing at the hotel, he had risked his life trying to eradicate those three sinners and he had nearly been killed. But, Vox needed to know. He needed to know what had happened between Alastor and that demon all those years ago that had caused a rift so great and irrevocable it labelled them they as archenemies.
"She called you archenemies." Vox said quietly, furtive.
Alastor’s expression slacked, becoming numb as he understood where the conversation was headed.
"Yes." he admitted, awfully calm.
Some thorny, poisonous part of Vox's frayed conscience abated at Alastor’s concordant tone, relieved they shared the same opinion.
Vox inhaled in an attempt to moderate his breathing. "You never told me that."
"I know." Alastor remained level-headed, but Vox could sense the sharp pang of guilt interwoven through his words.
"I want you to tell me what happened that night." Vox gripped his elbows and planted himself firmly in place, rigid and unwavering.
Alastor didn't object. On the contrary, his posture exuded commiseration as he sensed the air in the room grow thick and stale. A dense, oppressive silence seeped into every crevice, every object, every piece of furniture as both of them understood the weight of what Alastor was about to relay.
"I want you to tell me everything."
Notes:
About the leaks... I won't post ANY leaks or allude to them in any way whatsoever, the notes and the fic will be spoiler free <3. I know there's some authors and artists changing their headcanons and their works to better suit the course season 2 is gonna take, but I've decided not to do that with this fic. I've had this story in my mind for months and I have it all planned out so I won't be changing anything, and if there are some aspects or decisions that might resemble any of the leaks (I haven't seen all of them so I can't be sure) then it is 100% accidental.
(Also, if there are some phrases and sentences similar to the ones from Alastor's pov it's probably intentional because I wanted to capture those parallels between them)
Also, I know Vox's characterisation is a bit mild, but I plan to flesh it out in future chapters given that right now he's mostly focused on healing and not crashing down so he can't actually be free to be himself <3
Chapter 12: A trust undying
Notes:
I just want to say I am cherishing each and every single kudo, comment and bookmark! Every single one is deeply loved and appreciated <333
TW: Violence, aphobia, emotional abuse and non-consensual drug use!!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"I want you to tell me everything."
As soon as the words left Vox's mouth, a chilling shiver spread through his whole body as the anticipation in the room congealed the very air.
Alastor exhaled, fiddling with the top of his cane. After a few moments, he lifted his head and gulped.
"Very well." He tossed his cane unceremoniously onto the bed before he plopped down on top of it. Crossing his legs he said "You should take a seat."
Vox viscerally felt a wave of regret mercilessly wash over him at the reluctance and discomfort in Alastor’s voice. Whatever had happened between him and that demon had been so terrible that even ten years later Alastor shrunk in on himself from the memory and it caused the guilt crashing against the walls of Vox's crippling conscience to deepen further.
"You don't have to," Vox quickly amended, softening his tone despite the brewing turmoil of burgeoning dread in his gut. His steps were slow as he walked over and sat next to Alastor, the mattress dipping under his weight.
"No, no." Alastor lifted a hand up, twisting his body to better address Vox. "You're quite right. I shouldn't have withheld it from you for so long. You deserve to know."
Vox nodded, understanding. "Okay." He lifted one of his legs and rested it on the bed, getting more comfortable.
"It's a shame I don't have a picture box of my own to show you." Alastor idly laughed.
Vox lifted a lopsided smile in support. "No it's not, I like your face just as it is." he whispered, his voice crystal clear in the undisturbed privacy of their room.
Alastor huffed, flattered. The tension in his body slightly loosened and Vox breathed out as a sliver of relief pooled in his heart.
"How I ever survived seventeen years without your endearment I will never know." Alastor admitted, his tone low as he gently rested a comforting hand on Vox's knee.
The warmth from Alastor's palm seeped into his skin and he felt the tautness of his muscles thaw from the pleasant sensation.
"Hmm..." the demon crooned as he tenderly began to knead Vox's knee, the motion absentminded.
From the way Alastor's gaze seemed lost in thought, Vox surmised the touch mostly derived from some need to ground himself. Therefore, he gave him as much time and space as Alastor needed.
Alastor’s brows pinched as his pensive expression remained affixed for several long moments. Finally, he steeled himself and began to speak.
The garish, neon blue and purple lights of the Tower illuminated his form as he blankly stared up at them. Their otherworldly, almost sickly hue blazed in his mind like a foreboding greeting that reeked with unwelcoming, insincere assurance.
It was hideous. Alastor had expressed so one numerous occasions, but Vox had stopped caring for his opinions a long time ago. Rivulets of scorching acid cascaded into his veins at the memory of how much he had lost, how much Vox had changed, how the palliative memories of his gentle words, his soft touch and his tender gaze seemed so distant.
Alastor would often wonder if they were even real or if they had always been a pitiful figment of his imagination. But, even in his wildest, most agonizing nightmares, Alastor could never have predicted the person Vox would become. He could never have been able to detect the rot of never-ending greed and insatiable avarice gradually corrupting the restraint, wit, charm and overall wonder Vox had been brimming with when they had first met.
Alastor shook his head. He didn't want to think about this anymore. He didn't want to think about how good of an actor Vox had been or how well he had managed to fool Alastor and morph him into nothing more than a stepping block to aid him in his ascent to power.
He wouldn't be so easily fooled again. Vox might have invited him to his private penthouse - the one Alastor vehemently despised for it was a reminder that Vox had stopped caring about him, that he had moved out of their shared, cozy apartment in exchange for a lustrous, opulent suite, one devoid of Alastor’s presence - but, Alastor knew it was only so the demon could repair their crippling partnership.
It wouldn't bode well for his company if he didn't have Alastor on his side now would it? Alastor thought bitterly.
He didn't even want to be here, so he forced himself to gulp down the lump of hurt in his throat and calmly walked towards the entrance of the building.
Its interior was even more atrocious than its outward appearance. Alastor squinted against the blinding, white lighting of the pristine, spotless halls. He hoped the lobby was the only room cursed with such a lifeless, passionless appearance as he numbly made his way to the elevator.
The secretary at the desk didn't stop him, either for lack of caring or from some admittedly well-developed self-preservation.
Good. Alastor thought. They should be afraid of him. Vox might have eviscerated his sense of self-worth and caused him to question the motives and honesty of every confidant and every interaction, but he was still The Radio Demon.
The thought lifted his chin up, restoring some of his frail pride back into his posture. That dwindling dignity was the only thing he had left. He didn't know who he was anymore, Vox had been the main, vital source of light in his life and now that he was gone Alastor was left all alone to aimlessly dwell in an unforgiving, cruel darkness.
It was infinite. A wailing, insidious chasm of despair always prepared to drag him under. Often, Alastor would get swept by the urge to embrace it, to take the first step and plunge himself in that doom in the hope that maybe it would stop the merciless pain. Once, he had reveled in his cold, icy reputation and unapproachable demeanor, but after Vox... Alastor didn't want to be so alone anymore.
His head snapped up when he heard the tell-tale ding of the elevator doors. Dissipating those ever-present, pernicious thoughts, Alastor stepped into Vox's flat.
Robotically, he stopped in front of the scanner built as a part of Vox's security system. 'Standard procedure' the demon had called it. Alastor emotionlessly spread his arms out as the piercing blue beam trailed down and up his figure as though he was a stranger, a potential threat Vox needed to be wary of.
When it finally finished processing his identity and the absence of weapons on his person - despite Alastor having no need for them - the automatic doors swung open and allowed him in.
The room was impressive and grand, polished surfaces adorned every corner along with sleek, dark blue sofas and a matching couch situated in the center of the room. There was not a speck of dust to be seen, not an object out of place. Vox's pictures of them together which the demon had once been incorrigible about placing on every piece of furniture possible were now nowhere to be seen. Most likely stored away in a dank, humid basement, carelessly left to wither and decay. Everything was tidy and in order, the epitome of success and ambition.
The room was dimly lit, the only light protruding was the one belonging to the city outside and the wall of monitors on Alastor's far right which cast a crepuscular, freezing glow over the space. It made him feel cold.
"Alastor!" A voice called out to him.
All of a sudden, the frost creeping into Alastor’s heart melted at the sound of Vox's voice - joyous and happy to see him.
He turned to him with a warm smile and pointedly ignored how his fingers anxiously flexed over the head of his cane.
"You came!" the demon beamed. Approaching him, Vox flung a comradely arm around Alastor's shoulders and pulled him close. "Wonderful, I wasn't sure you would."
Alastor’s eye twitched. Why exactly wouldn't have Alastor come after being invited? He clenched his teeth, tamping down the seething sigh that threatened to expose his true thoughts and instead relaxed into Vox's restrictive hold. It wouldn't be sensible to begin the visit with them arguing. Again.
"Of course, I did." he replied, blithe. "Now what's this thing that you wanted to talk about, dear?"
Vox raised his hands flippantly. "Oh, it's nothing serious. Can't a guy schedule a date with his partner?" the demon laughed, but Alastor felt the thinly veiled, sardonic implication beneath the words.
"Of course, you can." Alastor murmured through exhausted lips. "Well, you know I always have time for you."
He hated this. Alastor had always been someone who used his smile as a weapon and he reveled in surrounding himself with like-minded people who adapt the same habit. But, he had never felt the need for it with Vox. He hated the underlying uncertainty of their interactions now. He hated how he couldn't surrender himself to an easy flow of jesting, laughing, drinking and talking as he once could, both of them free and careless to be themselves. He hated how Vox hid his every thought and feeling beneath a glossy, brittle veneer of amity that always concealed some ulterior motive.
Nonetheless, he tried to be gentle with Vox, still desperately clinging to the hope that they could rebuild what had long been reduced to rubble.
Vox only directed a saccharine smile at him. He said nothing as he squeezed Alastor’s shoulder and laid a soft kiss on his cheekbone.
The tenderness of the motion coaxed the tension out of Alastor’s muscles. If he could just stay in the moment with Vox's arms wrapped around him, his words thoughtful and considerate, his attention on Alastor as though nothing else mattered, then he would because he knew it wouldn't last. He didn't protest when Vox led him towards the sitting area and offered him a drink.
"I see this little empire of yours is thriving well." Alastor piped, amiable as he observed the amber colored liquid in his glass.
"Not so little." Vox smirked as he sat down next to him on the leather couch. The demon winked at him while crossing his legs and taking a sip of his beverage.
"So, I see." Alastor took a generous sip of his own.
The liquid burned his throat and he gladly welcomed the distracting sensation. He had to admit, Vox's cutthroat, crooked methods had earned him a business that flourished exponentially. Alastor had never seen the city shine so brightly, as though Vox had reached to the skies and brought down a dazzling, effervescent galaxy of iridescent lights and technology into the city's once barren core.
He stared at Vox’s figure, languid and controlled, like someone who had all the time and authority in the world. Alastor admired that ambitious streak, but Vox's hunger had faded from the calculated, patient kind to the reckless, rapacious one that longed for any scrap of power it could lay its grubby, little hands on. Vox had always been an Overlord who strived to be ten steps ahead of everyone else - which had earned him Alastor’s rare respect and placed them as equals - now, he was a dog chasing a bone and slowly building its castle of skeletons, biting and lashing out at anything in its way and running so fast it couldn't see the path ahead.
...or the path it left behind.
"How have you been holding up?" Vox suddenly asked, his tone mellow.
Alastor’s attention flashed back to the present. "Right as rain, my good fellow." he smiled wide, trying to gather his will against the onslaught of fondness that reeked from Vox's familiar, gentle expression, knowing how easily it could turn sour... "In fact, I have a couple of candidates that have... involuntarily volunteered to star on my broadcast this evening." he chuckled low and menacing.
Vox followed him with a deep laugh of his own, though Alastor guessed it was mostly intended to humor him. Vox had stopped accompanying him on his broadcasts a long time ago.
"How delightful." the demon rumbled, rocking his leg leisurely. "I'll make sure to tune in."
Alastor raised his glass. "Then I'll make sure to put on a good show."
For the next several minutes they simply talked. The atmosphere was peaceful, the raucous, drilling sounds of the wailing city beyond almost subliminal in its invariability. They discussed topics ranging from any nature, from the weather down to the new mobile phone prototypes Vox was diligently working on. One glass of liquor turned into two, then three, after that Alastor had stopped counting.
He had forgotten how downright gratifying spending time with Vox was. His mind was fuzzy from all the harmless banter and shared humor that simmered between them. For the first time in a long time, he found himself wearing a genuine, heartfelt smile.
Currently, Vox was raving about how he had finally managed to find a competent, moderately-intelligent assistant while listing off all the previous ones' failures and inadequacies. Alastor listened lukewarmly, his half-lidded gaze habitually assessing Vox's figure.
His attention perked up when Vox abruptly mentioned "He's good, I'm telling you. He managed to organize and settle your entire suite in less than a week."
"My suite-?" Alastor interrupted him, shaking away the lethargic feeling in his bones as he straightened up. "Whatever do you mean 'my suite'?"
Vox's eyes brightened. "Ah, well..." he grinned, a cheeky, excited grin that for some reason sent alarm bells ringing in Alastor’s discombobulated head. "Remember how we talked about you moving in here, right? I may or may not have cleared an entire floor and reallocated it to you."
Alastor immediately sobered up.
His indignation was so strong he could only silently gawk at the other. Then, he laughed, loud and forced.
"Oh, Vox." he clutched his chest in an exaggerated show of amusement. "I never agreed to it, and I remember explicitly telling you that I do not have any interest whatsoever in moving in this building. I deeply apologize for any inconvenience, but I doubt it was due to any misunderstanding on my part." He leaned back in his chair, his tone conclusive. "I have been upfront about my stance on this matter quite plainly."
For a moment, Vox just stared at him. His face was impassive, yet even in his slightly inebriated state, Alastor managed to catch the barest grinding of the other's jaw.
Eventually, Vox huffed, petulant. "Look, I get that it's a big change, but think about it." he leaned forward and all of a sudden Alastor got swept by that debilitating feeling that he indeed was nothing more than a potential business associate Vox was coaxing into a deal. "You and me, working together again? I think it's pretty swell, we were so good before-"
"Vox." Alastor intercepted him again. "I'm afraid I must insist. Working together again would be splendid, but not from here."
He could only hope his tone wasn't bordering on threatening. He didn't want this to escalate, they were having fun, they were enjoying themselves. Alastor didn't want to crack the illusion that they were still as close as they once were.
He just didn't understand why Vox was so persistent. Alastor didn't owe him an explanation apart from lack of want, but in truth?
He was afraid.
He was afraid that if Vox managed to wrap his greedy claws around him and keep him under his supervision day and night like he seemingly did with everything else that caught his eye, then Alastor wouldn't be able to see the world beyond the confinement of those fingers. He didn't want to be melted into the infrastructure of VoxTek, he didn't want to be regarded as just a business asset, a collectable, to become nothing more than a toy the company could exploit and take advantage of. He didn't want to lose himself.
Apparently, Vox wasn't satisfied with this response.
The demon braced his elbows on his knees, a worn out expression etched on his face. He sighed exaggeratedly and Alastor bristled from the strain of preventing Vox's exasperated demeanor from making him feel small, as though he was an irrational child that needed talking sense to.
"Why... can't you see that I'm trying to help us?" Vox whispered, agitated. "That I'm trying to fix..." he gestured frustratingly between them. "-this."
And just like that, the peaceful, carefree illusion shattered.
Alastor knew that tone, and he remembered with perfect clarity the tetchy, tempestuous attitude that would follow afterward, bringing with it burning slights, jabbing insults and guilt-tripping pleading.
"If you ask me," he reasoned, blinking against the wave of dizziness that washed over him after every uttered word. "I think that effort is long overdue."
"Ah, hmpf-" Vox guffawed with an insincere smile. "Are you serious?"
Alastor steeled himself against the other's accusing lour as the searing fire of regret and hurt sparked in his soul again. They both knew where the conversation was headed now.
With a scoff, Vox stood up. He walked behind the armrest of the couch and glared down at Alastor "You can't seriously still be mad about that?"
Alastor tilted his head confidently, fully aware of how the motion irked the demon.
"Oh, for fuck's sa-" Vox broke off, ostensibly trying to moderate his anger and irritation. "I told you. There's nothing romantic going on between Val, Vel and me. It's only sex."
Alastor raised his eyebrows condescendingly. "'Only sex'. Oh, how silly of me, that makes everything so much better." he quipped, his tone brisk and terse.
The demon looked as though he was about to explode. If Alastor listened intently enough, he was quite sure he could hear the ticking sound of a bomb prepared to blow.
Then, Vox's expression smoothed out. He closed his eyes, his hand raising to pinch his nose. "How many times are we gonna have this conversation...?" His voice bordered on weary, as though Alastor was inconveniencing him with his burdensome, ridiculous taking of umbrage that the person he had spent most of his life with had cheated on him.
All of a sudden, Alastor forgot why he was even here.
"I hardly see why we need to." Alastor supported his head on his fist, the embers of his durability waning with every passing second.
"Well, I certainly don't want to drag it out, but you're clearly still pissy about it." The demon took an encouraging swig of his drink. "I don't understand why you're being so difficult, it's not like you've ever put out."
He lifted his glass to take another sip and Alastor suppressed a wounded flinch when he heard the demon mumble "goddamn virgin prick" under his breath.
"That's bold coming from you." Alastor hissed defensively. "Should I remind you that - mhm..." Another wave of nausea hit him, causing the world to tip to the side. He cursed himself for drinking all of that alcohol as he tried to freshen up. "-that you were the one who stopped accompanying me in bed?"
Alastor couldn't remember the last time they had slept together. Seven, eight years ago perhaps? The bottomless pit of loneliness dug in his unstable heart was almost tangible, he missed holding Vox, he missed falling asleep with his arms around him, he missed gliding his hands over Vox's soft skin, he missed Vox's warmth as their bodies lay flushed together under the covers, he missed the safety of being encompassed by him, he missed the way Vox threaded his fingers through his hair and peppered feather-light kisses on his forehead.
He said none of that. He couldn't even handle the thought that all of it had been nothing but a lengthy hassle for Vox to endure just so he could obtain Alastor’s good favor.
He can't think about that lest risk falling to his knees and sobbing till the next dawn broke through.
He just... can't.
Vox only grimaced, waving his hand vaguely in the air. "What's the fucking point?" he huffed a facetious laugh then broke off at seeing the seriousness on Alastor's face. "I mean... look, it's fine if you don't want to do it. I told you before I don't even want you to if you're not comfortable, but come on?" He raised his hands placatingly. "You didn't actually expect me to stay fucking celibate forever?"
A painful, agonizing silence transcended over the room. Alastor only stared at Vox as he felt the blood abandon his face.
He felt cold.
He felt gullible.
He felt another piece of his fragile soul flaking. Just another dead, ephemeral speck of insignificance being swept away by the immutable winds of time.
"Right..." Alastor blinked slowly, defeated. "Of course, not..."
At the end of the day, Vox had proved to be nothing more than an average, entitled man who believed Alastor was depriving him of something owed. And Alastor was stupid enough to believe he had ever been anything else.
He wanted to go home. He wanted to go to sleep and forget everything.
Suddenly, he felt the overwhelming urge to simply... lie down. The sleek surface of the couch appeared welcoming and Alastor regarded it with the deliberation of plopping down on it and shutting his eyes. Would a quick nap cost him anything? He was quite certain Vox wouldn't mind...
Something bright and blue swept through his vision.
Alastor leaned back. The image before him was fuzzy and he blinked incessantly in an attempt to clear it.
Vox had sat on the table in front of him, his face a short meter away from Alastor's.
What the hell was wrong with him? He hadn't drank that much had he?
Faintly, he felt a gentle pressure land on his leg. He looked down and saw Vox's hand softly caressing his knee.
"Alastor..." the demon purred, and the endearing way he said Alastor’s name nearly caused Alastor to sag forward into his hold. "I love you."
Alastor tore his gaze away from Vox's hand, embarrassingly aware of how long he had probably been staring at it.
Vox only reaffirmed his soothing ministrations as he placed his other hand on Alastor's other knee.
"I love you." he reiterated firmly. "I care about you and I want to be with you. I want you back, baby."
Alastor resisted the revulsion from crossing over his face. He hated that pet name, it was just a reminder of how much Vox had adapted to his new business associates and their vernacular.
The demon continued, heedless of Alastor’s inner thoughts or overall discomfort. "I miss you and I really think we could do better if you moved here with me. I know I shouldn't have lied to you about Val and Velvette, you're right, but you can't let your emotions ruin us." Vox progressed from stroking his knees to caressing up and down the length of Alastor’s thighs, the motion a soothing consolation that ignited an inexplicable heat in Alastor’s gut. "We can be together again. Just join me - join us, and we'll be on top of the world. You and me, a power unlike any Hell has ever seen before."
Vox's words flowed undisturbed through Alastor’s mind, tranquilizing it with their sweet, honeyed promises and adoring affection. He barely noticed just how close they had gotten, their faces barely inches apart.
Alastor could feel Vox's breath skittering against his skin and his mouth dropped open with a soft gasp. He felt warm. The collar of his shirt was too tight. His clothes stuck to his skin agonizingly uncomfortably and all he wanted to do was rip them off.
The illuminating, magnetizing glow from Vox's screen encompassed his entire sight, the pixels on it dancing with delicate chaos. It felt like Vox's monitor was the only thing preventing Alastor’s vision from swimming. The rest of the world died away, faded into the background behind an ethereal, intoxicating blue star of hope embellished by the most stunning eyes Alastor had ever known.
The boiling heat in his body amplified at the sheer beauty of Vox's face as his gaze appeared permanently pinned to Alastor's.
Slowly, Vox drew closer.
Alastor followed his motions, lulled by the calm that permeated the atmosphere, and softly brushed his lips against Vox's.
The demon responded to his invitation, deepening the kiss with spirited fervor.
Alastor firmly locked his lips against his, the movement full of desire and want. He sighed in ecstasy when Vox encouraged it, advancing further.
Vox's tongue slid out and licked Alastor’s bottom lip, exploring the smooth skin. Alastor exhaled, his pulse quickening as his heart began to thrum erratically in his chest. He could hear it in his ears, a frantic, incandescent beating that sent a jarring spike of concern through him. But, just as quickly as that unease sprouted, it wilted under the pain that bloomed on his lip when Vox bit down, hard.
Blood spilled into his mouth and Alastor groaned in pleasure. He pushed back against Vox's efforts, their mouths colliding in a wet, passionate display of need.
Alastor relished the pungent, metallic taste of his own blood when he felt Vox's tongue slithering past his lips, seeking further access. Alastor mindlessly opened his mouth before he could even properly think about it, allowing Vox to glide their tongues together. The demon spared no restraint as he kissed him, as he grazed the underside of Alastor’s teeth, as he savored the taste of him, as he licked, nipped, bit and took.
Alastor barely processed the time that passed or the movement of his own body, his control silently slipping away from him. Vox wasn't gentle. His lips pressed harshly and sloppily against Alastor’s and his tongue was merciless in its determination to taste every inch of Alastor’s mouth. Alastor wouldn't normally enjoy this, it was loud, rough and lewd, but Vox was an irresistible, cool balm against the vexatious burning that had sprung up in Alastor’s veins, his soothing hands a calming frost against the fumes stewing under Alastor’s skin.
Vox kissed him deeply and Alastor's eyes snapped open when the demon abruptly pulled back.
Two hands on his shoulders prevented him from falling forward in his chase for Vox's warmth.
Alastor peered beneath his eyelashes up at Vox, his eyes drooping as they gazed into the other's rich, crimson ones.
He tried to steady his breathing, his brows furrowing from the prickling in his lungs as they fought for air. That kiss must have been undiluted in its devotion to leave him so lost and breathless.
He felt like he had run an entire mile. Why was it so difficult to breathe?
"My dear," Vox's dulcet voice broke through the muddy haze, drawing Alastor’s attention back. "Just look at me. There you go, just focus on me."
Alastor did exactly that, straightening his posture to better accommodate his starving gaze.
"Vox..." he murmured and blinked in surprise at how hushed his voice had gotten.
"Stay." The demon demanded, his tone syrupy. His hands gently took hold of Alastor’s and he tenderly squeezed them as he whispered "Stay with me. I need you, I miss you."
Alastor tightened his own grip on Vox's hands, his heart shriveling from the very thought of leaving him again.
"It's not a good ide-"
"But, it is." Vox insisted, shifting his hands to softly grab Alastor’s face and steel it towards him.
He shouldn't encourage this. He shouldn't allow himself to fall for Vox's pacifying, disarming promises. His soul still bore the wounds of how taxing living with him had been, his memories still carried the stress Alastor would feel whenever Vox returned home, his fingers still twitched whenever he recalled the long list of degrading, insulting words Vox had carelessly hurled at him.
But... what if Vox had just needed a change of pace? What if Alastor’s constant company in that small, ordinary apartment had been suffocating him? It wasn't the first time this idea had circulated through Alastor’s head, but now as he paid witness to Vox’s gentle caresses, his sweet invites and his endearing smile, Alastor doubted his initial judgment.
"It's true that we haven't been perfect, but I know you still want this. Just stop being so stubborn and let me fix this for us."
Vox’s voice hardened, but it didn't deter Alastor, his mind weighed by a guilt so heavy he feared it would drag him deep under a dark, terrifying ocean of despair and culpability. It was his fault for pushing Vox to anger so inconsiderately, after all. Vox deserved better than this. He was simply asking Alastor to move in with him.
Because he wanted to be closer to him.
Because he loved him.
Why was Alastor denying him that? He didn’t even remember why they had ever broken up in the first place as the salty ocean water trickled into his lungs, every oppressive drop expelling the residual air. Bile rose in Alastor’s throat at how selfish he was currently being. Vox was right. Their relationship wasn't unsalvageable, they could mend it if they tried.
Alastor shivered from the realization. He didn't care about the past, instead he followed in Vox's footsteps and looked toward the future.
"Okay..." he found himself saying, his voice echoing from somewhere faraway.
"Yes!" Vox beamed, and the radiance that shined from his vibrant, overjoyed expression caused Alastor’s heart to melt.
In that moment, Alastor knew it had all been worth it. He would agree to anything Vox asked of him if it meant he received that happiness as payment.
"Yes! Yes, yes, yes." the demon repeated like a mantra, as though his excitement prevented him from being convinced of this wonderful reality. "Excellent! Alastor, thank you!"
Alastor smiled, warm and genuine. He hoped his appreciation showed even though his smile didn't quite reach his eyes for some unfathomable reason.
"Oh, this is good. This is great. Okay, now I just need you to sign this-" Vox trailed off as he placed something in front of Alastor. "It's the lease, for your new flat." The demon sharply added "Don't look at it, just look at me."
Alastor obeyed. He would gladly spend the rest of eternity looking at Vox. The demon's captivating, silky voice was the only thing Alastor could hear. His surroundings didn't matter. Alastor was quite sure he wasn't even processing them anymore. He didn't care. He just didn't care. All he wanted to do was look at Vox.
"Yes. That's right. Just like that." Vox was saying. Alastor preened under Vox's approval, elated that he was finally doing something right.
Distantly he felt his hand moving. Was he already signing the lease? If he was, Alastor relaxed. It meant he would soon be with Vox again.
"That's it, baby. Keep going." Vox kept praising him. "Almost there. Oh, you are not gonna regret this, trust me."
Alastor smiled wider, knowing for a fact that he would never regret thi-
He stopped.
Vox's left eye was swirling.
Horror crashed into every cell in his body, dousing it with an acid so potent Alastor swore his flesh was decaying where he stood.
With an audible gasp, Alastor recoiled.
"Whoa, easy!" Vox implored, his tone balsamic. "Al... are you alright?"
Alastor gaped at him, his muscles enervated and stiff, his lungs begging for oxygen as he heaved in air that refused to grace him.
Vox's eye had been swirling!
Sheer, unfettered panic gripped him. He scrambled backwards in his seat, frantically trying to put space between them. Vox only looked at him with concern which caused the mind-numbing screeching in his ears to increase tenfold.
He kept his body turned away from Vox, his posture distrustful and askance. His eyes raked over his form, noting every twitch and movement, desperately hoping he had only imagined the dreaded image.
"Alastor...?" Vox reached for him, but a sharp, high-pitched, utterly distressed screech of static sent him sitting down again.
Alastor's vision could narrow better now that he had distanced himself from Vox's screen, he observed how the room uncontrollably swam around him. Everything was disorienting. He couldn't focus. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think.
"You-" he heard himself mouthing in dread. The static distorted his voice so hideously his words were barely comprehensible. "You were..."
Vox's unwavering attention only amped the inner turmoil burrowing deeper and deeper in Alastor’s frail, erratic heart. He didn't know what was happening. He didn't know if he could trust his own damn mind anymore. He wanted to scream. He wanted to shout and yell and break and claw and bite and he would have done all of it, but then his eyes landed on the unfinished glass of bourbon on the table.
Before he knew what he was doing, his body sprang forward to grab it.
Vox grumbled something to him, but Alastor ignored him, his sole focus now on the glass. He remained mute as he took a few steps away and examined the liquid. Bringing the glass to his lips, he took an experimental, tentative sip.
His eyes widened at the sweet taste.
How hadn't he noticed before? Had Vox spiked it on the later refills, or had it been drugged the entire time?
Alastor slowly raised his head to look at Vox, pure horror etched on his face.
Now he knew why he had grown so tired, why his body felt like it would pass out any second, why the entire world spun out of control, why his bones felt like jelly and what that nauseating heat roiling in his gut was.
With this sickening knowledge he barely managed to prevent himself from hurling and the ruinous wave of paranoia and fear explosively reformed into a fury so calamitous it could have disintegrated the entire tower.
The air crackled with static as Alastor strode to pick up the paper Vox made him sign.
"Wait-" Vox reached for him but Alastor sharply whisked him back with a swipe of a summoned tentacle.
The document crinkled under the force of his grip as he scanned it.
...it was not a lease.
His breathing deteriorated and his hands gradually began to shake as he read each word.
It was a soul contract.
His ears pinned back as his eyes skimmed through it obsessively, drinking in each diabolical term and condition that guaranteed Vox's utter and complete control over Alastor's mind, body and soul to do with as he wished. And at the very bottom of the page, stood his scribbled, unfinished signature.
'Alast'
Alastor exhaled in relief. His breathing turned shallow and quick, his brain liquefied as his bones vibrated like nothing he had ever felt before. Boiling, hot lava pooled in his stomach, making him pointedly alert of the shaky ground getting ready to swallow him whole.
Not wasting any time, he violently tore the document into smithereens. Seething, he snapped his fingers and the remaining pieces of paper lit ablaze, the unnatural green glow blasting through the dim, blue space.
No emotion, anger, sadness or shock could ever hope to surmount the agonizing, gut-wrenching betrayal that crashed into him. Words haven't been invented yet to describe the whiplash and crippling horror that seeped into every inch of his being. He didn't even know what he was feeling, he couldn't even gather his wits let alone untangle the jumbled, untamable mess that were his scattered thoughts.
He couldn't even bare to think what would have happened if he had finished signing his full name. With a bitter, heartbreaking realization, he wondered how long Vox had been planning this. His intention to butter Alastor up with sweet, mollifying words while silently drugging him - not too much to knock him out but just enough to make him pliant and susceptible to later hypnotize him sent a torrent of hurt and betrayal so strong Alastor wondered how he was still standing.
He didn't have time to ponder those venomous thoughts as Vox fiercely gripped his shoulders and spun him back around.
He roughly yanked Alastor towards him and aggressively ordered "Forget everyth-"
Alastor struck him with his cane.
The demon reeled back with a pained grunt, clutching the left side of his screen.
Alastor blanched as he felt all the life abandon his body. He had never, ever hit Vox before.
He stepped back, his eyes blown wide in shock and his mind confounding at what he had just done.
He tried to reason with himself that it had been instinctive. That Vox would have done far, far worse to him if Alastor allowed him to go through with the hypnosis, but it didn't allay the gut-wrenching disgust and blood-curdling anguish from clawing at his insides.
He froze on the spot when Vox lifted his broken screen and looked at him.
His expression was nothing short of pure, stricken rage.
Any apology or accusation that he would have offered died on his tongue when Vox summoned a sizzling ball of electricity and violently threw it at him.
Alastor stepped to the side a split second before the sphere struck the space where he had stood.
He didn't have time to think. He didn't know what was happening or why Vox was doing this.
With a vile, infuriated yell, Vox hurled more electricity in his direction.
Alastor dodged each of them, his body working sorely on adrenaline and instinct. He couldn't even properly stop to regulate the scorching pain that writhed in his soul as the room flashed from the hateful, blazing strikes.
The tiles crumpled behind him, the furniture steamed - fire lacing the ignited fabric - as glass shattered in every direction.
Finally, he vanished into the shadows and quickly reappeared behind Vox.
Before the demon could notice him, Alastor summoned the tentacles residing in the ether behind his back and rammed them into the demon's back with full force.
He watched with unabated anger as Vox flew across the room and crashed into the nearest wall.
A plume of dust and debris scattered around him. With a pained groan, the demon pushed himself up, rolling onto his hands and knees.
"You..." Alastor strode towards him before he could gather himself. "-traitorous, craven little worm!"
He directed the tentacles to wrap around the demon's waist and sharply threw him into the opposite wall.
Again, the sound of an anguished yell of distress resounded from where he landed and Alastor barely managed to subdue the horror and revulsion that erupted in him.
He was hurting Vox, he was hurting him badly.
He didn't want to be here anymore. He didn't want to do this or prolong this dreadful, horrible encounter any further. He cursed himself for ever coming here, he cursed himself for ever falling in love, he cursed himself for ever meeting Vox in the first place.
He panted, labored and rattled. Shaking his head, he turned away, but before he could disappear a searing pain singed in his shoulder.
He toppled to the floor with a surprised groan. He tried to stand up, but was slammed back down when a crushing weight settled on top of him.
He felt biting, cruel claws dig into his shoulders before an excruciating, unbearable wave of electricity racked his whole body.
For a moment, all he could see was white.
He didn't know how long had passed until Vox let up on the charge. His vision swam, the drugs in his system exacerbating the disorienting sensation. His muscles twitched and spasmed, suddenly extremely exhausted as his lungs begged for air.
He could do nothing but keen when his body was rolled over.
His head lolled to the side as Vox leaned over him. He grit his teeth when Vox's hands found their way around his throat.
"You ungrateful bastard!" The demon barked, his grip tightening mercilessly. "Do you have any idea how patient I've been with you?!"
Alastor frantically began to claw at Vox’s hands, marring his skin with deep, gruesome gashes as he tore at his sleeves. Warm blood dripped down his arms and onto Alastor's neck.
"V...Vo-x..." Alastor croaked, his voice choked and wounded.
Weak wheezes left him as his sight darkened. The splendorous blue light from Vox's screen that had once been a heavenly image, now only caused him abject fear.
"You've always been such an annoying pain in the ass." Vox continued to smolder, baleful poison dripping from every word. "Fuck! I should have done this ages ago!"
Vox's hold was brutal and with a heartbreaking, grievous realization Alastor understood there was no going back from this.
Vox wanted him dead.
No matter how violently he kicked or punched at the stranger above him, Vox remained unyielding. In a last, desperate attempt he popped several menacing moppets from the shadows. He prayed for freedom as they ambushed the man strangling him.
When Vox stumbled back with a startled yelp from the onslaught, Alastor gasped heavily.
He coughed and spluttered as his chest heaved in air.
He already felt bruises forming on his skin. He hurriedly scrambled back, putting space between him and the struggling demon setting his moppets ablaze.
Light, airy cotton breezed in his empty, panicked mind. His eyes flicked aimlessly over the room, uncertain of what he should do. He knew there was no love between them for a long time now, but he had no idea how much Vox had loathed him.
Despite his efforts, Alastor felt tears gather in his eyes.
His breathing increased even faster, a storm of misery raging in his chest that valiantly aided that perennial dizziness that just wouldn't go away. The only thing that currently kept him awake was the piercing spikes of adrenaline and stress that were pitilessly shooting through him.
In front of him, Vox battled the last of the moppets, the rest having been reduced to useless ash. His clothes were tousled and torn up, red blotches soaked up the fabric in various places and shards of glass sporadically fell from his screen.
On shaking legs, Alastor managed to stand up. His shoulders burned in unendurable agony, his focus enfeebled, his blood polluted from the drugs and his brain spongy from the mounting sorrow and heart-splitting betrayal.
He wasn't going to last long like this. He clenched his teeth, unable to even worry that they might crack as he realized he needed to get out now.
With a twist of his hand, the tentacles on his back shot forward.
Vox's eyes widened when they swiftly wrapped around his limbs. He struggled as they wrenched his hands together and flattened them over his chest. Another pair of tendrils coiled around his legs and used the leverage to drag him towards the ground.
The demon glared at him as he fought against his restraints with dangerous vitriol. His belligerent expression was not one Alastor had ever prepared to be directed at him.
Alastor stared down at him with blank devastation.
"To think," Alastor whispered, the calmness of his voice disparate to the turbulent storm of dismay and agony in his fragile, broken heart. He gulped, steeling his tone. "- that I once thought you to be the most impressive person I have ever met."
He narrowly dodged a stray bolt of electricity as the demon before him vigorously strained against the tentacles.
"But, your insecurity," Alastor resumed, ignoring the tear that cascaded down his face. "Your insatiable greed and deplorable need for attention and approval have ruined you. Your hunger for adulation is pathetic. You take and take and take and you will not be satisfied until you own the entire world - and... I suppose I admired that about you. I respected it even," Alastor's gaze turned downcast, a reminiscent expression painting his face. "But, you've fallen so low that I can't recognize you anymore. You are drowning in it, this loathsome, insipid chase to advance yourself, to change yourself no matter the result is... a waste."
His hands shook and his throat closed up at finally being able to say what had been haunting him for years. He wanted to shatter every electronic device in the city, every mobile, every monitor, every aggravating camera and above all he wanted to rip that flat television Vox had replaced as his head off his shoulders.
Everything had begun to fall apart ever since Vox had done that egregious upgrade. Whatever maddening program he had installed, whatever blasted malfunction had occurred during the transition that had warped his personality Alastor wanted to eradicate it. He had hoped Vox would resolve it, he had hoped Vox would realize how much he was destroying his own life.
...but, it was too late.
"Such a waste..." Alastor mused, mostly to himself.
Or rather... he mourned, as he realized that no broken bones, or mauled flesh or torn skin could ever contest to the torture caused by memories.
"I swear," Vox snarled, electricity zapping through the tentacles in vain. "I'm going to make you wish you had signed that fucking contract!"
Another tear spilled down Alastor's cheek.
It was time to end this. A full-blown war between him and Vox would undoubtedly demolish the entire building should they unleash their unrestricted detestation.
He walked over to Vox and regarded him plainly, assessing the man's wild, murderous flailing. Then, ignoring the trembling in his limbs and the tears on his face, Alastor leant down and wrapped his arms around Vox.
The demon instantly began to thrash more viciously. He pelted profanities at Alastor of the most vile, heinous nature as he conducted his electricity more proficiently.
Alastor whimpered as the shocks tore through him, but, he ignored those too. Closing his eyes, he reaffirmed his firm hold over Vox and pulled him against his own body.
Oh, how pathetic. Here he was, one of the most powerful Overlords to have ever lived in Hell clutching a past, forgotten image of his best friend. He would have given Vox his soul. He would have given him everything if Vox had simply asked for it.
He had been deceived by a dream, and he didn't know how he will return back to reality again if he ever even could.
Alastor bit his cheek in an attempt to stifle the sob threatening to burst from his throat as he savored the feeling of Vox in his arms.
Vox fought him the entire time.
Alastor continued to hold him close, desperate to feel Vox against him, to feel his warmth, to hug him in an intimate way that he hadn't been allowed to in years, to press his face against his back and pretend he was loved in return one last time.
Just once more.
"I loved you..." he heard himself whispering from somewhere distant and unreachable.
"Fuck you!" Vox sneered, his voice rancorous.
Alastor ignored him as he grit his teeth against the pain of the bolts devastating his flesh. He silently cried, trying to tune out the insults and abuse Vox hurled at him, knowing the man he loved was dead.
Vox... was gone.
Alastor could feel his consciousness slipping away. He could feel his skin beginning to peel off and stick to his and Vox's tattered clothes. The insurmountable, agonizing pain raking through every inch of his body as well as the visceral, profound heartbreak and desolating grief destroying him from the inside were slowly bringing him to the brink of death.
"...I loved you." Alastor repeated, burying his face into Vox's ruined jacket. "-so much..."
He knew he had to leave soon, but he cherished every remaining second. He just wanted a little more time.
His breath stuttered when he felt Vox's power briefly halt. Then, a rumbling began to brew beneath Alastor’s touch.
Alastor's hair stood on end as he sensed the charge building up. The demon was accumulating his electricity, intending to release a powerful, lethal blow to decimate Alastor on sight.
Alastor felt the last, persevering piece of his heart break. He tightened his grip before he finally, softly said:
"...but that wasn't enough for you."
Before that violent, billowing explosion of electricity erupted, Alastor released Vox. He wordlessly disappeared into the shadows and fled the Tower without looking back.
The fireplace crackled as its embers danced through the taut air.
Vox stared at the ground in front of him, Alastor’s words - the detailed story he just relayed spun in his head over and over like a movie. At a certain point throughout, Vox couldn't bare it anymore, he couldn't bear to look at Alastor as the horror, shame, disgust and grief plowed through him with a force stronger than a thunderstorm.
The idea that he had been whimpering and crying incessantly in solitude and agony like a useless corpse while several floors above him Alastor had been fighting for his life was eviscerating every remaining, frail shred of his deteriorating composure. Was this the type of soul-crushing terror and disappointment that Alastor had felt when Vox showed him the day of his capture?
His eyes dried up as the lack of blinking and unremitting, dull staring into nothing was the only thing preventing him from falling apart. He knew that that demon had done something awful to Alastor, but he had never expected his monstrosity to be so prolific and despicable.
"Vox?" A gentle voice breezed through the screaming in Vox's ears.
Vox shook his head, a feeble, naïve hope that he could deny history itself. His shoulders slumped when Alastor laid a tender, concerned hand on his upper arm.
Something in Vox snapped at that moment.
His body dropped to the ground, his knees hitting it with a gruff, audible thunk. He kept his gaze lowered in contrition as he shuffled to kneel in front of Alastor.
He didn't look up at Alastor’s face because he knew he would meet a cognizant, loving expression that Vox didn't deserve. Instead, he timidly raised both of his hands and softly placed them on either side of Alastor’s left leg. He gulped, then shyly lowered his forehead to rest against his knee.
This felt right. He shouldn't even glance at Alastor without his permission. He deserved to be kneeling in front of him. He deserved to be lower than him. He deserved to beg for Alastor’s forgiveness and mercy after what had happened.
If Alastor objected to this display of deference he didn't voice it. The only response Vox received was Alastor resting a delicate palm on the back of his neck.
Vox exhaled, his breath blowing against Alastor's leg. He bowed his head further, surrendering to Alastor's touch completely.
"I'm sorry..." he whispered, poignant and frigid.
A moment of silence infused the space, before Alastor hushed "Oh, my love." His fingers began to gently caress the skin of Vox's nape, the warmth of his touch delightful. "For what?"
"For everything." Vox deadpanned, remorseful.
"Vox. You have nothing to be sorry for." Alastor stated firmly. His other hand found its way on Vox's back and Vox barely resisted the urge to envelop Alastor in the tightest, most protective embrace he could forge. "That wasn't you."
Vox shook his head again. "But, you thought it was." He bit his lip to prevent his voice from trembling with regret and sorrow. "All this time you've thought that I had done that to you..."
"Vox, look at me." Alastor demanded, his voice soft, yet clear.
Vox reluctantly raised his head. His brows creased in despair when his gaze landed on Alastor's sympathetic expression.
"It wasn't you," Alastor murmured as he cupped Vox's face, supporting it. "I know that now. I meant what I said: you don't remind me of him. You are nothing like him."
Vox lifted his own hands and placed them on top of Alastor’s. "He tried to steal your soul, Al." Gently caressing the demon's skin, Vox painfully admitted "I don't know how you can even look at me."
"Because I know you." Alastor retorted confidently. "Because I know the truth now and I know you would never attempt to trick me or hypnotize me like that." Slowly, Alastor’s face lowered to meet Vox's. Alastor’s breath hitched when their foreheads connected and he sighed. "Because I remember how difficult... everything was with him. But, you? You have always been so... easy to love."
Vox's face slacked.
His breathing quickened at the devotion in Alastor’s words as they combated Vox's every inner, deeply buried invasive thought of how worthless and incapable of being loved he was now.
His eyes watered, a plaintive, crestfallen expression etching onto his screen. He began to comfortingly stroke Alastor’s arms when a sudden thought lit in his head.
"Why didn't it work?" he asked quietly.
Alastor raised a puzzled eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
Fighting every starved instinct in his body for Alastor’s fondness, Vox leaned back on his heels as he addressed him "The hypnosis. Why didn't it work for him?"
Alastor’s expression turned thoughtful. His smile upturned in a lopsided, earnest manner before he patiently explained "It stopped working when he told me to trust him," Alastor’s thumbs brushed Vox's monitor as his eyes observed him in endearing, forlorn sadness. "It stopped working because... I already did."
Vox felt the remaining shards of his aggrieved heart shatter further.
His chest held nothing but a dangerous sea of lethally sharp, fragmented glass. He placed his lips against Alastor’s knee, the sensation of his tenderness a balm against the raging, blazing fire scorching his soul.
"It's rather difficult to order someone into doing something when they're already doing it." Alastor chuckled, hurt tainting his wounded humor.
The thought that Alastor had managed to break free of the demon's hold by the slimmest of openings because he had trusted him despite everything, only for his trust to be crushed before his eyes by the most sordid, appalling subterfuge Vox had ever heard of sent a torrent of pain and melancholy so powerful Vox didn't know how he would ever recover.
Vox refused to think what would have happened if the TV Demon hadn't said those two words. He wasn't sure if he could survive it.
Vox closed his eyes, his grip squeezing tighter on Alastor's leg as something he thought to be long dead began to viciously claw out of its deserted grave. He inhaled, feeling something he hadn't felt in a long time.
Anger.
Vox hadn't permitted himself to be vengeful towards that man out of fear, an inflicted mechanism of self-preservation, but this one lone, pathetic excuse of a sinner that would always be remembered as the main causation of all of their inextricable suffering and indelible trauma had separated him from Alastor for nearly two decades.
He felt furious. He felt indignant. He felt hostile.
He wanted to tear that demon into shreds, to fry up every last evidence of his existence until only the odious, cursed aura of his past presence was left. He wanted to annihilate this disgusting, revolting piece of shit that had tortured Alastor, that had abused him for seventeen years, that had belittled and shamed him, that had eroded his confidence so brutally, that had drugged him and tried to hypnotize him into selling his very soul.
"I'm going to kill him..." Vox promised, malicious and sinister. "I'm going to fucking kill him."
His voice was grave, a deep, low growl vibrating through his throat, full of hate and animus. His relentless seething only hampered momentarily when Alastor pressed his face against the top of his head.
"Don't do that." the demon compelled, keeping his voice hushed, but resolute. "You can't kill him. I tried. I tried Vox, but they're too strong." His hands wound around Vox's form. Alastor held him close as he argued, cogent. "It's painful to admit it, but with that pesky eye of his he's more powerful than both of us. It's too risky, and I'm not planning to lose you again."
"Hmm..." Vox rumbled, his fury unable to retort Alastor’s logic. "You've changed your tune." He smiled against Alastor’s leg, his tone impossibly lighter. "I remember this strong-headed demon who challenged three of the most powerful Overlords singlehandedly and nearly killed them all." He tilted his head to the side and regarded Alastor, his expression accusatory. "-without telling me."
"Hah!" Alastor laughed suddenly as the tension alleviated. "Let's just say, having something to truly fight for has sharpened my patience."
Vox grinned up at him, his smile doting as his digital cheek squished against the other's knee. Briefly, his expression drooped as corrosive acid seeped into his gut.
"I should have fought harder..." he found himself saying what had been plaguing him for years. Vox pressed his lips together as his muscles tensed up. "I should have killed him that first night. What he tried to do to you would never have happened if I had."
"No." Alastor swiftly lifted Vox's head in his hands. He cradled it gently as he solidly reaffirmed "No, you fought well. You did everything you could and none of this is your fault."
Tears welled up in his eyes again when Alastor leaned down and planted a caring, serene kiss on his forehead.
"None of it." he stated strongly.
Vox melted into the heavenly touch, his mind still confounded that Alastor wasn't revolted by him, that he didn't see him as that demon and that he didn't blame Vox for any of it.
Alastor’s hands resumed their soft caressing of his screen as he whispered "I hope you understand now why I didn't want to tell you so soon after I found you."
"I understand." Vox nodded fervently, discarding the aching in his knees for there was nowhere he would rather be than draped beneath Alastor’s loving arms.
His skin tingled from the fondness and desire he harbored for him, helpless to avert his unwavering attention. A breathy sigh escaped him when Alastor began to gently caress the length of one of his antennas.
His experienced, familiar fingers sent a delightful wave of pure bliss through Vox's form, thawing the tension in his muscles and subduing the rage simmering in them.
"Alastor..?" Vox murmured, his voice an airy, affectionate whisper as he slumped further into Alastor’s touch. "What... happened after?"
Vox felt Alastor stiffen, his considerate, careful ministrations temporarily halting. He continued to consistently caress Alastor’s leg, clutching it close to his body as he gave the other time to answer.
"Ah," Alastor grumbled after a while. "This is the part I was dreading. I'm sorry, darling, but I'm afraid this won't be a pleasant story for you to hear."
A daunting, alarming chill ran down Vox's spine.
His mind whirled with numerous horrid, anxiety-inducing scenarios, each one more dreadful and foul than the previous. He couldn't understand what could be more unpleasant than what Alastor had just told him. He couldn't understand what could have possibly happened after that would be more awful than Alastor being violently attacked and so sickeningly betrayed into selling his soul by the person he loves.
Hesitantly, he lifted his head to look at Alastor again. His worry must have radiated from his expression for Alastor’s face became unsettlingly antsy as he seemed to search for an explanation.
Vox waited for Alastor with bated breath, his body petrified from fear and apprehension.
What Alastor said next turned Vox's blood cold.
"I died."
Notes:
Sorry... 😬 I think I might have overdone it with the sad and complicated shshshhs
But, hopefully this chapter paints a better picture of why Alastor was such a mess at the beginning of the fic <3
Also, I've had this cliffhanger in mind for AGES and it was so fun to finally write it out <3
Chapter 13: As time goes by
Notes:
Okay, first of all I just want to say I'm sooo so so so so so sorry for the delay, it's exam season and I've been studying day and night (I'm not exaggerating). Hopefully, the next few months will be easier and I'll get to write more yay ;)
Second of all, I apologize for any spelling or grammatical errors in the previous chapter I literally have no idea what happened. I checked the chapter numerous times but welp
Third of all, I don't know why but this and the next one were the most difficult chapters I've had to write so far <3
I had to split Alastor’s backstory into two because it came out super long so after the next chapter we will return back to the present <3
TW: Major character death (temporary) and suicidal ideation
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The city was burning.
Sinners screamed, a dreadful, grating cacophony of inharmonious voices overlapping their pleas for mercy. It felt like walking through a turbulent, restless sea terrorized by a merciless thunderstorm of fear. The waves of their pain crashed against Alastor’s numb mind harsher than screeching metal as he trudged through the squalid streets of Pentagram City.
The Heaven Embassy ticked away as another Extermination Day left its indelible mark on Hell's population. The angels cascaded from the sky, each one as sharp and lethal as an unstoppable arrow aimed with one purpose only: to kill. A petrifying, imperious flurry of death as ghostly as the ashes of destruction falling behind its wicked shadow.
Alastor continued walking.
His ears barely twitched from the horrified wails blazing from every direction. He ignored the gurgling, choking sounds of sinners getting ruthlessly impaled by angelic spears and he ignored the pleas for help from the poor souls crawling towards him, begging him for salvation. His lackadaisical gaze lazily raked over the ruined, blood-stained area.
When it haply landed on a group of angels cornering a sinner against the wall, his smile widened.
He trotted towards his unfortunate rescue. With a swift swipe of his cane, several tentacles unfurled from the ground, thick, powerful and vicious. Alastor barely blinked as he directed each of them in fast succession to wrap around the angels' armored, inattentive forms.
Startled gasps escaped them, but before they could aim their spears towards their assailant, Alastor flung them into the infested skies with merciless expedition.
The sinner before him panted heavily, their eyes blown wide open in shock and terror.
"Th-Thank you...?" they gulped, their voice aggravated and shaky.
Alastor tilted his head, regarding the sinner disinterestedly. He gave them a lukewarm grin as he slowly picked up a dropped angelic spear from the ground. Remorseless, he quickly jammed it into the sinner's heart.
His smile cruelly persisted as he watched the life abandon those scared eyes. When the last gust of air escaped their lips, he finally let go of the weapon's handle.
Their body cluttered to the ground haphazardly. Alastor curled his lips in disgust before he turned away and resumed his previous pace with apathy.
It didn't matter who lived or who died anymore. Alastor had contributed his fair, generous share in snuffing out this rancid crowd, but now even the joy of that gratifying activity lacked fulfilment.
He just couldn't find anything that made him happy. Not anymore. That light extinguished out of his life nearly... two years ago?
Alastor shuddered at the thought. For two years he had lived with a cleaved heart. He wasn't sure he even preserved its shattered fragments or if his chest existed as just an empty, desolated cavern. He didn't even know how he had survived that long.
The screams around him almost served as a balm to quench the bolts of shame piercing him. He knew he shouldn't be feeling like this. Once, he had vaunted his disconnect to love, unaware that love wasn't a strict, unforgiving path that he must venture on or risk getting lost, but a splendorous, utterly beautiful meadow where he could dance with whoever he chooses and however he wants.
Now...?
Now, the flowers had wilted, the grass trampled on and the trees broken down. The sun that always dutifully cherished them with its gentle rays which happily sprinkled gilded veneers atop vibrant petals had gone to sleep, leaving the meadow a barren, cold wasteland shivering in discolored loneliness the vast, dark night sky shrouded it with.
How could Alastor ever hope to find any kind of path again now that the dance had forever finished?
He had tried to shine light on that meadow, but nothing he set ablaze could ever hope to emulate the power and warmth of the sun. He had tried to bathe it in blood - sometimes his own, to soak the dry earth with something familiar and soothing, but it had only darkened the world further as the silent horizon blended with the bleak, oppressive sky.
It tore him from the inside. A hopelessness so profound and aching it sapped all the strength from his bones. Lately, he struggled with simply getting out of bed. There was no point in it anyway. The days held no joy for him anymore. The meadow was ruined. There was nothing waiting for him out there. No one.
He missed Vox... Oh, god how he missed him. Even after what he had done to him. Even after he had nearly finagled custody of his soul in the most nefarious ploy for power Alastor had ever witnessed.
Meandering through these filthy, licentious streets with no destiny, he was little more than another lost, aimless soul waving through the devastation - broken and lifeless, his mind ailing, his heart decayed, his soul withered. He disregarded the sinners falling dead left and right. He disregarded the angels charging at him from all sides and - oh...
...how tempting it was to let them closer.
Just a little closer...
None of the gory agony occurring could match the inner, festering grief consuming him whole. It was horrible. By far the worst sensation Alastor had ever felt. No torture could contest with this pain, no flayed skin, no ravaged flesh, no ripped organs, no smashed skulls or broken bones or torn limbs could be considered less preferable. Not even the screams could fill the harrowing quietness of that forsaken meadow that once brimmed with priceless laughter. Everything was so quiet and he didn't understand how it hurt so much.
It all hurt so much all of the time. From the moment he wakes to the moment he drops unconscious. Every minute of every hour of every endlessly excruciating day.
His listless body obeyed his detrimental thoughts like a helpless puppet pulled on strings by cruel, callous hands, as his legs lead him towards another group of exorcists butchering a helpless sinner.
Alastor stared with vacant solemnity, not caring that they noticed him approaching. That inextricable hurt inside him must have eroded his instincts for he barely managed to dodge a flying spear aimed at him.
The blade singed his arm and he winced, but otherwise remained calm. This was good. He wanted his exterior to match the internal pain curling his guts.
Blood dripped from the open cut. He failed to hone his focus permitting another spear to slice his thigh in quick succession.
He stumbled to the side with a groan as fire laced through his leg. The distraction served almost as a comfort to temporarily banish the image of Vox's face that seemed intent on relentlessly haunting his wasting mind. It felt right, this pain.
He wanted more.
He needed more.
An angelic blade, one crafted from the very virtues woven through the intricate, foundational pillars of the universe itself, stirred an exhilarating thrill that none of Hell's weapons were capable of. Death was the only one who had offered him company through the years, its presence almost more welcome than the loneliness Vox's betrayal left him.
He did nothing to stop a third blade from tearing a new wound into his shoulder. He allowed it. He allowed the pain to overtake his thoughts.
The angels' interest peaked, seemingly puzzled at his bizarre, suicidal behavior. Every horned, metallic head turned towards him. The X's on their eyes screamed like a death sentence in their perpetual condemnation.
His smile broadened as he matched their lethal intensity with his own phlegmatic one. He lifted his cane and tapped it twice. The microphone buzzed to life with a staticky crackle.
"The fundamental things apply," he sung into it, his voice unnaturally steady. "As time goes by."
The angels tilted their heads. Alastor used their confusion to surreptitiously summon tentacles right from underneath them.
"And when two lovers woo," his voice echoed from the speakers, casting a dreamy melody that mockingly clashed with the city's terror. "They still say, I love you."
Finally, an angel charged at him. Their spear gleamed red, but they only managed to cross a few meters before they got swiftly engulfed by a suffocating blanket of shadows that swallowed them whole.
A whiff of dark, black smoke dissipated from where they had stood seconds ago.
Alastor continued with an unimpressed lour. "On that you can rely, no matter what the future brings." his shadows alleviated him of the rains as they began to crawl out from every nook and crevice in the ground. "As time goes by."
A vengeful, valiant roar escaped a second angel. With hatred in their heart, they sprung into the air.
Alastor summoned a tentacle from his back and brutally rammed it into them. The angel crashed into a nearby building, releasing a dense cloud of smoke and rubble in their wake.
Alastor looked down at the dregs of their herd to see another exorcist running towards him.
He parried just in time to avoid their spear. The blade sliced through empty air and the angel yelled in frustration. They began to aimlessly jab at his form, furious.
Alastor expertly evaded their attacks, his body working on muscle memory. Shocked yelps erupted from the other exorcists as Alastor’s shadows sprung from beneath their feet.
"Moonlight and love songs," the tentacles captured the legs of the angel closest to him, locking them on the spot. "Never out of date."
"Shut the hell up!" they shouted, incensed as they stabbed at the shadows in vain.
Alastor had no intention of stopping. He had a broadcast scheduled, after all. With a perfunctory flick of his wrist, the shadows began to sink into the ground.
Even from a short distance away, Alastor heard the angel's breath hitch. They grappled around them, seeking purchase. Ultimately, they could do nothing to stop the darkness from plunging them under, leaving nothing but a dark, bottomless tunnel behind.
"Hearts full of passion," Alastor fixed his monocle, bowing slightly to peer over the edge into the abyss. "Jealousy and hate."
Naturally, none of Alastor’s magic could permanently kill the angels, but their hateful, vain threats dripping with scornful venom shone a transient light on his deserted, dismal meadow. It wouldn't last, he knew. But, at least the brutality distracted him from how unremittingly unhappy he was, from the endless days he wasted in solitude, from the soundless crying of his eternal mourning.
Apathy blazed from his demeanor, but his stupor was quickly shaken when a searing, mind-numbing pain exploded in his lower back.
He toppled to the grimy, dirty ground and winced at the sharp sting that shot through his knees. He snapped his head to the side and his eyes widened when he saw an exorcist looming over him. Their spear shone crimson with his warm blood and the sight evoked a wave of fear in him, something he hadn't felt properly in a long time.
They lifted their weapon above their head and Alastor rolled to the side, missing getting impaled by inch as the blade stabbed into the asphalt.
A crazed, delighted laugh escaped him. "Woman needs man, and man must have his mate." the static in his voice grizzled dreadfully, marred by his fanatical, self-flagellating glee. "That no one can deny!"
The exorcist lodged their spear out of the ground and met him head on. The tentacle on his back swung in a lethal, horizontal swipe through the air and knocked the angel several meters away.
His pulse quickened, his breaths coming in shorter and more rapid. Gritting his teeth, he managed to stand up, his efforts hampered by the agony soaring through his body from the wound.
It was divine.
The chase for survival, the uncertainty of tomorrow, the electrical rush of violence. He reveled in it.
"It's still the same old story," his voice dropped its usual, comforting cadence, his bloodlust warping it into a hungry growl. "A fight for love and glory."
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see sinners gawking at him with astounded, horrified expressions. Perfect. Let them watch. Let them see exactly who they should fear, who the most powerful demon in all of Hell was, let them never forget the sight of the Radio Demon in his eminence.
He must look like a maniac, willingly toying with the invisible forces sent to kill them all while singing an airy song.
He was.
"A case of do or die." He performed, an actor and entertainer through and through. His voice rung across the city as he tiptoed around the entrails and stray limbs lying around.
He didn't need to wait long for another attack to strike him. The angel that he had hurled into the infested air dove down with a vengeance.
He stepped to the side, eliciting a wrathful shout from their throat. They flung their spear left and right, their only intention to kill.
Alastor dodged most of the attacks, but a few well aimed hits landed on him. He didn't even count the wounds he collected, the blood gushing out too pleasant of a sensation to be shunned.
He knew why he was doing this, he just didn't know how to stop. He needed this enlivening, he needed to feel powerful again.
He needed to forget.
A giggle left him when the angel managed to elbow him in his back, right over his bleeding wound. He stumbled forward again, the fun slightly evaporating from the atmosphere.
"The world will always welcome lovers." he croaked, wounded, his ardor and confidence waning.
Footsteps approached him, but instead of facing the threat, Alastor clutched his microphone tighter. He didn't even want to fight. He just wanted the pain to stop.
"As time goes by..." he hummed into the speaker, no longer addressing the residents of Hell anymore as much as he was taunting himself. He continued because he could either sing and pretend his life still held some joy or he could-
"Die!" The angel snarled, drawing their arm back to throw their spear at him. "Filthy, sinner scum!"
The next moment passed in an incomprehensible blur. A flash of white and a gravely, hateful yell infused his senses. Alastor didn't know what happened. He didn't know why time suddenly stopped or why his body didn't react to the attack. All he knew was that the next moment the handle of a spear protruded from his abdomen.
The surroundings faded into background static, the worries inundating his fractured durability ebbing away. His fingers timidly wrapped around the weapon, affirming whether it was actually there. Yet, the unbearable agony that should accompany such an injury was strangely absent. The blade couldn't even grant him enough mercy to make him fully feel its cruelty.
A tremulous smile widened on his face. He coughed, releasing a trail of blood down his chin. The strong iron smell invaded his senses, imprisoning him in this flaking, horrid reality. Gritting his teeth, he gripped the handle and began to pull it out. The motion pulled strained, ragged groans of pain out of his throat.
He gasped, the spear falling out of his hold and clattering to the ground. Blood immediately began to flow from the wound and he pressed his hand against it to staunch the bleeding.
The sinners were still watching. He chuckled, relieved that his priorities remained sequenced. Taking slow, measured breaths, Alastor melted into the shadows and bolted from the scene.
The sound of screaming still echoed all around when he reappeared in a secluded side alley. His departure mostly ascribed to his disinclination at being seen in such a vulnerable and defeated state. His tattered suit hung heavy with blood that progressively kept dampening it, the energy in his muscles depleting with every second. He squeezed the microphone recording everything and all he hoped was that his raspy, panting wheezes resounded from far enough not to be heard.
Junk and garbage pressed under his shoes as he trudged through the barren alley. Curses tumbled out of him with each dragging step. The hair at the back of his neck stood up and he leaned against the brick wall, his claws leaving deep gashes as he pulled himself forward.
Eventually, he reached the dead end. The excruciating pain and agony from the gaping, gruesome wound in his stomach and the numerous, unaccounted for cuts and stabs throughout the rest of his body unconsciously ignited the shadows around his feet. They abandoned their odious perpetuity, Alastor’s panic stirring them into haphazard, uncoordinated whirling and disjointed, mumbled wailing. A dark, vicious wave of darkness crept over every visible surface, bathing the alley in a suffocating river of despair.
The minutes passed in a disorienting haze as Alastor clutched the wall for dear life, his efforts to stop the bleeding useless. While the city occupied itself with the ceaseless carnage, Alastor used the opportunity to fully lean his back against the building. He looked down and his breath rattled when he saw the blood pooling over his stomach and down his thighs in grave quantities, its warmth terrifying.
Something settled inside him. It wasn't heavy exactly, but it unmistakably wasn't light. A freezing, numbing sensation tingled his nerves as a daunting realization slithered into his consciousness. The number of people more experienced and knowledgeable in dealing with violence and navigating anatomy better than him could be counted on a hand. A lifetime devoted to butchering, slaughtering and murdering have given him the ability to expertly deduce if an injury was fatal or not. Which was why he knew that the gushing, enormous one he was currently staring at will undoubtedly kill him.
A frightened moan tore through his throat. The angel had hit his abdominal artery. His body began to tremble, racked by a merciless chill that ran up and down his spine.
His smile turned lopsided and bittersweet as he wondered whether Vox was watching. Did any of his cameras catch Alastor getting impaled? If they did what would Vox's reaction be? Would he laugh with joy? Would he holler and cheer that his greatest enemy got wounded? Or would he simply not care? How long would it take for Vox to forget him?
Not very long, Alastor thought with bitterness tainting his memories. An embarrassed snort rolled out of him, full of self-disgust. The almighty Radio Demon, an Overlord who wielded power unlike anything Hell had ever seen, killed in an Extermination. He could picture the headlines in his head, he could vicariously imagine the city's reactions as Vox confirms the rumors that Alastor had fallen to holy arms, the demon's smile wide and delighted.
Every fruitless moment of rumination drained more of his life-force away. His stomach gave a fervid, piercing shudder of pain, causing him to slide down the wall.
Pulling his legs closer, he clutched his abdomen tighter. His limbs were already shaking uncontrollably, the faint, healthy hue of his skin fading into a pallid, sickly one. Like this, huddled into a shivering mess, he felt so small in the midst of this ubiquitous destruction. Insignificant. Unmemorable. Uncared for.
He hadn't noticed his eyes had drooped closed until he felt them snap open when a cold sensation settled on his drenched, slippery hands. In front of him, he saw his shadow's concerned face. Its features were downturned by grief and alarm and its hands pointlessly tried to help him stop the bleeding.
A brittle keen left its throat, its gaze anxiously flicking between Alastor’s expression and the wound. Its mouth moved silently as it shrugged its shoulders, shocked and dumbfounded.
Why?
A glib laugh rattled out of Alastor’s throat. He fell silent for a moment, not knowing the answer himself.
"What else is there to do...?" he mumbled, sorrow and regret blazing from his tone.
A fractured, dismissive part of him felt bad for his shadow; he had killed both of them. It had always been loyal to fault, despite Alastor’s rotten, disagreeable, obnoxious nature. It had saved his life in more ways than he could count or remember and it had always stayed by his side. Even now, its expression held no contempt or ridicule, only sympathy and sadness. Its eyes blinked a couple of times as it evaluated their imminent fate. Slowly, it wafted over to Alastor's side and gently dropped its head on his shoulder, its hands never leaving Alastor’s.
Alastor leaned his head on his shadow's, its grim coldness a soothing balm against the flushed, heated state of Alastor’s skin. A wet sniffle resounded from it as they both lay in comfortable, foreboding silence.
"So... this is it, then?" he mused, unable to even find the pitiful indignation or strength to try and save himself.
As his body gradually began to sink into exhaustion, his mind freely roamed over what possibilities could be waiting for him on the other side - if one even existed. Would he reconvene with any of his victims as a cruel punishment? Would his soul haunt the planes for eternity without any purpose or destiny? Would any of his friends miss him? A sorrowful shudder racked him at the thought of Rosie hearing that her best friend had died, of Mimzy who would lose her oldest and most trusted "pal", of Niffty who relied on him and had no one else - would she even know he had died, or would she forever be left to think he had abandoned her? He thought of Husk, someone who had been a friend, a good friend to Alastor. Someone who he had ruthlessly betrayed, too afraid of being discarded again, too much of a coward to give Husk a chance to betray him, too broken to believe he could maintain a friendship without the other person eventually growing bored and resentful of him.
He was dying and yet he wasn't resisting, he had stopped resisting death a long time ago. Though, he had hoped that his death would be grander, more eccentric. Considering his eventful life, capricious personality and incorrigible flair for the dramatic, this fate was almost underwhelming, anticlimactic even. He will die in an abandoned, filthy alley with no one to pay homage to him, no one to witness his final moments, no one to hear his last words. He was all alone. He would die all alone, as he was always destined to.
While the angel might have dealt the final blow, it wasn't an enemy that had ultimately killed him. It was a lover.
After a while, his eyes involuntarily closed, too weak to stay open. His body lay unmoving. The wind brushed over his soft red hair in a kind gesture of farewell. The air grew pacific, the static around Alastor naturally imbuing it solemnly fading. Wherever he was going, he hoped the meadow still bloomed.
His hand shook violently as he sacrificed the last of his energy to lift his microphone to his mouth.
"Oh yes, the w-world... will always welcome lov-vers. As time goes-" his voice caught in a dreadful gurgle. His shadow's complexion became translucent and incorporeal as Alastor’s life ticked away. But it didn't let go of him, not for a second.
Despite the raging, forlorn grief drowning him, his last thoughts weren't of the bloodshed, or the screaming, or the angels. No. In his mind shone an image worthy of reverence like no other, an image of a serene, blue screen as mesmerizing as the deepest oceans. A figure with a television for a head, its boxy shape while amusing to others to Alastor remained an impossibly endearing sight. A soft, yellow cardigan draped underneath a sleek black vest adorned him. Claws, cyan and lethal, yet gentle and considerate as a wafting whisper from heaven. Antennas wobbling with his indescribably beautiful laugh. Crimson, rich eyes wrinkled into glinting half-moons by the most captivating smile Alastor had ever seen and a voice as riveting and hypnotizing as ripples distorting a peaceful lake in the hour of a calm, rosy dawn.
A tear gently rolled out of the corner of his eye as the last breath in his lungs left.
"-bye..."
His hand fell limp, dropping the microphone to the grimy ground. With a crackle, the recording terminated, leaving the alley quiet and cold.
------------------
He was falling.
An endless darkness pulled him from every direction into an unknown, non-existent destination.
There was no ground beneath his feet.
There was no air in his lungs.
Any sense of orientation he had possessed once, if he ever did, wouldn't assist his senses. No smell reached his nose. No sound could be heard. No touch would grace him for comfort. He could see nothing, not even his own body, he wasn't sure if he had one. He was flying, or he wasn't moving at all. There was nothing but never-ending, bottomless dark. Absolutely nothing.
There was no cold. There was no warmth. Time didn't exist. An eternity lasted as long as a second. A minute lasted as long as a decade. A breath lasted as long as a lifetime.
There was no pain.
There was no joy.
There was no sadness or anger.
There was no love.
He wasn't even sure if anything was real. He wasn't sure if he was real. His name tingled on his tongue like an ancient, lost flavor. A pleasant, soundless melody breezed through the darkness, tenderly dancing across his mind with enchanting lightness. A soft feather being swept into the warm winds of summer, helpless against the flow guiding it into the world.
Whispers that he had forgotten something important fluttered in his chest like the tired wingbeats of a deathless butterfly. He didn't know what it was. He just knew that he missed it. He missed it very much.
The abyss guided him along an invisible river, a bed with no mattress or pillows, a cloud of no substance or density.
Gliding through a universe barren of stars.
Forever.
Mindless.
Free.
Alone.
Painfully, blissfully all alone.
------------------
The river carried him through time and space, through dimensions his inexperienced mind couldn't comprehend. Where light and dark were indistinguishable, where matter was reduced to little more than an imagined sensation, infinitesimal compared to the mind-numbing complexities interwoven through the universe's fabric. Matter like the gentle, evasive flow of water, the frightening sting of fire, the cold firmness of metal, or the soft moisture of soil such as the one he currently laid on.
Soil...
It took him a while to recognize his back wasn't hitting the emptiness of nothing, but a solid, starchy surface. His fingers instinctively wiggled and he found them easily digging into the loamy texture.
His whole body felt stiff, as though he had slept for a millennia, yet the rigidity and discomfort one would expect from such an endeavor were absent when Alastor lolled his head to the side, testing his uncertain mobility.
Alastor.
His breath hitched at the memory of his name. He was Alastor, the Radio Demon, feared, worshipped, respected, dreaded, damned, avoided, a radio host with a voice as treacherously smooth as a sirens' song. He had brought music to Hell, and he had brought violence along with it. Often, they were inseparable to his ears, like the song he had sung when he died.
His eyes snapped open.
His heartbeat sped up when all he could see was pearly white endlessness in every direction. He had died and the thought roused a wave of apprehension and alarm through his bones that caused him to sharply sit up.
He blinked, trying to clear his vision but the same sight greeted him. Surrounding him was a milky, impenetrable fog obscuring his view to barely a few meters in front of him. The scenery gave the feel as though a gigantic, voluminous cloud had descended permanently to the ground and trapped him in its unyielding blankness.
When his frantic gaze landed on his body he saw that he was naked and he automatically pulled his knees to his chest to cover himself. There was no one else present, but it didn't stop him from feeling agonizingly exposed and vulnerable. With gritted teeth, he flicked his hand to summon his tentacles to drape them over himself, but instead received a gust of horror when nothing answered him. He tried again, his breath quickening as the daunting chill of helplessness racked through his spine. Once more, he produced nothing.
His powers were gone. His ears pinned to the back of his head as he wrapped his arms around himself. Stabilizing his panic, he inhaled deeply then released. Repeating the process to calm himself, he noticed the unperturbed stillness of the fog.
It's unmoving, quaint nature was just as unnerving as it was comforting. He should be wary of others lurking in those thick curtains of white, but he couldn't help the instinct the fog instilled in him that there wasn't anyone else out there, that he was completely alone.
He knew better than to trust false reassurances, so to test his good judgment he released a cautioned whistle.
The sound rang through the air, but it didn't echo, it didn't even reverberate. Alastor had never heard anything like it, he had never encountered any conditions that enabled soundwaves to fly. Looking back, his second death was unmistakably different to his first one. A nurturing forest slowly, almost carefully engulfing him in its roots compared to the brutal clash of canine fangs, splattering blood and ear-splitting screaming followed by a vortex swallowing him before finally spitting him on the dirty, mucked streets of Pentagram City. But, then at least he had known where he had landed, now?
Now, he had no idea. No one ever spoke of the asinine possibility of an afterlife after the afterlife, no books had been written proposing it, no outlandish theories had been concocted to cover the topic. And as Alastor stood in the midst of the unprecedented and impossible, he had never been more uncertain.
His thoughts juggled in his brain uncontrolled as he waited for someone, something, anything, to answer his whistle. But, no response came. He tried a gentle tune this time and sobered up further at the lack of static in his voice. Still, he heard nothing. No footsteps, no rustling, no voices, only endless, opaque mist.
After several more attempts to garner a response, Alastor relented with a defeated sigh. Growing agitated, he stood up on legs less shaky than expected and stretched his back. His hands fell to brush off the dirt on his thighs and his frown deepened when they came away crystal clean. By all the laws of physics, his fur should be spotted and messy with it, but not even a speck of dust remained on him, as though his entire body was covered by an undetectable, protective layer of glass.
Postponing the workings of this mysterious, inexplicable world, Alastor began to explore.
The soil crunched underneath his hooves and the fog receded with his steps. Every time he looked back, he would see the fog following him, closing behind his previous whereabouts. What unsettled him more was the lack of footprints he left behind. The ground barely resisted his weight, as though his presence wasn't meant to have a lasting imprint.
On and on he trudged, and again and again he was met with nothing. No pebbles, no clothing, no sign of life. The only threat to his well-being were the roots lightly sticking out from the earth, but even they appeared more innocently present than silently dangerous. Alastor tried to tug at one of them hoping to use it as a weapon to defend himself, but it wouldn't bend. Everything looked like it had frozen in time, petrified in place. There was no wind. There was no odor. Nothing moved but him.
It was unlike anything Alastor had ever felt and for a moment he questioned whether it was even real. But, that doubt got swiftly stamped out under the weight of his encumbering regret and unfettered sorrow for what he had lost, what he had done, how he had recklessly thrown his life away and that was the precise moment he noticed what had been bothering him for so long.
His shadow wasn't here. Naturally, the fog illuminated his whole figure, but even the shyer, more timid shadows hidden in nooks and crevices didn't contain his shadow. His breathing turned labored and heavy and his fists clenched at his sides. There was no physical pain allowed in this plane of existence save for the unremitting, soul-crushing agony searing his heart. Its exhausted, flagging efforts dwindled with the loss of his dearest and most trusted friend and Alastor didn't know how it was still beating. It felt like someone had snatched a vital, irreplaceable part of his soul, leaving him fractured and incomplete.
The realization must have enervated his muscles for he suddenly felt an unquenchable need to lie down. His body gently slumped on the dirt, its composition softer than most of the beds in Hell, and he allowed himself to close his eyes.
He wasn't tired, he didn't even feel the urge to sleep, but his organism was overcome by the physical urge to curl in on himself for safety. Apprehension still brewed in his gut, but a deeper, more intuitive part of him told him there was no need of it, that he was completely alone.
And that he will remain alone from this day on.
Accommodating himself, he propped his head on his forearms and tucked his legs closer in the manner a deer would sleep and immediately he felt the tension in his nerves get coaxed. Even though he was lying on the ground, in an undignified and primal position, one he would never be caught dead in while he was alive, it soothed him. Phantom whispers told him that it was alright, that he could rest now and that he didn't have to pretend anymore.
With that thought accompanying him to a temporary, restful sleep, Alastor only then realized the stitches on his face had disappeared as well, leaving him without a smile.
------------------
When he woke, the same fog greeted him. Nothing had changed and while Alastor had expected so, he had still hoped for someone to stumble on him.
The day, if time even existed here, proved as uneventful as the previous. Alastor was never one to underestimate his patience, but the repetition grew increasingly duller. With a frustrated exhale, he surmised that that might be the point, a punishment lacking the cruelty Hell offered, but an agonizing destiny nonetheless. Did this await every sinner who had succumbed to an angelic blade, or was this torturous, incendiary monotony specifically designed for someone buoyant, vivacious, ungovernable and easily bored as him? A punishment to deprive him of the only goal he ever strived for to fulfil his life: entertainment.
The breezy walks he partook in in the disillusioning hope that he might find someone were the only activity at his disposal, aside from making angels in the dirt the way one might do with snow. He didn't even feel embarrassed, his body was unblemished and would remain so even if he drowned himself in the soil.
At least he was able to sleep, which precluded him from witnessing every painstaking, tedious moment. The task surprisingly came easy, facilitated by the nullifying effect of this place, despite him having no need to reenergize. He just never felt tired, nor did he feel any hunger or thirst - a greater mercy than what Hell had offered its inhabitants.
He sang songs and he performed his broadcasts for an imaginary crowd, his voice increasing in volume the more his senses verified that he was utterly and completely alone. At one point, on the fourth or fifth day from his estimations, he - bored out of his mind and curious - mindlessly instigated a one-sided fight with a particularly annoying looking root.
His hooves had failed to dislodge it, so reasonably Alastor crouched down and chomped on it with as much force as he could muster. Oddly, the root tasted like a regular root, ginger bitterness and sooty freshness to the core, and he instantly spat it out with a disgusted "Bleah!"
For the first time in what felt like a decade, Alastor was glad no one was there to watch him.
Or so he thought.
"I was wondering how long it would take for you to bite it." a voice spoke.
Alastor shot to his feet as straight as a rod. His ears perked up, trying to locate the source of the speaker. He craned his neck in every direction but he couldn't see anyone.
He didn't appreciate being toyed with, he appreciated being spied on even less, so with barely contained aggravation he demanded "Where are you?"
The voice laughed. "I'm not there Alastor," at the mention of his name, Alastor bristled. "I'm somewhere far away." after a dramatic pause, the voice added "Very far away, actually. We're universes apart."
Alastor squinted, skeptical. Eventually, he said a very unimpressed "Aha."
The voice that was talking to him was distinctly female, but unlike any voice Alastor had ever heard. While her words were plain and conversational, her voice stunningly enunciated them and the deep, smooth flow of it was almost hypnotizing in its ineffable clairvoyance. Raw emotions dripped from her intonation, giving the impression she was easy to read but a shimmering thread of control wove through it that told Alastor she could effortlessly switch between what emotions she chose to present and which she chose to hide.
"Usually, this is the point people ask 'who the hell are you?'" she mimicked after Alastor made no indication to contribute.
Again, her voice nearly caused him to levitate. It was terrifyingly human, yet just as comfortably inhuman. He could spend hours simply listening to her speak. It was a voice born to charm and lure, a song in its majesty injected directly into her vocal cords leaving the listener craving for more.
There was no doubt she held great power, what kind Alastor was yet to find out.
"Who are you?" he humored her, more interested in what she wanted from him than what her name was. "-besides a shameless pervert." he added, laconic, crossing his arms to divert the humiliation flushing his face at his lack of clothing.
"Oh, right." she hummed, admonished. "If it makes you feel any better I try to avoid looking."
"It doesn't." he deadpanned, shifting from reasonable to cantankerous. "But, do tell why you've been watching me."
A whooshing sound swam through the air like a hawk taking flight.
"I wouldn't say I've been watching you," the woman spoke, her voice booming from further away this time, causing Alastor to whirl around towards it. "I've only checked in on you several times."
"Several times..." Alastor repeated, his head nodding, irritated. "Why decide to reveal yourself so late."
A discomforted laugh bubbled out of her.
"Oh, sweetie..." she bemoaned. Alastor resisted the urge to sink his claws into his arms. "It's not late at all. It's quite early compared to the time you will spend here."
Her words were daunting, yet her voice didn't seem intentionally cruel, more matter-of-factly. Alastor’s head spun with a litany of questions he couldn't properly grasp.
"I didn't want to freak you out right after you just died, so I let you have a few days to get adjusted and explore this place." she added almost nurturing, like a doctor debriefing a patient on their successful recovery. "You're welcome for that, by the way."
"How thoughtful," this time Alastor laughed. "I had a wonderful time exploring all of this nothingness."
Something brushed against his left ear and he flinched away. His eyes raked over the area, but he still couldn't see anyone. However, if he concentrated hard enough, he could vaguely detect a swirling pattern in the fog. It looked alive.
"This nothingness," she continued, undeterred by his frazzled state. "Is what most people would call Purgatory."
For a moment, only a shrill whistle could be heard in Alastor’s brain. The rest of his surroundings died out into consistent buzzing as he processed her words.
Purgatory. The word circulated through his head. He must have said it out loud, for her voice resonated through the clearing again.
"Mhm, correct." she sounded less congratulatory, more informal, like a long-time friend sharing gossip over coffee. "It isn't exactly a place. Not like Heaven, Hell and Earth. Those three are attached, raveled. Three worlds overlapping and connecting. It's possible to travel between them more easily since life, good and evil exist in each of them. Purgatory is... separate."
She paused for a moment and Alastor realized it derived mostly from her calculating the right words to explain it to him. If someone as enigmatic as her still couldn't describe this place adequately, then the hope for Alastor to master its mechanism and escape dwindled with each passing minute.
"I thought Purgatory was the layer between the afterlife and Earth." he tried, disgruntled at his obvious lack of knowledge.
"Sort of, but you'll find many religions and philosophers get that wrong. It's a world of its own. You've seen for yourself how life and death don't really exist here. Its purpose evades even the archangels of Heaven. It's a depot for lost souls. You aren't the only one experiencing this, every single individual who dies a second death ends up here. It's unavoidable, there's nothing beyond it and there's no going back."
With that conclusive, ominous sentence, Alastor felt something in him snap.
"How do you know all of this?" he couldn't help but interrupt her, despite being enamored by her elucidation. His voice bordered on cutting; he had never missed the static lacing it more than he did now. "Who are you? How come I'm the only one here then? Or am I simply that special?"
Despite the acrimony sizzling his tone, Alastor tried to stave off the debilitating knowledge that he was dealing with universal forces he didn't understand, in a place that trivialized him to barely a speck of dust, with no powers or weapon to defend himself. He refused to acknowledge the worm of fear slithering in his veins.
She hummed in amusement, either not noticing the tint of sarcasm in his voice or ignoring it. "No one's here because that fog is what everyone sees. Every single one of you is in their own designated bubble, a separate dimension I suppose you could call it. It's designed that way, people - life that cannot coalesce or interact with another cannot evolve. It's meant to preserve you." she sighed, musing. "But, yes. You are special. I wouldn't be here otherwise."
Alastor raised an eyebrow, becoming amused himself. Deciding that she didn't have any hostile intentions yet, he sat down and crossed his legs.
"Oh, am I now?" ultimately he decided to bite back his indignation and cajole her. After all, apart from her attention, she hadn't given him any reason to be irate. "And what exactly makes me so special? Don't say the tail."
"No, it's not the tail," she said humorously, stifling a laugh. "Though, it is cute."
"It's not." he insisted.
"I don't exactly talk to many souls down here or out in the real world. I can't exactly blame you for not remembering me."
Whatever comeback Alastor formed violently died on his tongue. He could feel his face slack, the shock of her sudden admission freezing him in place.
"I..." he breathed, low and careful. "-would have remembered meeting someone like you."
"Aren't you sweet." she gushed, though Alastor sensed the ostensible underlying gratification in her words like acid on bare skin. "That respectful attitude is precisely why I gave you so much power in the first place."
Alastor felt his heart shudder. His entire body subconsciously tensed up as boiling, hot lava seeped into every fiber of his soul. A fire so hazardous he viscerally felt its flames scorching his insides as the urge to scream threatened to claw out of his chest.
His breathing quickened and his eyes stayed glued open, like a cornered prey. Goosebumps rose on his skin and he inwardly kicked himself. He didn't know for what, but he did. He felt like an idiot. Like an irresponsible, heedless fool who should have known the afterlife wouldn't be so kind to him.
"You..." he rumbled, deep, dangerous and defensive. "You're not her."
A few seconds of nerve-wracking silence permeated the air. Alastor tried not to squirm, the reality of his situation crushing him under its adamantine weight.
"I don't expect you to recognize me." she placated knowingly. "We only spoke through a pentagram after all, but if you prefer-" her next words shot through Alastor’s brain like an avalanche of grinding rocks. "I could revert to my own voice."
Gone was the soothing, intoxicating melody that was her previous voice, replaced by one so horrid and sinister Alastor barely prevented himself from clasping his hands over his ears. It was a voice brimming with pure, unadulterated evil. A voice that had crawled from the darkest corners of Hell to a world where it didn't belong.
There was not a trace of humanity in it. There was no shred of kindness or empathy, as though the concepts were a foreign notion, untouched and undiscovered.
There it was. The woman he had made a deal with while he had still been human. If he hadn't expected its ghastly, abrasive nature he would have terminated the entire ordeal from the sheer terror it evoked in him.
"Now, you remember." she pointed out, her patronization followed by a wicked, delighted cackle that captured the air in Alastor’s lungs.
Everything about her suddenly seemed wrong. Where comfort, elegance and confidence radiated from her before, now all Alastor could hear was gleeful malice. No evil he had encountered in Hell could match her fear-inducing presence.
"Relax, I won't bite... much." in the blink of an eye, her voice returned to its previous, pleasant cadence. "If you ask me it was a deal well-struck. I give you that microphone with powers that you could use to rise above everyone in Hell, and in return, you will use that power to kill Overlords for me."
"Yes..." Alastor mumbled, clearing his throat. "I remember our deal. I haven't heard from you since then. It's interesting that we haven't met again."
"I was a bit tied up." she answered stiffly.
Choosing not to step on her leniency, Alastor instead gulped down his consternation, erring on the side of caution, and said "Is this where they ended up?" after a moment, he elaborated "the Overlords?"
"Smart boy," she disregarded his offended snarl and resumed "You and I both know the power I gave you isn't like any power from Hell. Every Overlord you sent through those little portals of yours or engulfed in your shadows was sent directly here, to me. The more powerful the soul is the more powerful I become for owning it."
Alastor’s spine nearly snapped from how fast he straightened up.
"Not in the way souls are owned in Hell - calm down." she amended hurriedly. "This place and I are connected since the beginning, whatever power it receives so do I. Your soul however is one I had hoped wouldn't reach this place. The strength you have amassed for me is immeasurable, you are far more useful to me out there."
"I'm sorry to disappoint."
"Oh, don't be like that." surprisingly, she didn't sound mad and it hurled Alastor’s rationale in a tizzy at how someone can seem so benevolent yet so devious when they remove the mask. But, then again, they weren't all that different in that regard. "I meant what I said: you are special to me. I've never struck a deal with anyone until you summoned me - which I do believe resulted from a mistake in your runes."
Alastor was grateful that his brain had become slightly tardy and sluggish from the lack of socialization and boredom these past few days for it was the only reason it hadn't exploded yet. She could be lying, but for some inexplicable intuition, Alastor didn't think she was.
A curious sensation tingled in his chest at the prospect that he had been her only thrall.
"It wasn't a mistake." he admitted furtively. "I summoned the most powerful being who would enable me to pursue my quite illegal "hobbies" in Hell without opposition. And you answered."
Silence descended on them, but this time it wasn't the pervasive, nauseating one from before, but a comforting, almost calming breeze.
"How is it that our deal was your first?" he couldn't help the jolt of pride that ran through him at being more knowledgeable than her at at least one thing. As humbling as the thought was. "If you are as old as you say."
"You should know that's not something to say to a lady," she joked and if Alastor was surprised at the small smile that rose on his face he decided not to acknowledge it. "There isn't exactly an abundance of people who make deals with demons, and even less who choose me or the gifts I can give. Really, it gets annoying after a while, I'm much nicer once you get to know me."
"I don't doubt it." he murmured as he laid down on his back, his skepticism loosening. "I recommend you cut the cryptic live air communication."
"Hmm, that's a salient point. Or..." the fog around Alastor shifted imperceptibly, but he still managed to catch the change. "I can prove it."
Above him, the mist began to condense. The invariability morphed itself around a pivotal spot centered in his field of vision, forming a gentle whirlwind. Slowly, the heart of it began to dilate and the fog cleared to an image of a very familiar figure.
Alastor lifted himself on his elbows to peer closer at Rosie who was inconspicuously dining in her house.
"What is this?"
"It's your friend eating you." the voice answered, blunt.
Alastor’s brows rose comically high.
"Eating me?" he asked dumbly.
"Yes," the window zoomed in closer to Rosie, the image impressively lucid. "Surely, you've wondered what happened to your body. You don't need to wonder any more, your friend here sent a group of her people to fetch it immediately after she got news of what happened."
Alastor’s gaze was locked on the scene above him, a torrent of overwhelming emotions brewing in his core. A puffed, rich laugh escaped him, beyond grateful for the incredible person he was staring at.
Cannibalism as an act was generally frowned upon by the populace, labelled as sick and disgusting. But, for the people who practiced it, consuming a body was a necessity, and consuming the body of a friend was both an honor and a homage. It was a means to shield them from the fate of decomposition, rot and maggots bleeding it into trampled, polluted soil that hundreds before had sullied.
It was a way to treasure someone forever, to cherish them, to connect two bodies into one. An act not many have had the privilege of, an act exactly like the one Rosie was currently doing.
"She's been quite meticulous in keeping your name off the news, no one but her and the ones that found you know about it. She hasn't let anyone else touch your body." the woman supplied, her grimace contained. "Before and after she cooked it."
Warmth pooled in Alastor’s heart. If he focused hard enough, he could see one of his fingers floating in the dish. Rosie stood to gain nothing by salvaging his reputation as an invincible, untouchable figure, yet she still did it. For him. For his memory.
He would never admit it, especially since he knew the games Overlords were required to foster to preserve their status, but, he had never been good at hiding his admiration for Rosie and a sharp jab of pain hit him at the thought of how his death had affected her, how he had not only harmed himself on a spontaneous whim, but also the people who cared for him.
She's strong, she will outlive this painful period. With that thought Alastor comforted himself.
The worst part of all was that he hadn't intended to die. Not really. He just hadn't been too enthusiastic to live and his indifference had permanently doomed him. There was no going back.
Gingerly, he lifted a hand to touch the image, more out of curiosity than an intention to reach her. His hand fell forward, momentarily muddling the scene before it returned back to normal.
"It's only a mirror into Hell, love. You can't cross onto the other side." the voice mellowed. "The vision is taking a slight toll on me, but I assumed you needed this."
She wasn't wrong. Alastor exhaled, weary, settling back down on his back. He laced his fingers together and relaxed, a welcomed sense of peace washing over him as he simply appreciated his friend.
"Can I ask one more thing?" he whispered, too tired to maintain the serration of his tone. His words rose through the mist and when the woman raised no objection to his polite request, he asked "My shadow, what happened to it?"
The fog framing the image above him gave a slight twitch, followed by her answer "It's still there."
Alastor's eyes rolled at his periphery, searching for the proof with a vexed, sulky glare.
"Not there," she corrected, gentle. From the fog, a single, thin wisp of smoke split from the swirling formation. Slowly, it carefully slithered towards his chest before it loosely settled over his heart. "It's here." indicating with the ghostly, delicate tendril she added "Your shadow has always been you, your thoughts, your feelings. It still lives inside you, even if you can't see it."
Another beat of silence infused the air, poignant and heavy in a meaningful, unforgettable way. Emotions battled inside him on a fragile, gossamer web of hope with no clear victor winning out. His chest rose and fell softly as he processed her words, intimately feeling the fractures of his heart stitching back together at the reassurance that he hadn't lost his shadow and that it still breathed somewhere in that bleak, dismal cavern of his aching soul.
His eyes drooped and his body grew lax, drowsy. He didn't understand why the woman was showing him Rosie, or tolerating his questions, particularly with such understanding patience, but he didn't want to test his luck. They had a history, which guaranteed him she would be eager to disclose more information in the future. But for now, he decided to value the moment, despite the somber, morbid severity of his predicament.
After a few seconds, she spoke again "I will leave it open for a little while longer. We will speak again, soon."
There was a faint hum in the air before quietness fell over it once more. It was barely noticeable, but Alastor felt it, the shift that informed him he was no longer being watched and that the woman was gone.
Notes:
Hi! So this chapter was a bit of a whirlwind I can't wait for the second one and to hear what you guys think <33
(Also, I hope that beginning wasn't overbearing with the whole meadow metaphor thing haha <3 I know it's not everyone's cup of tea. I was so excited about this chapter because my babygirl is finally entering the fic!!!! yaaaaay!!)
Chapter 14: The root of all evil
Notes:
Hello! I'M ALIVE!
First of all, I just want to say oops. I really didn't mean to neglect this fic for MONTHS but long story short I had some health issues to deal with that inconveniently coincided with a massive writer's block 🙄. I started another story to hopefully crack it and get me back into writing because I didn't want to write this story when my writing was shit. And I really wasn't satisfied with it lmao, and I love this fic so much so for the sake of quality I've been ignoring it. Sorry to anyone waiting <33
Second of all, my writing has changed. I don't know how when or why but it did and I think that might have been the biggest factor holding me back from writing the fic because I didn't know why it happened so I thought I was downgrading. But, after writing the other fic I don't think the new writing style is that bad, just new.
This chapter isn't like the ones I have written and the change in format, pace and vibe is intentional for the chapter to stand out from the rest. It'll probably be the only chapter written in this way, the next one will be back to normal <333 That is to say, I had a ton of fun writing it and I hope you guys like it too! <33333
Okay I'm done talking lol, enjoy the fic <33 IF THERE ARE ANY SPELLING OR GRAMMAR MISTAKES PLEASE IGNORE THEM I JUST WANTED TO RELEASE THE CHAPTER QUICKER
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The innocuous quiet watched on with solemn indifference, unremittingly neutral as always. Alastor had grown used to its vapid consistency and all he could think was how glad he was that this place preserved his ability to dream.
Currently, he imagined the rambunctious clubs of Louisiana, strung with jazz notes orchestrated by trumpets, saxophones, drums and a piano all handled with excitement as the music fought to be heard over the sounds of people dancing and laughing along. Then, he imagined - after the festivities - the inviting, calming atmosphere of a humid swamp cradling him with its aromatic, mossy smell, its air crisp, its earthy trees and bushes scenic.
As much as Alastor reveled in the violence and cruelty infesting the world, he had a soft spot for life's gentle, harmless gifts. Though, few atrocities he had committed could trump the cruelty this place meted out - which was leaving him alone with nothing but those memories.
There was nothing to do but daydream and reminisce on his life as he lay on the mushy, immutable soil. If he honed his focus hard enough, he could almost believe he was resting on a bed, in his familiar home and that the morning sun would soon fall through the window to greet him, yellow sunshine acting as faux comfort to poorly emulate the warmth of long gone cyan claws gently brushing Alastor’s sleep-ridden face.
Another sharp, harsh spear of nostalgia pierced his chest. Those were marginally growing in frequency lately, with nothing to distract Alastor’s foggy attention from them.
Nothing... but her.
"Hello!" she piped in suddenly, her cheery voice resounding through the infinite fog.
Alastor’s eyes groggily blinked open.
"How thoughtful of you to drop by," he mumbled, slightly iffy and languorous, his tongue sluggish from his semiconscious sleep. "I really appreciate being left in the air for days. I almost thought you had forgotten about me."
"Well, I can hardly keep you company all the time," she answered patiently, dismissing his snark. "I don't make it a habit to entertain the souls in Purgatory, and it's only been a few days."
Alastor sat up with a disgruntled huff. "Hmm, I suppose," he conceded, tilting his head noncommittally, partially aware of his petulance. "And can I have the privilege of knowing your name? It was quite rude of me not to ask on our first talk."
"Oh, right," she mused. "I tend not to share my name, it usually stirs up a lot of controversy. But, for you I can make an exception."
His ear flicked in anticipation. "Controversy?" he echoed, interest brewing in his gut. He pulled his legs to his chest and rested his elbows on his knees. "Now, I have to know."
"It's Eve," she said simply.
"Eve. Why would that stir controver-" he sharply broke himself off, realization dawning on him like a growling avalanche. "...oh."
An airy chuckle answered him. "Oh."
"So," he nibbled on his cheek to distract himself, pensive. "I made a deal with the second woman."
"Indeed."
Alastor nodded absentmindedly; the knowledge of who his powers were tied to while not discomforting, wasn't quite palliative either.
"How does that make you feel?" she asked sweetly.
For a moment, Alastor could have sworn he heard Rosie's meditative voice addressing him. But, a stinging jolt of reality reminded him of where he was and who he was talking to. He wasn't sure how to answer that question, rarely did anyone beside his friends converse with him so informally. "Odd," he decided eventually. "I don't know you."
"Do you want to?"
"I want to," he stated bluntly, not permitting himself to feel deficient by quailing in her reigning presence, never-mind how subdued it currently was. "I want to know who I made a deal with. I want to know who I'm talking to. I want to know who you are and how you know so much about me, about this place, about everything. Where are you? What do you want and how is it possible no one has heard from you since Eden?"
"You have a lot of questions," she deadpanned, and still she didn't sound cruel, or sly, or austere. "It's a good thing we're not in any hurry."
"Ha ha," he mocked. "Funny."
"Shoot."
"What?"
"Pick your first question."
If Alastor allowed himself to drift, he would have vaguely imagined her taking a seat in front of him. The persistent fog must truly be deadening his perspicacity. "Why hasn't anyone heard from you? Your husband has certainly made himself a prominent figure, and yet you're withdrawn."
"Ex-husband," she corrected, miffed. Sighing, she continued "I suppose I shouldn't wonder how that boy made it to Heaven. They've never been famous for recognizing any idea of good or evil that didn't align with their perfect definitions."
"Meaning?" he hoped he wasn't prodding, but she did offer to answer his questions.
"Meaning, as first man he was allowed to behave however he pleased. But, if I was tricked into biting a certain apple then I deserve eternal damnation." her voice rippled with sarcasm of a subcutaneous, disapproving grudge.
Alastor crossed his legs to show that he was paying rapt attention.
"You want to know why no one knows me? That's why," her tone turned darker, a hissing snake of resentment slithering in her vocal cords. "Once the seraphim found out the evil I had unknowingly swallowed, it was too late. Adam and I were already parents, and sin had infested humanity. One of my sons killed the other, the first crime in the universe. I'm sure you know the story."
Alastor didn't say anything. He didn't know what the appropriate thing to say was; he was quite certain Eve hadn't actually had the opportunity to say any of this to anyone else.
"When we died, Adam went to Heaven, because naturally the seraphim can't admit they created an imperfect specimen," she spat, clearly embittered. "So they blamed humanity's... defection on me. I wasn't sent to hell with Lilith and the angel, they banished me to Purgatory - to hide the truth, to punish me for something I did unaware of the consequences. For wanting to decide my own life."
She ended her speech with an ominous, low note. A thick, heavy silence descended on him, his ears flicking from the unremitting pressure.
"...didn't Adam also bite the apple?" His knowledge of the bible was limited - he hadn't even been Christian, but he was quite positive both Adam and Eve were banished from Eden because they shared the fruit.
"He did!" she exclaimed.
Alastor winced.
"The damn idiot couldn't even swallow it properly!" she raged, exasperated. "I had to perform the Heimlich maneuver thousands of years before it was invented. And the guy is big. They should have reserved me a place in Heaven for that performance alone."
"Should have just let him choke," he offered helpfully. "We meager sinners in Hell would have revered you."
She snorted. "Maybe. But, at the time he was all I had."
He might be mistaken, but Alastor could have sworn he detected a thread of affection in her words. He couldn't for the life of him comprehend how anyone could feel fondness for such a pompous, self-centered, genocidal simpleton, but he wasn't in any position to judge. Humans were complicated, and as Eve's only company at the time it's only natural they had formed a close bond, a thread can only travel alone so far adrift a wild, solitary wind before tangling into a knot.
"You can understand that, can't you?" she added shortly after, sobering Alastor up.
"Mm, no," he slurred, feigning nonchalance. "I understand, but I can't say that I relate."
Another moment of silence passed.
"Hmm," she hummed thoughtfully. "If you say so."
Sensing her underlying lack or conviction, Alastor wanted to retort. He didn't appreciate the turn of the conversation. "I thought I was the one asking the questions?" He twirled the fur on his calves languidly since it was better than fidgeting with his hands. "You are far more interesting than me, my dear. I'm afraid I will only bore us."
"Oh, I doubt that." The fog swirled in his peripheral. He turned his head, but saw nothing even though he could have sworn something stirred in those enigmatic depths. It caused budding goosebumps to rise on his skin. "But, we can talk about me if you want. What else do you want to know?"
Alastor lowered his gaze, evaluating his next words. Choosing carefully, he asked "Are you still in Purgatory?"
The question wasn't idle. If Eve was here with him, sequestered in her own separate bubble, then the possibility for escaping would be marginally facilitated.
"No."
Alastor pushed down the wave of disappointment that flushed his gut.
"I'm not. It's... complicated."
Alastor huffed breathily. "Isn't it always?"
"It's complicated because you were the one that set me free."
"Oh?" He raised an eyebrow and inwardly cursed himself for whatever past, wanton decision he had made that foiled his current hopes to leave this place.
"Remember how I told you the Overlords you sent to me increased my power?"
He nodded stiffly, his optimism diminishing.
"I didn't bestow that task on you arbitrarily," her voice mellowed. "I needed those souls. I have been tearing openings from this reality into another for centuries, but it drains my strength. The souls you sent to me had enough power to help me leave Purgatory for good."
Alastor let out a long, downcast exhale, and closed his eyes. "Shame. We could have shared this misery."
"Well, after a few thousand years it starts to get boring," she commented, and she almost sounded rueful. "You were a good investment, I wouldn't be free if it wasn't for your broadcasts," she thought for a second then added with an obvious grimace "And your hunger for bloodshed."
"So, is that what this is?" the cutting sneer marred his previously amiable edge. "Pity? You'll find I'm the last person you should invest that in. If this is nothing but a shallow attempt to make yourself feel better, you may take it elsewhere."
Too late, he realized that he might have flukily overflooded his tone with frivolous, reckless vitriol and the taut silence stretched his jittery durability like melted butter. But, how could he be blamed? How is he expected to behave cordially when he had just died, when he was left alone for days with nothing to do and no one to talk to?
Eventually, Eve spoke "Careful, darling." Once again, her tone was barren of any malice, admonition or derision, and her patient consideration only amplified Alastor's frustration. "I know this is difficult, but if you need some time alone I can leave."
Alastor’s fur stood on end. "No." The frail word tumbled out, his lips working faster than his common sense. "Don't, I... am not myself, and I would appreciate your company."
Naturally, he didn't apologize; there was only a handful of people he would besmirch his reputation for so unflatteringly. None of them were here.
Eve hummed. "I would like that too." Alastor ignored the potent dose of relief that ameliorated his barely stifled dread. "And I'm not doing this out of pity. I'm far more selfish than that," she added jokingly.
The atmosphere alleviated, the uncomfortable pressure abating. "Good," Alastor relaxed, hating how fickle his mood was becoming. "Normally, I would offer coffee, but it seems there's a distinct lack of it here."
"Unfortunately," Even agreed. "Though, I've always had a stronger taste for tea."
"Too ineffective, if you ask me."
"I said taste, not punch."
Alastor found the corner of his mouth quirking up. His mind floated in and out of the conversation as he and Eve talked, the topic ranging from snippy banter, lighthearted rumination and occasionally dour existentialism. He found her a surprisingly charming person to talk to despite the dense air of mystery that never seemed to lift from her ghostly presence, and for an hour, one balmy, immersive hour, Alastor forgot about his dreams.
------------------
The next time Eve visited him felt like an eternity later.
"I don't suppose there's any books lying around here?" he asked with glib hope, already knowing the answer.
"Sorry, love. No books."
"There are roots." he pointed out smartly. "We could make some."
"Which don't like being disturbed," she retorted. "Unless you want to take another bite."
Alastor grimaced. "No, thank you." He sighed, listlessly staring at the vague beyond. "How about some record players? I could use a bit of music to liven things up."
"None of that either, I'm afraid."
"Some newspapers, then? I admit, I am curious as to the state of that wretched place." He omitted to mention his curiosity for a certain Overlord and how he was faring.
"None that can exist here, but fortunately for you, you have my enthusiastic narration to rely on."
"So... you know everything that happens down - up? - in Hell?" he took a gamble, more interested in the range of Eve's abilities than the latest gossip.
There was a moment of silence before Eve spoke up. "Pretty much," she hummed impassively. "What do you want to know?"
Alastor turned on his side and plopped his head on his fist, getting comfortable. He thought intently, sifting through the daunting mountain of questions progressively stacking with each passing minute. "I had a thrall," he rumbled, low and detached. "Her name is Niffty-"
"You want to know how she's doing without you?" Eve cut him off, much to his gratitude.
"If you would."
He didn't doubt Niffty's capability to defend herself; she had done so exceedingly well before Alastor had met her, but his concerns lay more along the vulnerable edge of her emotional welfare. She was a spitfire, but she was also a very sensitive soul.
"She's..." Eve hushed and even without laying eyes on her visage, Alastor sensed the queasy wince. "...confused. She doesn't understand why you're dead."
Gelid, foul contrition drenched his selfish heart. "...Ah," was all he could offer.
"But, she's not alone." At that Alastor perked up, ears flicking. "Lately, she's been hanging out with some friends of yours. Three guesses who."
Three guesses literally. "Rosie, Mimzy and Husker," he said matter-of-factly.
"They are quite sweet - when they aren't committing any felonies, but it's a lawless city, I guess. I can see why you like them."
"That's touching. I don't suppose I'll ever see them again, will I?" he asked dejectedly, missing the ragged static in his voice that effortlessly shrouded its emotional, fluctuating twitches.
The mist salved above him, its motions coming to a brief, imperceptible halt from Eve's ostensible gloom. "I think you know the answer."
He did. "It's torture." he pointed out, more honest than he has been in all those weeks trapped in this impersonal punition. He couldn't compute how millions people have already spent thousands of years here.
"It's death," she said simply, remorse evident in her tone and Alastor couldn't figure out if it was genuine or intended to dissimilate some potential apathy.
"I don't know if I can spend eternity here," his voice dropped to a whisper.
"...I know."
He fell silent, frustration simmering in equal with a mournful sense of acceptance in his soul. He didn't know what he wanted from Eve, deep down he knew she couldn't help, but he still felt resentful. Or perhaps, he just needed someone to talk to.
"I..." Eve awkwardly drawled. "Would you like to know about the other one?"
Alastor's brows scrunched up. "What?"
Eve sucked in a breath. "The Television Demon... would you like to know what he's doing?"
Alastor’s entire body went frigid, caught by surprise. In truth, he had evaded thinking about Vox, but now that Eve mentioned him, Alastor couldn't see anything but that gentle, cyan smile that never failed to make him melt. It invaded his mind like a violent stampede, bringing life back to his supine, neglected heart which he hadn't realized had been begging for it.
"No." he hated himself. "No, it doesn't matter. He's already made his intentions and feelings quite clear."
------------------
"On that you can rely. No matter what the future brings," Alastor sung in a quiet voice to a riveted audience of only himself and the monotonous void. "As time goes by."
His eyes were closed; after a certain point the invariable white surrounding him from every direction had become too lurid for him to stare at. The darkness of his eyelids did surpass it as better entertainment however. Barely.
"The fundamental things apply. As time goes by."
"Lovely voice." his only friend suddenly broke in.
Her dramatic interruptions hardly caused Alastor to jump anymore and, as grateful as he was to have bested that particular embarrassment, he detested how his instincts had habituated to the perpetual environment.
"Eve," he greeted, sitting up. "Long time no see. I don't suppose you've missed me regaling you with my tales of fancy?"
"Charming as always I see. Though, I would prefer if you refrain from regaling me with any tales of cannibalism." she blenched, lighthearted and Alastor tilted his head with a shit-eating grin, proud of his exploits. "I lost my appetite last week."
"Ah, well in that case, I'll be sure to abstain from interesting topics."
"We have very different definitions of interesting."
"Oh, I remember this one time I set my eyes on this particularly repugnant man when I was on Earth. I heard through the grapevine of his embezzling tendencies so I thought to myself Wouldn't it be nice if the neighborhood was cleared of such a liability? So, I went to his place. And, god all mighty, only when I had slit his throat did I see his identification documents - and quite haply if I do say so. To my great surprise, he hadn't been a conman at all, but a detective, sent to investigate the missing person reports that I was responsible for. In all my life my most memorable moment of luck was that no one found his body. If they had... well, I suppose I would have been in this dreaded place much sooner."
An amused chuckle bucked out of him as he committed himself to the story, already used to the disheartening sensation of talking to thin air.
"It was quite a shame, really. He had been a good man from what I managed to learn afterwards." he continued detailing the event, letting the memories flow to his best recollection and before he knew it he had shifted to a different tale. From murdered detectives to the juiciest gossip he had learned from his mother's friends to his passion for broadcasting, Alastor indulged Eve and only when he felt his tongue prickling and drying up did he notice how long he had been speaking. "I still remember how she had-" he broke himself off sharply.
Confused, he blinked at his muteness, not understanding where the sudden, pervasive self-consciousness had come from, but just the thought of opening his mouth to continue chattering sent a heavy suffocation to his breath.
"Just how she had... what?" Eve encouraged and Alastor shamefully realized he hadn't given her any leeway to speak up until now.
He huffed, flicking his hand dismissively. "It's nothing interesting. What about you, my dear? How have you been?"
There was a tense moment of quiet. "No, go on. What were you about to say?"
"I..." Alastor started when a dizzy, floating wave whirled his vision back to clear lucidity. Rather than trying to decipher it, he lied "I can't recall."
Again, Eve was silent, presumably lost in suspicion. "You weren't boring me," she easily decrypted him, earnest and comforting.
Alastor bit his cheek, vexed at his own vacillating emotions. "I don't care if I was," he lied again.
"So why did you stop?" For some reason, Eve wouldn't let it go.
Alastor pursed his lips as his arms subconsciously wrapped around his knees, no longer startled at his lack of clothing. He really has grown used to this new, dull life, if it could even be called that. "How long has it been?" he asked, his voice a stable whisper, hoping to divert the conversation. "Years? Decades?"
"I think it's been - I don't know - around six months, now?"
Alastor's stomach dropped.
------------------
Softness the likes of which clouds dreamed of possessing held Alastor aloft as fingertips with the warmth of sunshine carded through his hair.
"Hard day?" came that beautiful, rich voice. "Your broadcast lasted quite a while."
Alastor mumbled a lazy confirmation into Vox's chest, earning himself an amused snort.
"Aww, is your heart all sung out?" he joked, the only person in existence who could ask Alastor that question and not just be allowed to keep his head, but actually garner Alastor’s unconditional endearment.
Truly, the man must have him under some sort of spell; he was a siren demon after all, graced with the gift of arcane harmony, and if Alastor didn't enjoy being bewitched by him so affluently, he would have protested. "Indeed, but you're doing a splendid job fixing it."
Vox chuckled and pulled the blanked further over Alastor’s shoulders, keeping him close. "I should have been a doctor," he grumbled, kneading gentle circles in Alastor’s back to thaw the tension in his muscles.
"With those magic fingers you could be." Alastor peeped an eye open, giving Vox an impish grin.
Vox's eyes slightly widened, his cheeks flushing pinker, sheepish. "Don't tease me."
Alastor’s smile stretched and he nuzzled his face into Vox's neck, the demon's warmth breathlessly irresistible. "Apologies darling, didn't mean to make you uncomfortable with my indecent talk."
"Yes, it was positively vulgar," Vox countered as he sunk deeper into the embrace, the safety and comfort of their shared bed cupping them in a bubble of familiarity.
"Utterly profane."
"Shamelessly obscene."
Alastor laughed, closed-mouthed, his body drifting like a feather on a seaside breeze, getting closer and closer to a dreamy repose. "My sincerest condolences that you have to endure such difficulties." He glided his claw tenderly, but pointedly, under Vox's monitor and delighted at the fond tuft of air the demon released that skittled over Alastor’s hair. "Is there anything I can offer you as recompense?" he asked playfully.
"Hmm..." Vox feigned contemplation. "I'm not sure, perhaps this-" he slightly scooted back to gain access to Alastor’s face before he cradled it in his hands. The only warning Vox gave him was a mischievous smile before he mercilessly proceeded to lay quick kisses all over Alastor’s face.
Captured, Alastor squeezed his eyes shut against the loving onslaught and a blissful, staticky laugh sparkled out of him when Vox showed no signs of stopping.
"Vox-!" he reached over to grasp at his arm for support and frowned when his hand fell forward into nothing.
He blinked his eyes open and his smile instantly vanished when he caught sight of dark, torrid soil draped by clouds of dense white.
...the joy drained from his heart like falling pebbles and he could almost hear the dismal sounds of it clattering away. He didn't even dare to move his body, still clinging to the phantom feeling of Vox wrapped up in his arms and if he shifted even an inch, it would disappear. The happiness that had seemed infinite just a second ago turned out to be nothing less than a momentary pity from his lonely mind.
The seconds ticked by as he descended from the high, adapting to the quiet that wouldn't leave him. It wasn't the first time he had dreamt of a life never to be found again, but this was the first time it had been so vivid, so real. It just felt so real he couldn't understand how it had only been in his imagination.
"...why?" Alastor thought and he balked at the realization that he had muttered the question out loud; these days, it became increasingly more difficult to differentiate between the words that came out of his mouth and the voices in his head that became louder and louder.
Suddenly, his arms felt so empty, so cold in the place of warmth essential for his heart to continue beating. The months had dragged down his hubris more proficiently than he had thought and, unable to bear it any longer, Alastor surrendered to his needs and reached over to scoop the dirt into a pile. When he shaped the mound into a relatively passable impression of his favorite person, Alastor dusted his hands off and laid down beside it. He intentionally closed his eyes before he swung an arm over it.
With Vox by his side, it was easier to lie to himself that he was still strong. Only... it all felt wrong. The dirt rubbed incorrectly. The spongy heap fought his desperate embrace. The lack of witty, doting commentary stretched the fantasy thin, and slowly and reluctantly, he accepted that it wouldn't be so easy to pretend Vox was in his arms. Resigned, Alastor did something he had been too numb to do in years.
The silence bathed him with its morose, pitiless promise of companionship as Alastor began to cry.
------------------
"Moonlight and love songs," Alastor walked the empty infinity, uncaring which direction he went for the same thing greeted him: impenetrable fog. "Never out of date."
His eyes had closed at some point as he invested his wavering concentration on remembering the lyrics of one of the few songs that hadn't abandoned his mind. He couldn't help it; the words slipped past his weakened recollection like water through tired hands.
"Hearts full of passion," he exhaled, breathing heavily. His stamina wasn't what it used to be, much to his shame and regret. Then again, he has been singing for a long time now, not having anything else to occupy himself with. "Jealousy and... and hate?" he blinked, a worming sense of dread gripping him.
He decided to shake it off; it was easier to exist in denial than succumb to the truth that his mind was slowly deteriorating.
"Woman needs man, and man must have his mate," he continued steadfast, but when he couldn't recall the next line he stopped dead in his tracks. "That nobody... that no one can... mistake?"
The silence extended, forcing him to dig his memories for the correct words. He rubbed his temples, evening his breathing as his heartbeat sped up.
"That no one can... That no one..?" he tried again, relying on his basic instincts to guide him.
In the end, he lost. As always, the silence won out and all Alastor could do was let out a raw, anguished scream, knowing no one was there to hear it.
------------------
Mist.
Mist crept up behind his hooves wherever Alastor went, an infinite cloud of suffocation ensconcing him in arms as light as a metal cage.
Treading its murky, pearly vapor, Alastor would often wonder about the mental perception of animals that had been forced to endure cold bars and limited mobility for years. The flutter of both respect and sympathy sent a sentimental gust through Alastor’s heart the more he thought of them as he the traveled the empty, lonely planes.
But, then again, there weren't many grievous subjects Alastor hadn't undertaken under his blanket of listless pensiveness. What else was there to do but sulk in gloomy unease along the desolate wasteland that was death's world?
Unfortunately, the musings he used to occupy his endlessly empty time with marginally decreased in frequency, leaving him impuissant against the box of regrets threatening to burst open.
On some days, the rusted casing of the box would crack, filtering through memories Alastor strained to keep at bay. Memories of Rosie, Niffty, Mimzy and Husk skipped along his penitence and he will suffer the remembrance of how he had abandoned them if only so he wouldn't have to think about the one, most important person who had abandoned him.
But, as the minutes dragged on into hours...
As the hours dragged on into days...
As the days dragged on into weeks...
And as the weeks dragged on into months, the memory of Vox snuck closer and closer.
As he rolled over on his stomach to soak the soft soil against his skin, Alastor was ate least glad he didn't really remember the person Vox had become in the past decade, or rather, the demon who had discarded Alastor once he achieved fame and power, who had tried to hypnotize him into selling his soul - something Alastor still couldn't compute without breaking down into a fragile puddle of grief - who had then dedicated all his time into hunting Alastor and befouling his image in the eyes of Hell's population.
Perhaps... it might not have been the good deed Rosie thought it was by silencing the news of Alastor’s death. If everyone knew then they would undoubtedly be thrilled.
...especially Vox.
Was Vox... happy now that Alastor was gone? After all, it was only a matter of time before Hell became suspicious of his absence and much to Alastor’s own surprise he couldn't find it in himself to still be offended. Vox had discarded him long before his death.
With an admonishing sigh, he lamented how he had bifurcated his musings again. He just couldn't keep up a coherent train of thought anymore. Even Eve's visits had decreased in frequency; maintaining an intellectual conversation with someone who didn't have a life had proved a less than compelling task.
When he heard her voice after god knew how long, he had to do a double take, his senses too fatigued and inured to the etiolating fog clinging to him like a parasite.
"...Eve?" he asked uncertainly, partly surprised at the rasp in his tone.
"It's me." she reaffirmed. "Hi."
She sounded as amiable as always, and he rued his inability to match her vivacity. Too preoccupied with wondering what to say, he ended up saying nothing at all. He had already shared most of his life with her; what is a dead man worth after his story is finished?
"I went to the cinema a few days ago," she continued. "It was a cheesy rom-com, nothing special. Though, the acting was commendable."
Her voice fluttered over Alastor’s ears unrestricted, its familiar unceremoniousness like a balm against the screeching quiet. Yet, even its healing potency weighed heavy on his inclination to join the conversation.
Sensing his inappropriate behavior, he finally gave a small nod, not having the strength to form a coherent sentence. It was just so difficult to simply exist in this place. There was no color, no joy, no music, nothing. It was death in its most obvious, draining from. He was expected to survive in a place where not even flowers could.
And he was no flower.
"Darling?" he managed to catch Eve worriedly calling to him and he shook himself back to the present. Lately, half the things she said passed by Alastor's mind, rippling through like broken fragments he could barely cling to.
...had she asked something?
He didn't know and at his taciturn, inarticulate stupidity she added "I had hoped this day wouldn't come so soon."
Again, he didn't answer, waiting for her to elaborate.
With regret clear in her tone, she admitted "This is usually what happens to souls in Purgatory. Some last for months, while others last longer, sometimes for years."
This time, he managed to understand what she meant and, with his voice hoarse from disuse, he asked "How long did I last?"
"I think it's been... oh, four years."
Alastor blanched. "Just... four?" he whispered, defeated.
It didn't feel like four years. It didn't feel even close to it.
Eve was silent for a long moment. "It's quite impressive. I don't know if that makes you feel better."
Alastor stated at the fog, his gaze vacant. "Me neither." He truly didn't know, and he didn't have the capability to process how he felt about not knowing. He rarely... felt these days, his emotions dulled into flickering wisps, not powerful enough to warm up his indifferent heart. "How is he?"
The sudden question surprised even him and instantly his blurry vision sharpened, the ground beneath him became more solid, the crystal air became more tangible.
"Vox?" Eve asked for clarification.
Alastor nodded, his chest thumping as his pulse quickened at hearing that name after so long, a name that once was capable of brightening his entire world.
Vox.
Vox...
Odd... even after everything Vox has done to him, Alastor's world still brightened at the thought of that Picturebox.
"Let me check." She was gone for several minutes, but Alastor didn't worry about her forgetting about him. She wouldn't do that; she's been with him for so long that even when she wasn't present he found comfort in her existence. She was the only thing he had. "He's... doing well."
Of course, he was. "Is he... happy?" after a moment of hesitation, he added "Don't lie for my sake. I would appreciate the truth."
His request clearly made Eve uncomfortable, because her voice tinged into a wince. "He's happy," she told him what he asked for, not what he wanted to hear, but it still relaxed his guilt.
This was good. He wanted Vox to be happy. He didn't know how, but he did. It made him feel better. It made him feel awful.
"He's built quite a name for himself - that suit is absolutely hideous, my god."
Alastor smiled, but didn't laugh. He hasn't had that ability for a while now. "I'm guessing he doesn't miss me."
"It... doesn't look like it, no," she said remorsefully, as though she was hurting Alastor by relaying what they both already knew. "Sorry, love. But, you're better off without him."
Alastor huffed, half-hearted. He had only facetiously sketched the surface of what had happened between them for Eve, she didn’t know the full extent of how complicated it really was. "I don't know about that."
"Why do you say that?" she retorted, bitter on his behalf. "He tried to steal your soul. I say he doesn't deserve your forgiveness."
Alastor merely fluffed the soil beneath his fingertips, making idle patterns to avoid the searing confession laid on his tongue. "Maybe I deserved it."
Pervasive, chilling silence curbed the atmosphere with a taut pull of suspense. The tension belied whatever thoughts he might have had and only after the words left his mouth did he realize how mortified he should be.
"No." Eve gasped. "No, you didn't."
Alastor closed his eyes, shaking his head. Unable to stop it, his voice broke. "I know."
The words were out. They were finally out and no amount of self-deprecation or hours spent wondering what he had done wrong could nullify the painful truth.
"I know," he could feel that dreaded, dense lump rising in his throat, egging on his inability to stifle the confessions chained deep inside his soul that so desperately wanted to be released. "I don't know what happened... I lost him... and I don't understand how!"
"Oh, sweetie..." Eve hushed with grief.
At the softness in her voice, that last thread holding Alastor’s fortified composure snapped.
The alien sensation of tears sliding down his cheeks only amplified the despair gripping his heart with iron claws and, like a dam being broken, he crumpled into sobs.
He covered his face with a hand, not wanting to be seen in such a vulnerable, ruined state. "I miss him so much," his voice cracked, the pitiful sounds of his crying as only thing to be heard made him realize how much he had truly been suffering in silence for so long. "I don't know what happened... He changed and I tried to stop it, but I couldn't! I... I... He just... stopped caring... He's gone and I don't know why!"
Eve remained silent. He couldn't blame her, even he was stumped at the emotional outburst brought on out of nowhere. After all this time... the nightmares plaguing him were released into the open. His body had curled up, his other arm circling his waist in a sad attempt at comfort. He will never be hugged again, never be held, never be kissed.
Thick, choking sobs clawed out of his throat as the thoughts tore him apart. "I loved him..." he said to no one. "I loved him... so much..!"
"Alastor..." Eve said, barely above the sound of a gentle breeze. "I'm so sorry..."
It could have been his hopeless imagination, but he could have sworn he noticed her voice wobbling.
The fog pulsed, more alive than it has been these past few years, as thin, ghostly tendrils drifted over his form, covering his limbs with a gentleness he couldn't feel - Eve's consolation that he wasn't alone - and all Alastor could do was beg for the void to engulf him.
She stayed with him as he cleansed his pernicious sorrow right until the moment sleep took pity and reclaimed him, unaware of his silent pleas for a final peace that will never come.
------------------
He didn’t dream anymore.
------------------
"Stars fading but I linger on, dear," Eve sung, nearing the end of the song. "Still craving your kiss - come on! Sing with me, you know this one - I'm longing to linger 'til dawn, dear. Just saying this."
Alastor didn't sing, but the mystifying melody flowing from her voice that reverberated with a tamed power capable of bringing civilizations to heel soothed him.
"Sweet dreams 'til sunbeams find you, sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you," she continued her determined attempt to try and resuscitate him. "But, in your dreams whatever they be, dream a little..." her voice tapered off, giving up. "Alastor?"
The magic ceased, plunging Alastor back into that familiar sea of torpor.
When he didn't even so much as twitch, she tried again "Come on, darling. Humor me," the sound of his lethargy was his only response so Eve changed tactic. "Alright, how about a different song? I'll start - I used to sing this one a long time ago, so I might be rusty, but it'll be fun," she cleared her throat and Alastor almost felt bad for dousing her optimism. "My name is Eve, and I like to sing," she clapped, creating a makeshift rhythm. "And when we get to know each other it's the greatest thing! Okay, now you go."
...Alastor didn't.
He didn't want to.
He didn't want to do anything and while his entire essence longed for Eve's company no matter how brief it might be, another more confusing part of him didn't want Eve there anymore. It was less toilsome to exist when he didn't have pressure to perform and it might have been ungrateful - she had no obligation to remain by his side after all these years - but, he just... couldn't participate.
He heard her disappointed sigh. "I- I can go if you'd prefer to be alone."
He was going to lose her too - he acknowledged dejectedly, but didn't have the will to circumvent that inevitable end as he lay limb on the ground, eyes closed as he thought about how strange it was that both he and Eve used music to weather his increasing depression. There must be some magic stored in song; humans have used it to instill hope, spread love, encourage joy, express sadness and magnetize audiences since the dawn of humanity. Was it Eve's contribution as the second woman blessed by the angels themselves? Have all humans inherited that trait from her? Was that why her voice was so remarkable and emotive?
"I understand," Eve cut through his rumination, plaintive.
Alastor processed her echoing words from faraway, lost in his mind. He didn't say anything. What was the point?
He didn't even blink when he felt her presence leaving him.
------------------
For thousands of years, Eve had spent wandering this deleterious abyss.
He couldn't even survive six years... At least, that's how long Eve told him he had spent here.
Six whole years of his mind wilting away, his thoughts dying, his memories fading, his will to exist diminishing. He hasn't had a taste of food, hasn't basked in a single drop of water, hasn't felt anyone's voice wash over him, hasn't melted into a touch of human skin, hasn't experienced any trace of life. Even Eve hardly visited him anymore; he wasn't exactly the most thrilling company to spend time with.
He didn't want to lose so quickly, knowing he had been doomed to still yet spend an eternity like this, so even though it hurt, he managed to pry his vocal chords loose enough to try singing again. "You must... remember this," he didn't recognize his voice, weighed down by the cruelty of each leaden drop of time torturously trickling on his mind until it had eroded it completely. "A kiss is... a kiss? A sigh is a sigh."
He knew he was butchering the lyrics, but he continued anyway. "The fundamental things remain. As time goes by."
It was the last song that still clung to his flickering recollection, the song he had sung on the day he died.
"They still say when two lovers woo," he scrunched his brows, unable to remember the verse. "I loved you. I... I loved..." he choked, suddenly deciding he didn't want to sing the song anymore.
But, his brain wasn't as lenient. It resumed rolling the song in his head whether he wanted it or not.
On me you can rely. No matter what's in the future. As time goes by.
Moonlight and love songs, never out of date.
Hearts of joy, hate and..?
Woman needs man, and man must have... That no one can take?
He shook his head, praying for sleep to claim him and hopefully cleanse his mind, the effort and embarrassment of being incapable to sing a simple song too exacting on his withered conscience.
It's the same old fight for love and glory, a case of do or die.
The world will always welcome lovers. As time goes by.
And so it did. Time streamed like an aging river of starlight, unable to be felt unless one intended to chase it. Except, the world didn't welcome lovers as it once did.
------------------
"I'm back."
...
"I... have news."
...News?
"Alastor?" Eve whispered so gently Alastor could have mistaken her for an airy shift in the mist. "Are you listening?"
His eyes cracked open.
Everything was still white.
"Hey," she said even more softly.
Hi, Alastor replied, or perhaps, he had merely thought it. It has been a while since he's had visitors; he was out of touch on proper communication etiquette.
"I've been working on getting you out," she began flatly, her tone taking on a more serious edge. "...And I think I can do it."
It took Alastor too long to process what she had just said, the implications of what it could mean dropping like a bombshell, and when he did, he closed his eyes again, not having the strength to deceive himself with hope. They both knew he wasn't getting out of here.
"Alastor?" she said again. Again? Was it again? Did she leave and come back? "Did you hear me?"
Pressing his lips and bringing his knees closer to his chest, Alastor nodded, hoping the question he had heard was the one she was referring to.
"I just thought..." she drawled. "You'd be happier about it."
Her enthusiasm was endearing.
Alastor knew better. "What's the price?" he asked gruffly, his voice battered and unrecognizable as he used it for the first time in months.
Eve was quiet for a moment that to his wayward mind felt like forever, before she finally revealed the catch. "Your soul."
Ah.
There it was.
Strange how two words could so expeditiously capsize Alastor’s opinion on someone.
"It's not what you think," Eve instantly rebounded, evidently having sensed Alastor’s wordless disapprobation. "Your soul is strong; I think it should be enough to give me the power to pull you out into the living world."
The disappointment and betrayal still simmered in Alastor’s churning gut. "Why can't you do it without my soul?" It was a vain effort but he had to try.
Eve calmly explained "Because I need the power I have to keep myself out of there. I, unlike you, didn't die, I was purposefully condemned to Purgatory. Your leave should be easier. Besides, it isn't just a question of breaking the universe apart, I also need to recreate your body atom by atom to house your soul."
The more Eve elaborated on the impossible, the more Alastor has difficulty accepting her ability to make it possible.
"Just think of it as transferring your life energy to me so that I can return it," she added in an obvious attempt to pacify his hesitation. "I know how Overlords handle their souls in Hell... I won't treat you that way."
Alastor gave a small smile that didn't reach his eyes; his repudiation to Eve's proposal was born not out of fear of her. No, the many years he had spent with her allayed any potential belief that she would exploit him the way so many of Hell's reigning authorities did to their indentured souls. His doubt and distrust came from the uncertainty of what a future with a collar looked like.
If he accepts he would be owned by a relatively decent person, but he would be owned nonetheless. His body will no longer be his. His thoughts will be shared with someone else. His powers will be tied to another. The woman who had given free will to humanity would take his away.
The irony.
Yet, something even more sinister scratched his conscience. "Did you know you could do it?" he asked quietly, almost furtive. "Did you make me wait and become desperate so that you can get me to sell you my soul?"
The accusation pierced the air, stretching it taut into an uncomfortable tension. He didn't have to wait long for Eve to answer because she instantly jumped to squash his worries. "No, of course not. I swear, I didn't know. I've been pulling at the fabric of this dimension for the past few months to see if it's even possible. Actually, I still don't know if it is, but I think it's worth a try," she paused for a moment before adding "I promise, if I knew I would have told you sooner."
Alastor absorbed the words. His eyes opened as he felt the dreadful, morbid slither of hope in his veins that refused to die out. "But... why me?" The question was vague, cloying on his distrust. "Haven't you tried bringing someone else back from the dead before? You can have anyone. All of human history to choose from. Why me?"
"Well, no, up until your death I used all the energy I could gather to keep myself in the real world, so I didn't have much of it to spare for others. And I'm choosing you because..." she trailed off, her voice wavering with an inscrutable oscillation. "Because I like you. And I think you and I could work well together."
"What will we need to work on?" he needed to know her plans for him if he even dares to consider accepting her deal.
"I don't know, really." Alastor didn't understand why she sounded so sincere, but didn't interrupt her buttering him up. "I guess it will just be easier to have someone I can trust in Hell if I ever need help."
Alastor blinked emptily, processing and weighing the options. "Fair enough," he said simply, emotionless, but he couldn't deny the proposition was... quite fair.
At his indifference, Eve persisted "Look, it could be fun. You'd be out of there and we won't have to speak through this cryptic live air communication as you call it."
It sounded good, too good. Throughout the unendurably long years, Alastor has recurrently begged for salvation, sometimes he hid his longing deep in his head, other times he physically got down on his knees to pray in a display of submission that could have killed him if the desperation wasn't exponentially more painful. And here he was presented with the solution even his wildest dreams couldn't have fabricated.
A simple deal was all it took to release him of this agony, of this freezing death. A simple deal was all he had to do to return to the life he knew, to the taste of blood, the warmth of fire, the chill of a mischievous wind, the unpredictability and chaos of civilization. The fantasy of returning to Niffty, to Rosie, to Mimzy and perhaps give Vox the devastation of a lifetime was too delicious to futilely linger on.
How cathartic...
How easy...
"No." Alastor heard himself saying. "I... can't."
------------------
You must remember.
A kiss...
A sigh...
As time goes by.
As time goes by...
When two lovers rue..?
I loved you... No matter what...
Moonlight.... passion... jealousy...
...And hate.
That no one... that no one..?
No one...
A case of do or die.
As time goes by.
Bye...
Bye.
"Alastor?"
No one.
You must remember.
"I need your help."
As time goes by...
I need your help.
I need your help...
Rusty eyelids unfolded and the world plunged into white.
Purgatory.
Alastor remembered.
"Alastor, say something," a woman implored.
Eve.
"Eve," Alastor whispered.
A case of do or die.
Moonlight.... passion... jealousy...
When two lovers rue..?
"Thank goodness, you had me worried there," she puffed out a breath of relief. "I know it's been a while, but I need you."
The mist thrummed as though anxious.
Alastor had never seen it do that.
He rolled over on his back, content with letting Eve take the rails of the situation.
You must remember.
As time goes by...
"Okay," Eve sighed, sounding nervous and slightly guilt-ridden. "We already talked about you giving me your soul - and I know I said I won't take advantage of it, I still mean that - but, there's something going on in Hell that I need your help with."
Alastor stared up at the void, unblinking.
"I can't go to Hell - well, I can't go now, there's some stuff I need to deal with," she tumbled over her own words. "So I need someone else to go in my stead. It's a simple task, nothing dangerous or risky, it should be easy for a demon like yo-"
"Please," Alastor choked out, cutting her off.
He didn't recognize his own voice.
You must remember.
As time goes by...
The urgent desperation in his tone must have stumped her because she fell silent immediately.
"Please, I'll do it just..." his heart thundered in his chest while the rest of his body remained as still as a corpse. "You can have my soul, just get me out of here."
"You don't... want to hear what the job is?" she asked incredulously, evidently having not anticipated how dire his despondency had become.
Moonlight.... passion... jealousy... and hate.
Alastor said nothing.
When Eve realized he was waiting for a response she offered "I need you to watch someone for me, someone who will be in danger soon. I need you to stay by her side and help her with whatever she needs. I need you to protect her," After a moment of deliberate hesitation she solemnly added "Even with your life."
Eve... wanted him to look after someone for her.
Oh.
How sweet.
I loved you... No matter what...
It seemed Alastor wasn't the only one who couldn't reach the people he loved.
"Who is she?" Curiosity momentarily trumped his constant melancholy like a single ray of sunshine reaching deep into the dark, vast ocean.
"She's the Princess of Hell."
For the first time in years, Alastor felt his face screw with emotion as his brows raised up, intrigued.
A case of do or die.
"She's launching a hotel to redeem sinners. Unfortunately, there's people who don't want to see that happen."
Moonlight... passion... jealousy... hate...
Alastor frowned, though still amused. "A hotel... to redeem sinners?" He couldn't wrap his head around it. He chuckled humorlessly. "Sounds ludicrous. Why would you need me to entertain such a silly idea?"
As time goes by.
"Because it's not so silly." If her tone hadn't been blazing with unshakeable assurance, Alastor would have laughed her off. "What she's trying to do... could flip Heaven's entire system upside down."
A case of do or die.
A case of do or die.
Passion and jealousy.
"And you want to see that happen?" Alastor deduced, sensing that same proclivity for revenge in Eve that he himself had.
...And hate.
"...Maybe," she admitted and to Alastor’s great pride he couldn't detect any shame in her tone. "I wouldn't mind seeing them face the flaws they try so desperately to hide revealed to everyone."
Alastor couldn't fault her for that. On the contrary, he secretly applauded her tenacity. After being condemned for thousands of years to a fate worse than Hell, she was owed a diligent retribution.
Jealousy and hate...
"So, what do you say?" Eve took on a more conclusive, invigorating approach. "Want to protect this girl and help me change the world?"
...She wasn't just offering him a front row seat to this cataclysmic, once in a lifetime spectacle where the very mechanism of the universe itself would alter, but she was also offering him an active, vital role in it.
If what she was saying was true, and if the Princess' plan was indeed as pivotal as Eve claimed, then he would be helping her bring Heaven down to its knees.
A case of do or die.
You must remember.
As time goes by.
I loved you... No matter what...
Two lovers rue.
As time goes by.
Alastor couldn't watch time pass him by anymore.
"I say," he thought long and careful, weighing every outcome to the best of his frail capability. "You have yourself a deal."
Just as the words rose into the snowy, pale open, Alastor felt the very air scintillate. The shift transcended through dimensions, connecting him with Eve and before his disbelieving eyes he saw the mist curling in on itself. Gentle whirlwinds of fog sprung in a sporadic, dizzying pattern, hurling his surroundings into chaos.
Alastor sat up, his soul stirring back to life as he intimately felt it leave his body. The instinct to latch onto it was overwhelming, a primal, panicked reaction to losing something valuable, something innate that should never be taken away.
It was all wrong, like a violation, like acid seeping onto his heart, but he grit his teeth and endured it, confident in his choice, excited that he will finally leave this nightmare.
"You never even asked me to return your soul when I free you," Eve tore him from his reverential ogling. "You didn't even know if it will work."
Alastor stilled on the spot, frowning.
She was right; he hadn't even spared a moment to extract more information from her; doltish from the lack of mental enrichment he had blindly taken her word and trusted it.
...He had just sold his soul to someone who he hadn't even seen in person. He liked to believe he knew Eve, they had spent years together, but the reality of what he had just done struck him like a bullet.
He had sold his soul...
A case of do or die.
You must remember.
He had sold his soul!
As time goes by.
When two lovers rue..?
Something stark red drew his attention back and the fire spiking his adrenaline ignited to a blistering degree when he saw a metal chain forming from thin air before him. Its luminous, unnatural glow settled deep into Alastor's memories and he knew he would never forget the sight of the chain connecting to a collar of ownership around his throat.
Time.
Time.
Time.
Time.
Remember.
"It's red," Eve pointed out. "Interesting. I wasn't sure what color it would be."
Goes by.
Go by.
Go by.
No matter what.
The chain pulled taut and Alastor gasped. His hands instinctively bolted to grasp at the metal in an attempt to ease the pressure on his neck, but his hold wavered as his entire body began to tingle.
"Oh, there we go, I think it's working," she spoke, but Alastor couldn't process the words.
He began to shake as he felt a foreign energy crawl over him, digging into his bones, caressing his muscles, invading his skin like a disease. He felt it all happening at once, the beat in his heart reinforced, the panic in his veins amplified, the thoughts in his mind crashed into an incomprehensive frenzy as his body was being rebuilt, millions of molecules banding together to recreate him.
When two lovers run.
Two...
Two?
Two.
He belonged to someone else now.
"Brilliant," his new master idly commented. "I never knew I could do this. I'm bringing life, I'm doing what Heaven is supposed to do."
Alastor began to hyperventilate. Everything was going exactly according to plan yet he couldn't calm down. The fog around him swirled so fast now he couldn't tell left from right.
No matter what.
No.
No.
Time goes.
No.
Do or die.
Go.
Two lovers run.
No.
No!
A whimper escaped him as his surroundings progressively cornered him in the middle of a dangerous storm while his biology defied the laws of the universe. It whipped at his hair and caused his fur to stand on end like a frightened prey.
It felt like the very air was fighting against him, coiling a menacing, torrid knot of pressure to control him, to keep him where he belonged.
No!
You must remember.
You must stop.
No.
Stop.
Die.
Stop!
"And yet they call me evil," she echoed above the storm threatening to rip Alastor to pieces, but it wasn't the voice Alastor had been hearing for so long. It was the sinister, malicious, utterly monstrous sound he had trembled from all those years ago. "I can create life and they dare to call me an abomination."
Evil itself captured him in its clutches.
"Wh-what?" Alastor staggered, not knowing what was happening and terrified at the abrupt, ominous tilt of Eve's voice.
Passion.
Jealousy.
Hate.
Something was wrong.
Hate.
Hate.
Hate.
Hate!
Hate!
"Yes, I don't believe I've ever told you the names I'm known by," she continued in that guttural voice, sending Alastor’s ears pinning back in a pitiful attempt to stifle it. "I've been present throughout all of human history. There are many titles I have been given."
No.
No.
No.
No!
No!
Stop!
"Monster, is one of them. Beast, demon, devil, vermin, wraith."
Go.
Go.
Die!
Go!
She wasn't human!
Stop!
Stop!
Stop!
She didn't stop. "Then there are the more creative ones: Boogeyman, Baba Yaga, Butzemann, La Llorona, banshee, witch, corruption."
"Please stop!" he slapped his palms over his ears to cover them and closed his eyes, curling his body into a tight ball on the ground. He couldn't listen to her, every devastating grind of her vocal chords splintered his composure into thousands of tiny, sharp fragments.
No!
No!
No!
Run!
"I'm constantly blamed for every sin, every disease, every crime." Every word out of her mouth chipped away Alastor’s ability to breathe as the ghoulish, perverted nature of her voice sent his panic skyrocketing.
What the fuck has he done..?!
"The devil made me do it, they'd say, but little did they know it was me all along."
Alastor screamed as every single one of his cells morphed simultaneously.
Die!
Die!
Die!
Die!
Die!
"I am in every corner of the world. I have hidden in every shadow since the dawn of time. I have followed humanity and I have whispered in its ear to hurt, to defile, to wound, to damage, to break, to kill. I have been there for all of it."
No!
Run!
Run!
Run!
Run!
"I am death."
Run!
Run!
Run!
Run!
Run!
Run!
"But, from all those names, there is one I prefer the most."
Suddenly, the storm quelled. Silence descended like a ravaging avalanche, somehow fiercer than the chorus of alarmed sirens overtaking Alastor's mind.
"...I am the root of all evil."
Alastor’s gaze snapped up, eyes blown wide open in terror, the shaking in his limbs uncontrollable in the ominous quiet. Out of nowhere, a root sprung from the ground and coiled with lightning speed around his wrist.
He yelped, startled, and instantly began to claw at it, but the root held firm, tightening around his wrist so hard he knew it would leave bruises. He could do nothing to stop it from yanking his entire arm into the soil itself and, as his face was pushed into the ground, Alastor could have sworn he saw a shrouded figure standing amidst the fog a distance away. She stood tall, confident, eerie; her body was slender, framed by long, dark hair that flowed elegantly behind her, and Alastor could vaguely make out a black, checkered hat atop her head that went in tune with the black-red assortment of her clothes. The sound of chains clanked as she stalked towards him.
Before he could properly imprint her image in his mind, another root wrapped around his waist in tandem with two more seizing his legs that pulled him further down, unable to rip himself away as they dragged him deep under the cushy soil.
"But, you can call me Roo."
The ground dipped underneath him and the world faded behind as Alastor got sucked into another world.
------------------
...
...
...
...
...
The first thing Alastor felt was the rancid stench of bygone, mounted trash laced with the unmistakable odor of polluted air. The amalgamation was so foul and nauseating Alastor lurched with a sickened, gagging sound.
His eyes shot open and, despite them being agonizingly dry, Alastor couldn't force them closed as they anchored to the vivid, chromatic sight of Hell. The rich, crimson sky stared down at him with a menacing welcome, bold behind the fanged ravens flying high above, searching for their next victim.
For several long seconds, Alastor simply stared, his mind adapting to the fact that he was seeing color, but his awe-struck gawking was briskly cut short when a dark blotch slid into his field of vision.
A shadow with sharp eyes and an even sharper smile loomed over him.
His shadow.
"My old friend," he gasped, reaching out a hand towards it as the need to affirm its presence overwhelmed him.
His shadow blinked exactly once before it threw its arms around his neck and in that moment all the air abandoned Alastor’s lungs.
His arms remained stupidly raised at his sides, frozen, before he mustered up the sense to wrap them around his shadow as his body sunk into the feeling of being embraced. A feeling he never thought he would experience again.
"It's been a long time," he squeezed tighter, uncaring where he even was or whether he was being watched.
His shadow released a small, shrill chirp that pulled at Alastor’s heartstrings dreadfully. He continued to hold it, their forms melting into each other's softness after being bereft of it for so long.
When they both finally found the strength to let go and pick themselves up, Alastor realized he had been ejected into the same alley he had died with the same clothes he had been wearing. He wrinkled his nose at Hell's still dirty, ramshackle state, littered with all manner of grime and filth.
Oh, how he had missed it.
As he turned to leave the barren alley, his eye caught on his familiar cane lying glumly on the floor. Smirking, he picked it up, admiring its comforting weight and firmness against his palm and wondering how it had even gotten here, but on second thought he decided it was better not to question it since he doubted anything he will ever experience again could match the horrid, cosmic mystery he had survived.
He had died... and he had been brought back to life.
The reality of his elusive situation proved difficult for his discombobulated mind to properly register, so Alastor instead decided to trudge on, postponing the inexplicable for later contemplation.
The moment he stepped into the open, rancor and chaos reached his sensitive ears. He had forgotten how loud Hell was, but he didn't complain; he would accept the shrieking and clamor over the hollow silence any day. Through the thunderous racket, he did manage to snatch the audio of the many, many walls of televisions plastered on almost every building.
"Ladies and gentlemen," a sprightly, female voice spoke. "I'm opening the first of its kind, a hotel that rehabilitates sinners!"
Alastor sharply stopped in his tracks, remembering the task Eve - no, Roo - had assigned to him.
For a moment he considered ignoring the Princess, curious on what the consequences of him disobeying would be, but the possibility of Roo returning him to Purgatory if she wasn't satisfied ultimately forced him to eschew her choler, igniting his legs into motion.
He stepped forward to get a better view and instantly recognized the Princess as a former guest on Vox's show.
"Y'know, 'cus hotels are for people passing through... temporarily," she winced, shrinking in on herself. "I figure it would serve a purpose... um, a place towards redemption... yay."
There she was. Alastor’s new mission.
Looking at her, at the gentleness in her eyes and the honesty in her words as she spoke of the goodness demons possessed, Alastor tilted his head and only then did he realize he was doing something he hadn't done in seven years.
He was smiling.
Notes:
LONG ASS END NOTE INCOMING (it's been a while so I have some stuff to say):
Right so this chapter nearly MURDERED ME AAAGGHHDSSSSGGGHHH, I'm not sure how noticeable it is but I tried to keep the story slightly canon compliant (because let's face it this entire fic is not meant to resemble much of the original story) and stick to what Zestial said about "falling to holy arms" which I couldn't get out of my head, hence Alastor’s death and his stay in Purgatory.
!!!!! Also, in the future I will keep the chapters shorter because it fits more with my writing that way (so no more 10k long chapters lol) and also so I can release the chapters sooner <33 And I plan to get the plot to speed up a notch since most of the mystery and emotional turmoil has passed and we can finally get into the action ;)
Also, for the record, Roo doesn't know real Vox was swapped with fake Vox. She isn't spying on Hell 24/7 since that would be exhausting. She's just popping in at random and reporting what she sees. Just mentioning this in case it seemed like she was intentionally keeping the truth from Al. I know she's meant to be the worst of the worst but I actually plan to play around with her character and add a little twist to her personality (because it's my wildly-removed-from-canon fic and I can do what I want lol)
Just want to say, if the timeline is a bit convoluted and unclear here is the proper flow:
17 years ago Vox got replaced by Fake Vox. After 7 years fake Vox tried to steal Al's soul. Alastor spent the next 2 years falling into a depressive spiral of hopelessness after which he died. Seven years passed in Purgatory. And 1 year where he worked at the hotel (aka season 1) totaling 17 years <3
Chapter 15: Eyes on me
Notes:
Okay, first off I want to apologize if I spooked anyone with my fics and restate that this fic is not getting abandoned or deleted!! I have every intention to see it to the end <33
This story got me thinking though about how I would describe Alastor and Vox's relationship with a song and I think a combination of a slightly slowed down version of luminary by joel sunny and that melody by the tiktok girl humming with her fan would describe them perfectly. There's something so poignant about those songs, there's despair, untold tragedy, heartbreak, love, danger, impending doom, hope, loss and reunion. It's not that important but if anyone wants some background music to listen to while reading the fic I'd recommend these two.
P.S. I think it's funny that Alastor was gone for seven years and I released that last chapter exactly 7 months later. Nice 👌
Also, I can't express enough how grateful I am to all you lovely people commenting and still sticking with this fic! I love you all so much and I hope you like this chapter too! 💜💜💜
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Fluid and suffocating like a river, Alastor's adversities fell over the room, dousing every last inch in inky, noxious despair. Somehow, retelling his story downpoured the truth of his recollection into a prism of fresh, vivid lights he didn't previously have by simply stewing it in his memories. Now that it was out in the open did he truly realize how dreary their situation was.
Unfortunately, the headache that had sprung from Vox's back and forth pacing didn't assuage Alastor’s plight. While Alastor had narrated what had happened between him and Roo - mindful not to omit any important details - Vox's expressions had frisked through every emotion in existence ranging from concern, fear, relaxation, surprise, hate, terror and profound despondency with no clear pattern and at some point the demon had stood up, unable to process the onslaught of information darkening his world.
A few minutes had certainly passed since Alastor concluded, yet Vox was still going. "Darling?" Alastor called out to him.
Vox shook his head, his narrowed gaze sternly piercing the floor with a frown that Alastor worried was going to give the demon a migraine. He didn't say anything as Vox marched with the frigid gusto of a malfunctioning robot, the restlessness not decreasing as he pointedly avoided looking at Alastor.
Alastor winced, wondering whether telling Vox about everything so soon had been an ill-advised decision. But, then again, he had been delaying it for too long now and Vox wouldn't have accepted no for an answer. "Vox?" he tried again. "Do you want to sit down-?"
"I'm fine," Vox coarsely answered with a clipped, unconvincing pretense of calmness.
Alastor’s wince grew. "Very well." He crossed his palms over his lap, letting his fingers tap idly as he gave the other time for the life-altering, horrid truth to sink in.
"Shit!" Vox exclaimed, his hands shooting up to clutch at his antennas, eyes wide and teeth gritted. Overwhelmed. Confused. Lost. Helpless. "Fuck, this can't be happening!"
The remaining pieces of Alastor’s heart shattered further. Consumed with the need to alleviate Vox of this seemingly unending pain, Alastor stood up as well and walked over to him. "It's alright," he riddled his voice with as much potent solace as he could muster. "I'm still free to be with you."
Vox dropped his arms lamely to his sides and leveled Alastor with a desolate, anguished expression that Alastor never wanted to see again. "For how long?" he argued, his tone quiet from the excruciating dismay tainting it. "How do we know she won't pop up here tomorrow and drag you away with her?"
Alastor nodded, feigning understanding for Vox's benefit, and raised a hand to gently grab Vox and still his hurried, anxious pacing. "Well, for now she needs me to keep an eye on the hotel, so I won't leave yo-"
"For now!" Vox yelled, the paranoia and dolor gradually depleting to make room for anger. "What happens when that's done? What if she won't even wait and summons you for a different mission? What if she doesn't even care and just wants to hurt you?!"
"She doesn't," Alastor laid a comforting hand on the other's shoulder which shuddered with twitches that reverberated even through Alastor’s own skin. "We've spoken only a few times since she brought me back to life, but I don't think she's the type to toy around with her thralls. Especially, if she needs me to perform her wishes."
The crazed look Vox gave him made him want to plummet through the floor only to escape it. "Alastor..." he began slowly, his gaze fixed on Alastor as though he were a ticking time bomb about to explode. "She is the root of all evil. They don't hand out that title for no reason!"
"Well, yes, but she's been kind to me so far."
"Kind..?" Vaguely, Alastor got the impression Vox was going to strangle him soon. He knew he wouldn't, but his ire was extraordinarily convincing. "So far... Alastor... she was nice because she wanted your soul!"
"If that were the case she would have offered the job to someone more desperate, someone she wouldn't have to convince for seven years - trust me, Vox - I've thought about what her motives are a hundred times by now. She's had my soul for nearly a year and she hasn't exploited it. Besides," he laid his other hand on Vox's other shoulder like attempting to soothe a blistering supernova. "She did promise not to treat me the way Overlords treat their souls and so far, she has been true to her word."
"That is a very broad description, Alastor." Vox's voice lowered down to a disconcerted hush, airy as a wayward ghost. "There are far worse than us out there. Overlords like... like him. And we aren't exactly angels."
A heavy tension fell between them, almost palpable in the danger His mere existence exuded. They both knew who Vox was referring to.
The pads of Alastor’s thumbs began to gently knead Vox's shoulders in the hope to transfer their comforting, invoiced commiseration. "Not all Overlords are the same. There are... some more lenient than others."
"That's exactly my point Al," Vox said monotonously, no distinctive emotion present in his tone. "There is no such thing as a benevolent or good-hearted Overlord."
Vox's face didn't emit the haunted stillness Alastor had expected. It was calm, frozen over, blank. As much as Alastor wanted to whisk away Vox's worries and implant that they will be okay and there was no reason for concern, a deeper, more rational part of him recognized it as his own need to reassure himself. After all that Vox had endured, all the misery and suffering and torture, Alastor had not only failed to help rinse the trauma, but he was actively adding onto it, further prolonging Vox's distress and sweeping the safety net they had carefully threaded with love and affection right from underneath him.
"She hasn't hurt me, Vox." His own voice dropped to a solemn susurrus, as disruptive as the harmony of wind breezing over a still lake. "I don't... I don't think she even wants to."
The expression that flushed over Vox's face was worse than Alastor could have imagined. The demon tilted his head back, his eyes hooded. Defeated. "So why didn't she reveal who she was when you met her?" His eyebrows raised, challenging Alastor to answer. "She's a liar. She deceived you. She's probably doing it right now."
Alastor squeezed his shoulders and stepped closer. "Well, I imagine not many people would agree to sell their soul if they knew their contractor was the root of all evil."
"I wonder why." The sarcasm failed to accompany his words.
Alastor squeezed his shoulders again, a clear implore for Vox to look at him. "Let's... We can't know for certain what her intentions are for me when she gets what she wants from Heaven. So, for now, let's just focus on making sure you're safe."
Vox squinted his eyes disapprovingly. "How are you so calm about this?"
The question struck Alastor like sharded glass straight to his heart, reaching far into the dark vastness where his most guileful, disgraceful inhibitions resided in a crooked tangle of biting teeth and rabid claws. The answer lay on his tongue, itching to be released.
Because if I'm not then I will break.
Because I have to be.
For you.
"Because I trust us," was all he managed to offer, the lump in his throat too dense to free the truth. "I trust us to win."
One of Vox's hands raised to settle over Alastor’s and even from the featherlight touch of Vox's shaking fingers Alastor could viscerally feel how overwhelmed and devastated Vox was. "What if we don't..?" His eyes went empty, devoid of any hope and it crushed Alastor's soul into a pitiful, shriveled speck of dust and if he didn't grasp it safely to his chest now it would forever be lost in time's clutches.
"We will. We already won once. We found each other and I won't let anyone take you away from me again. Not even her."
He couldn't even imagine what Vox was feeling; he was barely experiencing the shallows of his heartbreak from the physical manifestations Vox couldn't hide, he couldn't compute the sheer despair Vox was contesting with. He had suffered so much, he had survived seventeen years of torment and pain only to find out, after finally being freed, that Alastor could be stolen away from him at any moment.
"But, Alastor we didn't win." Vox started breathing more heavily, the faintest glimmer of tears smattering in the corners of his eyes and it ignited every instinct in Alastor to brush them away. "We lost. He took so much from us, all those years we could have spent together. And he's still taking."
Noticing the tremor that overtook Vox's voice, Alastor stepped even closer, raising his hands to softly cup Vox's neck and bring their faces inches apart. "He didn't win Vox. He didn't." As resistant as it might be to swallow, he needed Vox to understand this. "There's nothing I won't do to stop him from taking you again. If I have to fight God with my bare hands to stop it from happening, then I will. I finally have you back, Vox. I would die to keep you safe-"
Vox's eyes blew wide open and he shrugged Alastor’s hands off him. "Don't say that," he retreated, shaking his head with a horrified expression. "Don't you dare say that. Alastor, promise me you won't do that. Promise me."
Alastor felt his shoulders sag at the urgency in Vox's tone, his smile straining to be held up by those invisible stitches. "I can't promise that. I would do anything for you. I love you more than I've ever loved anyone, more than I thought I could love anyone." It took every frail ounce of the depleting strength Alastor clung to with bloodied, desperate fingers for him not to crumble on his knees before Vox in a reverential plea for his forgiveness. "I would sell my soul a thousand times over just so that I can be here with you. I don't care what she does to me, my life means nothing without you in it."
His hopes dwindled faster than water droplets on a hot sun when Vox pulled further away from him, averting his gaze as his features dropped into the sullen dismay he tried so fervently to hide. "Stop, stop, stop-!" He pressed his palms over his eyes as Alastor felt the floor ready to devour him whole. "Please stop saying that!"
"I'm- I'm sorry-"
"I'm not worth it! I- I can't let you get hurt because of me!"
Alastor’s heart shattered even further, its pieces so brittle and small he wondered how it was still even beating. "Vox you are worth everything to me..."
"I'm not! I shouldn't be... I failed you," his voice cracked, dragging with it a stray tear that gleamed as it fell on Vox's screen. He was fully shaking now, his breathing labored and shallow, his body rocking in place as if the earth itself strived to knock him down. "You died, Alastor! Because of what he did to you, because I was too weak to fight him, because I wasn't there to stop him! It's all my fault." He gazed somewhere far in the distance, lost, overflowing with grief. "All of this is my fault..."
"No. None of this is your fault. Vox..." he walked forward only for Vox to once again recoil.
"It is..." the lingering astonishment of what Vox thought was realization threatened to plunge Alastor back into that sea of forlorn regret. "None of this would have happened if I had fought harder. He killed you!" He slapped a hand over his mouth, his expression twisting into horror. "He's the reason you died! You were dead for seven years! You suffered for seven years! And now she has your soul... She'll torture you! She'll- Oh, god-!"
Vox's voice broke, expression twisting into abject desolation and before Alastor knew it, his legs were moving. As if on autopilot, his body was pulled towards Vox like a magnet, muscles straining to protect him, heart yearning to hold him, soul clawing out of its fortified shell to help him. His arms found their way so naturally around the demon's frame and the world tipped as Vox instantly slumped into the embrace.
His knees buckled as he melted into Alastor, his whole weight supported by him. Alastor tightened his hold, keeping Vox flush against him as the demon got racked by panicked, wet sobs. "No! No, I can't lose you!" He yelled into Alastor's shoulder, his hands clutching at Alastor’s shirt like a lifeline. "You're mine! She can't have you!"
"She doesn't!" Alastor was quick to comfort, pushing down the torrid drought splintering him from the inside at the fractured sounds of Vox's crying, at the violent shaking of his body, at the sheer, unfettered anguish he was feeling. "You won't lose me. You are not to blame for any of this Vox, and she won't take me away from you! No matter what happens, I need you to believe me, I need you to believe that she won't split us up again."
"You don't know that!" Vox hiccupped, his grip on Alastor deathly as distressed static waved in the air, pitching Alastor’s own signal askew. "I don't buy it. I don't trust her!"
There was nothing in this life or the next that Alastor wouldn't sacrifice to relieve Vox of this agony. There was nothing he wouldn't do to make sure Vox will never crumple in his arms like this again, that he will never have to fear for his safety or Alastor’s, that he will never have to doubt or mourn the uncertain loss of their happiness.
"Neither do I," Alastor began to brush Vox's back in mellow, but firm strokes, determinedly stretching his voice tight to level its wobbling as tears of his own found their way down his cheeks, unable to prevail against the sorrow permeating the room. "That's why we have to stay strong. And you are the strongest person I know." When Vox began to shake his head again to deny it, Alastor briskly jostled him. "You are," he said stoically, leaving no room for rebuttal. "You are, and I am the luckiest man alive to be with you. Selling my soul was the best decision I ever made because if I hadn't I would never have found you, you would still be in that Tower and I wouldn't be here, holding you against me. If Roo was here now, offering me that same deal... I would take it in a heartbeat."
Impossibly, Vox seeped even further into the hug, their bodies warm against each other in such a perfect fit, held apart by not even a breath of air. "I finally got you back..." Vox hushed, voice softer now and brimming with a woeful prayer Heaven couldn't hear. "I want you safe."
For the briefest of moments, Alastor had to shut his eyes, the torrent of remorse so profound he couldn't bear it. Fresh tears escaped as he did so. "I'm safe with you."
"No, you're not," Vox gasped into Alastor's neck, face pressed into his tear-stained shirt. "I'm fucking useless. I can't protect you from a damn sinner let alone Overlords."
Alastor's eyes opened and, pushing down every tempting urge in his body to remain in that bubble of warmth and bliss, he extracted himself from the embrace and cradled Vox's screen. "You won't be for long," he iterated firmly, his thumbs gently caressing Vox's damp monitor that was flushed pink, his eyes bloodshot and puffy. "You have accomplished so much Vox. You have come so far. You've survived things no one should have to. He tried to ruin you, and he failed. Here you are standing, alive and more resilient than I could ever be."
The despair soaking Vox's features slid into tired acceptance, a detached apathy Alastor wasn't sure was better. "It doesn't feel like I survived him..." he whispered, so human and honest Alastor wondered how he hadn't split into a million fragments. Suddenly, the invigorating yellow cardigan Vox donned for the first time in seventeen years didn't serve as a tool to return his sense of identity, but a heavy armor Vox didn't have the strength to wear.
He brought Vox's forehead to his own and exhaled a weary sigh, letting his mind pool into the verity of Vox's presence. "You did." He was here. He was alive. And Alastor would dedicate every last waking minute to make sure it stayed that way.
He didn't say anything more after that, and neither did Vox. Engulfed in the security of each other's arms and hidden from prying eyes, it felt like no one could touch him. Slowly, Alastor felt that salving sensation slant into Vox's conscience as well as the demon's shaking eased, as his breaths became even, and as the static lacing the air settled into a loving hum, an adored detail of Vox's wellbeing that Alastor had grown so used to, had become so fond of that it felt unnatural without it.
"I love you," Vox breathed, his hands no longer gripping onto Alastor but instead gently smoothing through the wrinkled, probably torn folds of his clothes.
Alastor’s smile relaxed, curling into an endearing one. "I love you too... so much." After a moment of contemplation and absorbing the calmness that they've found, Alastor added "We'll be okay."
He felt something in him, some poignant, leeching dread, finally vanish when Vox nodded, a far cry from the denial and disbelief from before.
They remained like that for some time, the minutes ticking by in an inestimable track, a long, winding road with seemingly no destiny apart from the never-ending expanse of flowers blooming in their vibrancy.
The meadow has healed.
The sun - Alastor’s sun - that beautiful, heavenly blue was shining again and casting its light onto the somber, lonely sky.
"Alastor," Vox began, so tender in his care not to disrupt this peaceful harmony like a rainbow kissing the land after downpouring rain. "If she even touches you," suddenly, his voice sharpened, a hollow edge intent to instill his hurt into the air. "...I will kill her."
Alastor’s mind leapt back to Vox's exact same response when he found out what The Media Demon had done all those years ago, to the conviction and ominous promise imbued into it, and he smiled wider. They might be doomed, cornered with no way out, trapped into a deal and hunted by Hell's most vicious lunatics, but they had each other. "I know."
They settled back into that mutual silence once more, simply content to hold each other and appreciate how far they've come. The time passed unobstructed, flowing through them and sweeping their troubles away and Alastor barely heard the door when it creaked open.
Vox was the first one to part away, leaving Alastor to fall forward in search for his warmth. His eyes blinked open groggily as though rising from being submerged underwater and he followed Vox's gaze to where it landed on Angel Dust.
"Can we help you?" Alastor called to him, not bothering to hide the offence in his voice incurred from someone barging into their room during a private moment without their permission.
Angel didn't answer, his gaze locked somewhere behind Alastor, absent and unblinking. He looked almost transfixed. He looked...
...cold.
"Angel?" Alastor asked more concerned now, the faintest inkling of anxiety silently worming its way into his gut.
Angel didn't react. His arms hung limply at his sides as he kept staring at them like a lost spirit and Alastor's initial irritation completely died out at the sight. The spider was an odd fellow, but Alastor had never seen him this unresponsive.
Something was wrong.
Before Alastor could act, Vox stepped in front of him, his hand fanned out to the side to shield him. Even now, powerless and wounded, Vox's first thought was to protect Alastor and it filled Alastor with a violent urge to shield the demon. "Stand right there," Vox told Angel in a low, dangerous voice, and instantly Alastor understood Vox had sensed the same thing he had.
Angel simply gaped ahead, no emotion or proof that he had even heard Vox on his face.
Alastor felt his body growing rigid, poised to strike. He curled the shadows in the corners of the room and readied them to attack if necessary as a knowing apprehension clenched his chest into a tight knot. "Vox... you don't think it's-?"
"It's him." Vox responded flatly, the assurance in his tone sending a glacial chill down Alastor’s spine. "Stay behind me."
"How did he even-?"
"I don't know." There was fear in his voice, so clear and true Alastor felt it meld with his own.
As they tensed on the spot, calculating on how to handle the situation of Charlie's main patron hypnotized by the man intent on destroying them, Angel took a step forward.
Vox's hand latched onto Alastor’s, his grip unyielding as he led them back.
Angel kept walking towards them.
"We can't kill him," Alastor bit out, aggravation serrating his tone.
"Unfortunately," Vox agreed, his eyes darting back and forth for an escape or weak point.
The previous bliss they had shared was now fully evaporated and in its place stood pure unease amplifying the closer Angel got to them. When it built up to a searing degree, Alastor sent a telepathic command to his shadows to rise between them and Angel except, before anyone could react, Angel lifted his arm to display his phone.
A hypnotizing eye swirled on its screen and the last thought Alastor had was to shove Vox out of the way before the world disappeared as his entire vision went red.
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Red seeped into his mind like a disease. Dark red. Poisonous red. Full of hate and malice. The type of red that gushes out in the final moments before death's arrival. A chilling red that captures the mind and twists it into something wicked.
Alastor basked in that red as if it was the only thing he ever needed, a drug his body had welcomed since its unwilling creation, a shade he didn't know how to function without. At least... he thought it was until the faintest rays of blue pierced it.
The red ebbed away at the corners of his sight, igniting with its departure Alastor’s hungry instinct to chase it, to latch onto it and keep it all for himself. He wanted to drown in that red. But, that blue crepuscular light wouldn't dissipate. It broke the red in fragments, letting it scatter in motley hues and Alastor wept for its loss, further plagued by the harrowing sensation in his heart that recognized the blue as something familiar.
Distantly, he felt his body tingle, an unnerved dread lapping up the safety the red provided. He could feel his arms and legs more strongly now, like getting coasted by a sea of ice that heightened the warmth of his heated core and made everything feel more lucid. Before his eyes, he could see a bleary, transient image of a modern phone wrapped in thick roots right before it got crushed by them. But... it made no sense. Alastor blinked away the confusion and he frowned as his ears caught on the shrill noises blaring around him.
Someone was saying something; he couldn't figure out what, but slowly, as the red faded to reveal a dim hallway, Alastor recognized the voice.
"-stor! Stop! Al! Wake up!" Someone - Angel Dust, Alastor remembered - was screaming. "Wake up dammit! You're hurting him!"
There was a painful, sharp pressure on his shoulders like knives embedding themselves and it took Alastor a moment to recognize it as frantic fingers trying to pull him back. On reflex, he bolted his feet to the floor to resist the force as trepidation made its way to his senses and only then did he realize what he was truly looking at.
In front of him, suspended in the air by Alastor's own tentacles, was Vox. They were wrapped all around him like a cocoon, tying his legs and wrists together behind his back and bending his body in an uncomfortable conformation. His expression was skewed in pain.
Once Alastor realized who that face belonged to he instantly released Vox.
By the last, fleeting dregs of his common sense he managed to collect himself enough to gently settle Vox on the ground instead of carelessly dropping him. The demon rolled over onto his knees and when he looked up at Alastor, Alastor felt the world tip sideways.
On Vox's face he could find no anger, or fear, or reprehension, or disappointment. No. It was far worse. A picture of misery was sketched amidst the faintest glimmers of affection, affection that Vox was directing straight at Alastor, the calming red of his eyes a far cry from the suffocating red that had overtaken Alastor’s mind. Vox was gazing at him with sympathy, his eyes curved into a plaintive remorse, his smile blunted into something soft and full of understanding.
...understanding that Alastor didn't deserve.
"Al?" Vox reached out to him, slowly standing up on an askance footing as Alastor drowned in the inexorable horror of what he had just done. "Is... is it you?"
Alastor could do nothing but gawk in shame, unable to unlatch his eyes from Vox's form, his tousled clothes, his worried features, his defensive stance, the wariness of his tone as he watched Alastor replace a stranger who had attacked him while he was gone.
He had done that. With his unwitting bare hands, he had done that to Vox.
Alastor stepped back, his body frozen yet violently shaking at the same time.
"Alastor?" Vox tried again, but Alastor wasn't listening.
"No," he mumbled, shaking his head as the static in his voice sliced the air into a broken whine. "Don't come near me."
When Vox stumbled forward to touch him, Alastor panicked. He jumped away and hissed when his back hit the wall behind him. The weak thing in his chest he called a heart began to beat in a frantic, terrified drumming. His surroundings dipped out of focus. The room spun. The lights flickered like a storm of fireflies intent on consuming him.
"I'm sorry..! I didn't- Vox, I'm so sorry!" He closed his eyes which only heightened the jarring ringing in his ears that refused to cease no matter how harshly Alastor flattened them against his head.
"Al. Alastor, stop," Vox was saying and somewhere in the distance Alastor felt him trying to carefully pry the hard, vice grip Alastor’s hands had on his hair. "Look at me. Look at me, sweetheart, I'm fine."
Alastor shook his head more stubbornly, feeling the red waves of hair being uprooted from his skull. Vox was not fine. Alastor had hurt him; after everything Vox had been through and all the promises Alastor had sugar-coated Vox's pain with that he would never have to go through that again, this is what Alastor had done. He had hurt him and no matter how rigorously he tried to expel the sentence from his mind it refused to free him. It spun like a dizzying, hateful cacophony with the sole purpose of killing him.
He had hurt Vox!
"Alastor, please look at me," Vox was pleading with him, still somehow convinced he was indubitably safe with Alastor. His hands found their way on Alastor’s face and tried to tilt it upward. "Alastor, it's not your fault-"
"Don't touch me!" He shouted, unable to open his eyes. He didn't deserve to look at Vox, he didn't deserve to be in his presence since he clearly couldn't control himself around even the most precious, wonderful person he has ever known. "Stay away..! I don't want to hurt you!"
The darkness of his eyelids enveloped him, the sound of his heavy breathing whisking through it like undulating whispers that gave the false impression they could sweep him to someplace faraway.
"No, you won't!" Vox persisted, keeping him trapped in this agonizing reality. "I know you would never. That wasn't you! He made you do it!"
At the mention of Him, Alastor's vision dove back into that sinking red that strived to choke him raw of life, except this time it wasn't the hypnotizing red that took control over him, but an incandescent red of pure fury that could have decimated the entire building on the spot.
"He did this," Vox reiterated with an iron conviction that finally managed to open Alastor’s eyes.
When he looked at Vox through the - he now realized - were tears glistening in his eyes, he nearly dropped to his knees from the tender heartache brimming in Vox's expression. His eyes were veiled by dark blue bags that weighed them down and his smile was tired. He looked exhausted.
"...I'm sorry." Was all the pathetic recompense Alastor could offer.
The tears finally escaped and Vox's fingers gently brushed over the wet trails they left on Alastor’s cheeks, not too different to how Alastor had held him barely a few minutes ago. "Don't apologize. You couldn't do anything against it."
"I..." Alastor gasped in the short distance between their faces, lost and wrecked as the unbearable guilt spread through his veins like worms. "I'm sorry... I don't know what happened. I don't remember anything!"
"I know," Vox calmly reassured, but the trembling in his body was still there like a parasitic curse. "I know, darling. I don't blame you."
This was all wrong. Vox shouldn't be the one comforting him, not after what Alastor had recently told him. He couldn't even fathom Vox's strength and the capacity of his love, and as the fear and dismay slowly depleted from Alastor's soul, he lowered his hands and softly clasped them over Vox's wrists, a light comfort to keep himself steady. The confusion however, didn't disappear. "I just... don't understand how it happened. I don't-" He massaged one of his temples to clear the fog. "He's gotten stronger. Much stronger. I couldn't resist his hypnosis like the last time. I... I have underestimated him."
Vox only nodded his head, his soothing ministrations on Alastor’s face not faltering for a moment. "I know. I think with you gone during those eight years and with no other competition in his medium, he's only gotten more powerful."
The observation fell over them like a black mist. "How did he even get in here?" The moment the question left Alastor’s mouth, clarity struck him like a bullet. He didn't bother to hide the scathing accusation in his expression as he rounded on Angel Dust. "You."
In that one lone word was held every moment of pain and sorrow he had gone through with Vox. In that one word he charged every doubt and worry and vengeful desire and directed it towards the culprit responsible.
Alastor didn't remember what command he had been given to execute, but he couldn't even imagine what would have happened if he hadn't managed to break through the hypnosis. As the thought rushed through his mind, his eyes curiously landed on the broken phone on the ground, its metallic components scattered.
He remembered the root he saw.
"He got me too," Angel bristled under the murderous glare directed at him, expression slumping in defeat.
Alastor didn't care, the sound of Angel's voice dissipating any compassion or discretion he might have had. "You brought him to this hotel. To us." The shadows hiding in the wooden crevices pooled into the open, cornering Angel in a perilous circle with no way out. "After I repeatedly tried to warn all of you about the dangers of modern technology."
He didn't care about obeying Roo's orders, he didn't care about following Charlie's wishes, he didn't care about sparing the demon who had nearly cost them Vox's life. He didn't care. He just didn't care! He was tired. He was furious. He was livid at the selfishness of everyone around him and he didn't even wince as the collar around his neck began to squeeze tight when it noticed him stepping out of line.
Angel's throat bobbed in fear as the demon fidgeted in place, his eyes nervously raking the room as the shadows crept closer. "Hey! I didn't know he could do that shit through phones!" His anger bit back. "He's never done it before... I... I think," he trailed off uncertainly, doubt visibly affixing itself in his mind.
Alastor laughed humorlessly. "That man... controls all the technology in the entire Ring. Every cell phone, every television, every other useless piece of electronic trash. How do you think he got so successful?" Through the skin of his teeth, he refrained from voicing Vox's involvement in that, as much as he wanted to hurl the truth against Angel's stupidity.
The defensive rage momentarily dissipated into genuine shock, a dry realization as Angel realized every waking moment of his afterlife had been secretly watched and filmed. "I didn't know." Suddenly, as he rose out of his stupor, he saw how close the shadows had snuck up on him and he flung his hands erratically in the air. "Look! I tried to stop you once I did what he told me, but I couldn't, I- you just grabbed him," he pointed at Vox. "And started to leave!"
Alastor halted the progression of his shadows, the need to know what had happened while he was incapacitated winning over. "What did he say?"
Angel flopped his hands to his sides, but Alastor knew it was a sly ploy to reach his guns. "He told you to bring him to the Tower." He gestured to Vox again who was standing stiffly next to Alastor.
Alastor straightened up, the final pieces of a muddy puzzle slotting together and clearing the disorientation of his mind. Though, it did nothing to eliminate the burgeoning deplore sifting in his gut as he realized The Media Demon could affect them far more easily than they had thought.
"Are uh," Angel stammered, still eyeing the shadows worriedly. "Are we good? I mean, we're all fine here, he's fine. We should- Y'know, you kind of owe me!" Angel exclaimed, caught in his panic and heedless of the reaction his statement garnered from Alastor.
An ear-splitting shriek of static pierced the air and made everyone shrink in on themselves from the unpleasantness. Alastor remained unaffected. His entire body was frozen over, a carking veneer coating him as he leveled Angel with a lethal glare that could have melted stones. "What did you say?"
All the color abandoned Angel's face. "It's just... Well, I was the one that came to you with that deal!" Somehow, he progressively kept digging his own grave. "If it wasn't for me you two would never have found each other!"
The last thread of self-control keeping Alastor in check snapped. Consumed with wrath of a bitter, scarring fire, he didn't think, he didn't listen, he didn't feel anything as he raised his claws and lunged.
Angel tripped backwards to escape the sudden attack, expression stretched in terror, eyes blown wide open in shock as death descended on him. Only, before Alastor could reach him, the collar around his neck pulled taut and he halted inches away from Angel's vulnerable throat.
For a few agonizing moments, they simply stared at each other, bodies tense, the tension between them pervasive. Angel had extracted his guns, which Alastor only now noticed, and was shakily hovering over the triggers, distrustful of whether Alastor would escalate the situation.
Alastor's heart beat wildly in his chest, both from the indignation of Angel's admission which revealed that this entire time the spider had known more than he let on, and from the shock of his entire body going rigid by the chain around his neck, forced into compliance by another's orders.
He had never disobeyed so openly before. He had weaseled his way through Roo's wording for his own benefit or gotten close to going against her wishes, but he had never outright defied her and the consequences shriveled his soul into a ball of fright.
They could have been staring for a few seconds or they could have been staring for hours; Alastor only got dragged back to the present when an abrupt, grating scream sounded through the hotel.
"Vaggie..?" Angel gasped, his attention diverting to the stairwell.
Pushing down the whirlwind of emotions, Alastor didn't hesitate before he grabbed everyone with his shadows and quickly teleported them down to the hotel lobby.
His ears accommodated themselves faster than his eyesight and the first thing he noticed was the loud ruckus occurring from every direction.
"Don't look at the TV!" Vaggie warned them the second they appeared and Alastor couldn't believe his eyes when they landed on her.
She was covered in cuts, her arms dripping rivulets of fresh angelic blood, as she fiercely kept her spear raised against Charlie. Their weapons clashed in a violent bang of metal as Charlie brought down her trident with a force that would have sliced Vaggie completely in half.
"Charlie! Stop!" She implored, her defenses waning, clearly disinclined to fight back against her girlfriend.
"What the fuck is going on?!" Angel cursed, clutching his guns higher in bewilderment, and when - out of mindless instinct - he turned to look towards where the TV sat, Husk swooped in and tackled him to the ground.
Alastor reeled back, his arm flying to the side to keep Vox near him as he stared at the disheveled state of both demons on the floor. After Husk regained a semblance of composure, Alastor asked "What happened?!" He didn't allow the embarrassment of his puffy, teary eyes to distract him from the danger infesting their hotel.
"The motherfucker who gulled both of you took over the TV," he explained out of breath and only then Alastor noticed the wounds covering him as well. "The Princess was the first to see it."
"The first?" Alastor glanced back at Charlie who seemed intent on gutting Vaggie where she stood while Vaggie did her best to deflect the attacks without dealing any damage herself. "Is anyone else affected?"
Husk shook his head. "No, but Niffty hasn't moved since he hooked her."
Resisting every urge in his body not to peek to make sure Niffty was alright, Alastor ground his teeth and nodded. The simmering rage cooled when he felt Vox place one hand on his back and the other on his upper arm, careful but firm, a steady anchor to prevent him from looking and Alastor responded by laying his own palm over the one on his arm to relay his support.
"Alastor!" Vaggie shouted as she parried Charlie's latest blow, the lethal edges of her trident slicing precariously close to Vaggie's face. "I need some help over here?!"
Alastor raised a nonplussed eyebrow and lifted his other hand to shield his sight from accidentally landing on the TV as he turned to better assess the fight. "Oh dear, it seems you have gotten yourselves in quite the scuffle?" He stated obnoxiously, the mocking sarcasm in his tone as clear as day.
Vaggie looked like she would have disemboweled him with her spear if she hadn't been otherwise preoccupied. "Are you serio- ugh! Do something!"
"I hardly see how there's anything I can do." He inspected his nails disinterestedly, barely biting back his detestation. "-Unless you want me to hurt poor Charlie?"
He knew what he was doing. He didn't care how much the fish hurt itself upon falling for the bait. He was overwhelmed. He was fed up. He was tired of his life being dictated by other people and he was furious at how they had endangered Vox's safety with their sanctimonious hypocrisy.
If he has to double-cross every sinner in this hotel to ensure Vox will never have to suffer again, then he would.
"No!" Vaggie was quick to object and the momentary distraction of Charlie potentially getting hurt blinded her and she hissed after Charlie took the opening and grazed her thigh. Gold dripped down Vaggie's leg. "No, don't you dare! Just... take care of the TV!"
"Of the what?" Alastor tilted his ear, cocky. "You want me to do what with the television?"
"I don't know, pendejo!?" Vaggie bumped against the bar's counter. Cornered and panicked she hurriedly yelled "Break it! Fix it? Throw it out! I don't care just do something!"
In that moment, Vaggie's entire face dropped in horror. The little color it held completely drained away. Her eyes blew wide open, her body froze and her hold on the spear became unnaturally stiff as she felt something no human could comprehend, a devastating loss that came from something vital being forcefully sucked out without her permission.
Alastor could see it in her eyes, the shift of untold grief. He felt his power growing and though a small, insubstantial part of him commiserated with her - having experienced the same tragedy himself - another part reveled in the petrifying despair tearing her apart.
It was hardly his fault anyway; she had played with fire and she had gotten burned. She had made a deal with Hell's most notorious dealmaker... and she had broken her end of it. The flames danced around her, scorching her from the inside and Alastor could feel as she fought the very laws of the universe to keep that precious thing within her possession to no avail. It slipped through her fingers traitorously like water. Her hand drifted towards her neck, trembling fingers feeling for the chain of ownership that was coiling around it, but she only padded against soft flesh, the chain invisible to everyone but her and Alastor.
He could feel her fear in his own soul now, could taste her sorrow, could feast on her panic like a potent tonic; an entire labyrinth of emotions and thoughts exposed to him, bare and vulnerable, a web open only for him to navigate. When she slowly, almost robotically turned toward him, her haunted expression nearly pantomime from the anguish, shock and, above all, gut-wrenching betrayal emanating from it, Alastor smiled wider.
So deliciously wreathed in terror, she failed to account for the vicious demoness trying to kill her. But, Alastor didn't. He saw Charlie as she drew back her trident and he swiftly summoned a tentacle to snatch Vaggie aside. The weapon missed her heart and Vaggie screamed as it impaled her shoulder.
Alastor didn't hesitate to dismantle the TV before Charlie could strike again. He sent a tentacle to slither in its direction, letting it feel its way towards its target, and when the device was in its grasp, Alastor crushed it without a second thought.
The cloud of red evaporated from Charlie like rising vapor and she collapsed on the floor. "Wh- What?" She held her head, expression furrowed in pain and confusion. When she saw Vaggie's state, her face blanched, horrified and aggrieved, and when her eyes flicked between Vaggie and the bloodied trident in her own hands did Alastor truly see heartbreak incarnate.
The trident fell from her hands and the clatter it made upon hitting the ground rung like a song of mourning that would never be forgotten. What happened next, he didn't pay much attention to. He watched through deadened, compassionless eyes as Charlie broke down into sobs and practically crawled toward Vaggie. Pleas and apologies spilled from her like a morose waterfall of sorrow and Alastor couldn't help but get swept by the memory of how he had done the same thing to Vox not long ago.
Suddenly, Vaggie's figure disappeared and in her place Alastor could only see Vox. His beautiful screen was broken, stained with tears and blood, his body was covered in gruesome bruises, burns and cuts, and his neck was encased in a soul-binding collar connected to a long chain that led to Alastor’s waiting palm.
The chain was green.
A silent, disturbed gasp wound its way through Alastor's throat and he bristled as the image invaded his mind. He felt sick. What should have been victorious glee brewing in his heart after gaining such a valuable commodity, there was nothing but hollow emptiness. He shook his head, trying to get rid of it and he nearly burst out of his own skin when two hands found their way on his shoulders.
He whirled around and at the wounded expression his volatile bluntness caused on Vox's face Alastor deflated. He didn't even think before he took Vox's hand and pressed it close to his chest. As their warmth fused together, Alastor focused on moderating his breathing.
"Are you okay?" Vox asked, his voice dripping with concern.
Alastor quickly nodded as he slowly calmed down. "Only if you are."
Vox's lips pinched up in a ginger smile and the destructive unease ravaging Alastor from the inside mollified at the divine sight. "I think I will be," he exhaled, long and deep. "What a day..."
Alastor squeezed his hand in agreement. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen," he admitted furtively. "It was supposed to be one dinner, then..."
"-Then he had to ruin it," Vox finished for him. "Just look what he did to them," he pointed toward the girls.
Alastor turned to look, his heart skipping a beat in remorse at the desperation devastating Charlie. Vaggie however, looked ashen, her face so crestfallen it barely appeared alive. She didn't even twitch, frozen in place, complexion dusted in dread, as Charlie shook her arms and begged her to look at her just like Vox had done to Alastor.
...Alastor had done that to them.
Ridden with guilt, he averted his gaze, letting it fall between him and Vox to their clasped hands. "I'm afraid... I ruined it way before he had the chance to."
Unsurprisingly, Vox didn't allow him to avoid his gaze and he forced Alastor to look at him again by closing the distance between them. "You didn't ruin anything." The resolution in his tone was unwavering. "I'm glad you told me about her, because now we can fight her together. We'll beat them. I know we can."
The gleam in Vox's eye shined brighter than Alastor had ever seen it and just by getting immersed in it he understood something integral had changed within Vox. At some point this evening, the fear had morphed into something else, something with teeth, something sinister and full of retribution.
Alastor has known Vox his entire afterlife and he knew that determination intimately, having witnessed it at its full might countless times. Where the Vees were sly, merciless and brutal in their revenge, Vox was stealthy, resolute. He was precise, his ultion was molten, committed, and he would wait however long it took for him to deliver it. Looking at him now, Alastor could see no trace of the prey the Vees hunted, but a cunning patience that made Vox far, far more dangerous.
Alastor could see the intent brimming beneath Vox's skin, a forgotten breeze growing into a wild storm, strong and calculated and finally ready to fight back.
He didn't even notice how intensely he had gotten lost in that fire now lighting up Vox's eyes until he felt a tapping at his arm followed quickly by Cherri's voice. "Oi! This is yours."
A small, red bundle was shoved in his arms and he blinked down at Niffty. "What happened? Why is she crying?" she asked, pointing at Charlie.
Alastor sighed and settled her on his shoulder. "An unfortunate case of Voxtek corporate greed, I'm afraid," he rolled his eyes exasperatedly. "Speaking of, Husker?" he tilted his head to the side, feigning intrigue as the demon's eyes snapped to him. "Would you mind explaining to me how someone interfered with the television device I picked out specifically because of its inability to be tampered with by outside frequencies?"
Husk scratched his neck in thought before he eventually shrugged.
Alastor refrained from gauging his eyes out. "As useful as ever I see." He turned to glance at the shattered remnants of his once dear picture box before Charlie grabbed his attention.
"D-dad..." she sniveled, unable to form the words due to the sobs that grazed her voice as she clung to Vaggie's legs, her arms wrapped around them in a protective, apologetic embrace. "He... h-he did... some stuff..."
"The TV was shit and he made some adjustments a few days ago so we can watch in better quality," Angel briskly interrupted, putting Charlie out of her misery.
For a long, dragged out moment, Alastor simply stared. "I see," he drawled with more temperance than he thought he could conjure. "He... made adjustments... to my television?"
The collective wince that shuttered on everyone's faces told Alastor everything he needed to know. He thought he knew fury, but every day that pompous, arrogant, self-centered moron surpassed his expectations.
"And I presume his Royal Highness isn't here to face the consequences of his actions as usual?" His reprehension and loathing wasn't obstructed in his tone, on the contrary, he injected as much cutting disdain as he could in the slim chance of Lucifer hearing him so Alastor could finally have an excuse to kill him.
"I just..." Charlie stammered, clearly shaken down to her core and Alastor doubted she would ever forget this night. "I don't understand why..?"
"Oh, Charlie," Alastor flourished his cane in the air, the fury melting into a delirious apathy. "Still, so gullible. Haven't you learned yet? There is no reason why sinners do what they do. There is no reason or logic, nor the kindness you're looking for. Overlords like this one..? They will chew you up for their own gain any chance they get, because that's who-" he broke off, a thought striking him.
Silence fell over the room as Alastor ascertained the surroundings, no one brave enough to dare interrupt it. The thought wormed his way into his mind, igniting a creeping apprehension he didn't want to feel one bit.
He turned toward Vox. "He attacked after you showed yourself." His tone was deductive, a tremulous hush hiding a deeper, underlying truth.
Vox's face slacked in comprehension. "He was waiting for me."
"Because he wasn't sure where I was keeping you," Alastor nodded to himself as the tangled web of deception and trickery unravelled itself. "He's getting desperate. He knows our plan is to wait out until his recources plummet and he loses whatever power he still has from you. He was hoping I would show myself here. Which means he's still watching."
In tandem, they both turned toward the windows where, sure enough, a flock of drones was pressed tightly against the glass, permanent watchers to their every move, every conversation, every laugh, every insult.
Alastor eyed them with an incendiary glower that could have combusted them on the spot. He thought he had expelled the strays The Media Demon had sent throughout the weeks, but his repugnant obsession was too severe to be fended off so easily. Alastor grit his teeth to a breaking point, the faintest popping of his knuckles as they tightened over his cane resounding through.
He closed his eyes, letting the rage pool into the farthest corners of his rotten soul and spread like a prolific disease and when Alastor felt it reach an explosive point, he released it.
His shadow launched toward the windows with lightning speed. Claws raised, teeth bared, it shattered the nearest window on impact, but it didn't aim for the army of drones. No. After destroying the first superfluous piece of glass it proceeded to break the rest penned around the foyer in a dizzying pattern of violence.
Everyone in the room shuddered and ducked against the shower of glass as Alastor’s shadow smashed window after window, not stopping for a second, and when the final one was taken down Alastor swept his cane in a circular motion around the room. Where Lucifer's brightly colored, translucent windows once stood, now with a flash of green light in their place rose windows with a dark, opaque coating, unable to be seen through.
They bathed the room in shadows.
The hotel's artificial lights illuminated the space sufficiently; still, the confining effect of the windows was impossible to miss. Plunged in darkness that heightened the blood-red of his eyes, Alastor confidently clasped his hands over his cane and in an intimidating, low voice asked "Does anyone object to the new renovations?"
Silence answered him. A few heads were shaken while the others remained immovable.
"Good." He thunked his cane twice in a makeshift signal that he had concluded his business here. "You may tell the King if he doesn't like the changes he can personally deal with Hell's leading news Overlords or he can lump it. Oh, and I would advise you all buy yourselves some heavy curtains and throw out your mobile devices. It seems we have a pest problem."
Once more, no objection answered him and Alastor relaxed, having made his feelings on the matter perfectly clear. It was about time someone handled the reins around this ramshackle hotel and while he couldn't leave nor refuse any of Charlie's demands, now thanks to Vox he will gladly push back against Roo and protect the people dearest to him.
Vox was right. She never had any intention on treating him differently than other Overlords would have and Alastor wondered whether she was ready for the comeuppance he will rain down on her.
A tingling sensation down his arm drew his attention and he looked at his pant leg to see Niffty climbing off him. She gazed at the windows, her curious eye absorbing the inky black weaved in the glass. "I like them better this way," she commented, smile bright and jovial, though still mischievous, and Alastor momentarily felt a shiver trail down his spine at his thoughtlessness that the hotel's windows, which he had so eagerly shattered, had been important to Niffty.
"Well," he cleared his throat as the jittery swarm of anxiety petered out of his chest, glad that she approved. "Now, that that's settled, I believe we can all retire for the day." His gaze landed on the two girls, bloody and battered and grieving, and he inwardly disparaged the pang of sympathy that's struck him. "Angel?" He barked gravely, and the timid shuffle the demon approached him with told Alastor he had sensed the seriousness in his tone, one that allowed Angel no leniency to refuse.
The spider stiffened, body tense like he was prepared to bolt at any moment. "Yeah?"
Alastor didn't even look at him. "Why don't you help them get patched up?" His tone left no room for argument and by the sagging of Angel's shoulders, he knew Angel received the message. "They'll need all the help they can get. Besides, I doubt they'll be doing much talking about this little incident anytime soon." The last sentence wasn't an opinion, or a fact. It was an order. A surreptitious one he aimed directly at Vaggie and the shocked way her eyes darted to him - the first sign that she was still coherent - indicated she had sensed a piece of her free will fizzling away.
The first piece Alastor would take out of many. After all, it wouldn't benefit him if Charlie found out about their deal so soon.
Angel opened his mouth to retort, but having sensed Alastor was in no mood to be contradicted he shut it again. Or perhaps, it was a last minute recollection of how close Alastor had gotten to snuffing out his life barely a few minutes ago that nudged Angel to err on the side of caution. The demon wordlessly trotted over to Charlie and Vaggie and helped them to stand up.
Vaggie didn't say anything, she hardly even blinked while Charlie kept apologizing and proclaiming how much she loved her, oblivious to the fact that her girlfriend's soul was now owned by Alastor.
"Husker, we'll be leaving," he gave a last nod of farewell as Niffty began to clean the jagged shards of glass covering the entire foyer. "Make sure everything stays in the ordinary while we're gone." With that, he settled his palm behind Vox's upper back to lead him forward.
Vox stopped him, planting his feet firmly on the ground. "I actually have something I need to get done before we go up," he explained delicately, far more at ease than anyone else had been around Alastor and it calmed Alastor down.
"Oh." An inner, more festering part of him burned at his tongue to extract more answers from Vox, still too uneasy after what had happened to leave Vox on his own. "Very well, then. Is it anything I can help you with?"
Vox simply squeezed his arm in encouragement. "No, I won't take long." After sensing the tetchy uncertainty visibly bubbling under Alastor’s skin he added "Don't worry, I'll be fine. I'll see you in our room? Ten minutes?"
Every primal instinct in Alastor screamed for him to stay with Vox, at least to keep an eye out and keep him safe. But, another, more human voice whispered in his head to let him go.
You don't own him - it said, and Alastor couldn't help but obey. He didn't want to be like the demon who had kidnapped and abused Vox for years. Vox deserved someone who didn't intend to control him even if it was for his own protection, and he was the smartest person Alastor knew; if he deemed himself incapable of defending himself without Alastor then he wouldn't let them get separated. He finally found his freedom and Alastor would not deprive him of it by trapping him in a cage of his own forging. A cage was still a cage no matter who held the key.
"Ten minutes," he affirmed and bit his lip at the absence of static in his voice which made it sound painstakingly vulnerable.
Vox smiled at him reassuringly, an invoiced message that he understood how difficult it was for Alastor to leave him on his own sparking between them, and rubbed Alastor’s arm once before releasing him.
Alastor’s hand shot forward to hold onto Vox, but at the last minute it faltered. He watched, astonished at how codependent he had become of Vox, as Vox approached Cherri.
Words Alastor couldn't hear were exchanged between them and all the while Alastor's hand stayed in the air, fingers praying to wrap around the one thing he couldn't live without.
With a long, quiet exhale, he returned his hands to his sides and straightened up. Before regret could change his mind, he vanished into his shadows and made a beeline towards his room, all the while consoling himself that Vox will be fine.
The moment he materialized in his room, he knew something was wrong.
The air had turned colder. There was no trace of the warmth Alastor had felt before, but an eerie stillness unseen to the naked eye. No one was there, the room still reeked with proof of two people who loved each other dearly, but Alastor couldn't shrug off the foreboding feeling that he wasn't alone.
He pressed his cane to his chest, honing his hearing for any sign of life as his adrenaline started spiking.
The voice that broke the silence stole the breath from his lungs and tossed him right back into that endless, torturous white fog.
"It's been a long time," Roo said. "I see you've been busy."
Notes:
I said in the last chapter that the action will pick up and I meant it ;)
I actually thought about including Lucifer in that last scene but the chapter was already too long and it would have ended up in a fight anyway and Alastor probably would have died hsgsgsgs.
I know that scene with Vaggie was a little vague and I'll expand on it more in the next chapter. I just couldn't get the idea of what breaking a deal with an Overlord would look like and what the consequences will be. The green ghosts that floated above them in that scene made it appear like he had tricked her into a soul-binding deal. I also just want to say: Alastor is and has always been an evil asshole. And while he might care about some of the hotel residents (even though he's deep in denial) he would never prioritise them over his or Vox's safety. It's an overall messy situation where everyone is trying to protect their loved ones <3
God, I've forgotten how much I love writing this story <3
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