Chapter Text
Vox didn’t wait long after his transformation to gather allies.
He needed territory. Influence. Numbers.
And Valentino…
Valentino had all three.
The Moth Overlord adored the idea of “partnership” when it meant power, attention, and leverage. And when Vox came to him—storm-eyed, furious, and dripping neon vengeance—Valentino saw one thing:
A weapon pointed straight at the Radio Demon.
Their partnership formed fast, loud, and toxic:
• Vox offered the tech, the surveillance, the broadcast reach.
• Valentino offered the manpower, the connections, and the brutality.
Together, they carved a wedge of Pentagram City into their own glowing nightmare.
It took 50 years for him to finally make the damn plans!
The plan was simple:
Corner Alastor during a territory sweep.
Trap him in an electrified cage.
Overwhelm him with Valentino’s forces.
Finish him while his guard is down.
It was a good plan.
It should have worked.
But Alastor…
Alastor saw it coming miles away.
He arrived smiling.
Not shocked.
Not cornered.
Not impressed.
Just smiling.
“My, my…
what a charming little coup.”
Vox felt the humiliation from the bar burning back into his veins.
He struck first—electricity arcing across the alley like lightning.
Alastor didn’t even flinch.
He absorbed the voltage as though it were nothing more than warm air, grin widening, shadows stretching beneath him like hungry roots.
Then Valentino’s forces rushed in.
Demons with guns, knives, clubs.
Alastor raised one hand.
His shadow grew into a beast.
Screams followed.
It wasn’t a fight , not really—it was more of a one-sided execution.
Vox tried to hack into Alastor’s signal.
Failed.
Valentino tried to charm, threaten, manipulate.
Failed faster.
Alastor toyed with them both, dragging the battle out simply because he enjoyed watching them crumble.
Vox lunged one final time, Trying to get ahold of Alastor and somehow pin him.
anything really as long as it worked.
Alastor caught him like in a dance suddenly exposing a soft charming smile
Vox fazzled taken by surprise
It felt like time slowed down
Alastor stoked his longer antenna holding it between two fingers.
Then
Twisted it.
Snapped it.
Vox screamed — the screen glitching into jagged, broken geometry.
Valentino rushed forward, slicing at Alastor with a razor-edge wing.
Alastor grabbed the fluffy left antenna on Valentino’s head—
and ripped out the fluff in one brutal tug.
Valentino shrieked, collapsing with blood spattering his collar.
“Oh dear—quite the matching deformities, you two.”
He knelt to avoid Valentino’s desperate swing.
He mocked seemingly drifting down almost landing on vox downed face.
Only for valentino to accidentally smash it when alastor moved last second.
“A twisted little antenna for you…”
He made a tiny twirled holding the cane to his chest after scattering the fluff
Like a f*****g ballerina
He tapped Vox’s bent, sparking horn.
“…and a bald spot for your moth. How… romantic.”
Vox’s vision blazed white with humiliation and hate.
Valentino was too busy sobbing curses.
Alastor stepped forward to finish it—
static humming, shadows writhing, smile widening into something lethal.
The others busy hurling objects in his path only managing a few lucky scratches.
He had every intention of ending Vox right there.
Finally ending the pest.
Finally ending the replacement.
Finally ending the monster wearing the face of the man he lost.
But—
The giant clock rang
And screams from above were heard seemingly noticing his form
The first Exorcists were descending.
Red skies split open with white flame.
Halos glowed.
Wings beat like thunder.
The annual extermination.
Alastor’s smile faded—
only slightly.
The Exorcist knew well of the radio demon
And it wouldn't be a surprised if they let go every sinner just to get him
And SHE would be mad.
He couldn't afford being punished in unimaginable ways
“Well then…
seems your little lives are saved by Heaven’s timely tantrum.”
He offered Vox a sarcastic bow.
“Do try not to die before I have the pleasure of killing you myself.”
He vanished into static.
As the first spears of holy light struck the street, Valentino grabbed Vox’s wrist.
Valentino (rough voice):
“Move—MOVE! We’re not dying here!”
Vox stumbled, his broken foot dragging across the ground, leaving sparks.
Valentino’s shredded, bald antenna left a faint trail of moth-wing powder and blood.
They barely made it into a collapsed basement before the Exorcists hit the district.
Panting.
Bleeding.
Shaking.
They collapsed together in the dark.
For the first time, Vox didn’t feel powerful.
He didn’t feel brilliant.
He didn’t feel like an overlord.
He felt small.
And Alastor’s words rang in his mind:
“A matching couple thing.”
It made Vox dizzy with rage.
It made Valentino want revenge.
It made them both understand:
Alastor hadn’t just beaten them.
He had mocked them.
Marked them.
Left a scar they couldn’t hide.
A reminder they would always see in each other’s silhouettes.
A humiliation neither would ever forgive.
The Emporium was quiet when Alastor stepped inside.
Too quiet.
The lights dimmed politely at his entrance, shadows curling around him in familiar shapes — but they couldn’t hide the limp, the faint tear in the coat, the darkened fabric at his shoulder.
Rosie noticed all of it instantly.
She was arranging flowers on the counter, but the moment she heard the soft, uneven cane tap, her hands froze.
Rosie (low, controlled):
“…Alastor.”
He smiled, wider than usual — because wider meant normal.
Wider meant untouchable.
Wider meant strong enough that no one should dare question what happened.
“My dear! You look positively radiant tonight.”
Rosie stepped forward.
Slow.
Measured.
Her heels clipped the floor like warning shots.
“Take the coat off.”
Alastor’s grin stayed fixed, but his eyelids dipped a fraction.
Alastor:
“Whatever for?”
Rosie didn’t answer.
She simply reached out, grabbed the lapel, and pulled.
The coat slid off one shoulder—
revealing three deep claw-gashes raked across the muscle.
The fabric underneath was wet.
Dark.
Fresh.
The wounds were already knitting together — slowly, unnaturally.
But they were unmistakable.
Rosie inhaled sharply, the sound razor-sharp.
“Those are Valentino’s men.”
Alastor didn’t flinch, didn’t wince, didn’t break the smile.
“Ah. Yes. A minor inconvenience.”
Rosie snapped.
She slamming the coat onto the counter
“A minor—?!
Alastor, they injured you. They injured you because you didn’t think they’d be foolish enough
— or desperate enough —
to attack before the extermination!”
Her voice rang loud enough that dust stirred off the rafters.
Alastor raised a hand as though calming a crowd.
“Now, now. They managed a lucky swipe or two. Hardly worth fussing—”
Rosie (cutting him off, furious):
“You hid it.
You hid the bleeding with shadows.
You hid the limp.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“You hid it from Vox, which is fine — he doesn’t deserve satisfaction.
But you hid it from me.
Think for a minute what could possibly happen if the next day SHE summons you.
Then what possible excuse- IF you have the chance to even do it -will you have ”
For once, Alastor’s smile faltered.
Only a millimeter.
But for Rosie — who had known him longer than anyone — it was a confession.
She reached out and touched the half-healed wound with the gentlest pressure.
He did not pull away.
Rosie (soft but seething):
“You should have expected he’d strike before Heaven’s dogs arrived.
Vox was always impulsive.
Valentino was always opportunistic.
You knew this.”
Alastor’s red eyes flickered darker.
“I allowed myself to misjudge their timing. Nothing more.”
Rosie shook her head.
Rosie:
“No. You allowed your pride to cloud your caution.”
He stiffened.
Rosie (quietly, pained):
“I thought losing Voci taught you not to underestimate what desperate men can do.”
The silence hit like a gunshot.
Alastor’s shadows recoiled.
His smile softened — not with kindness, but with the old grief he never named.
Alastor (softly):
“…I will not lose again.”
Rosie stepped closer and placed a hand over his heart, which was beating faster than he wanted to admit.
Rosie:
“Then stop pretending you’re invincible.”
A pause.
“Because they’re getting bolder.
And they are terrified of you.
And terrified creatures are the most dangerous ones.”
Alastor finally let the façade slip — just slightly.
His posture sagged by a hair.
A real breath escaped him.
“You are… not wrong.”
Rosie sighed, adjusting his shirt collar like a scolding mother.
“And next time you come home with lacerations the size of back-alley gutters,
I expect you to tell me before I see you bleeding on the carpet.”
Alastor managed a softer, smaller laugh.
“But that would ruin the surprise.”
She smacked his arm — delicately, but pointed.
“Don’t you dare joke. Not after this.”
He bowed his head.
Alastor (genuine):
“My apologies, dear.”
“Good. Now sit. I’ll clean the rest.
And after that—
you’re going to tell me everything that happened.
All of it.”
Alastor hesitated.
For once…
he obeyed.
A CONFESSION 5 DECADES LATE
Alastor sat where Rosie placed him — on the velvet chaise near the back of the Emporium, shadows swirling nervously around his ankles like restless dogs.
Rosie dabbed at the half-healed wounds with a cloth dipped in something sharp and smelling of mint and iron.
Alastor didn’t flinch… but his eyelids tightened.
Silence lingered between them until Rosie finally exhaled and spoke.
Rosie (soft, weary):
“You should’ve seen it coming. You’re usually better at… people.”
Alastor’s eyes drifted to the darkened window.
For once, he didn’t smile when he answered.
Alastor (quiet):
“It has been nearly fifty years, Rosie.”
Rosie froze.
The cloth paused against his torn shoulder.
Alastor continued, voice low, stripped of its theatrical charm.
Alastor:
“Fifty years of watching him circle, posture, sulk, preen…
And never once strike.
Never even attempt it.”
His fingers tapped the armrest, a restless staccato.
“I began to believe he’d grown comfortable.
Comfortable in his cowardice.
Comfortable in his place in the hierarchy.
Comfortable trailing after me like a moth too frightened to touch the flame.”
Rosie’s expression softened, grief edging around her eyes.
“You thought he’d never dare.”
“Yes.”
His voice cracked very slightly — not with vulnerability, but with disappointment.
“I misjudged him. Or perhaps… I misjudged my own patience.”
Rosie returned to tending his wounds, slower now, more deliberate.
“…You’d already made your peace with killing him, hadn’t you?”
Alastor let out a small, dry laugh.
“My dear, I made peace with that the moment I realized what he’d done to Voci.”
The shadows behind him flickered — sharp, spined, angry.
“All these years… every shared drink, every forced laugh, every night escorting him to Voci’s old haunts—
I never forgot.
I merely waited.”
Rosie’s throat tightened.
“Fifty years is a long time to wait for justice.”
Alastor tilted his head, eyes dimming to a deep crimson.
“It was a long time to wait for him to stop being a coward.”
Rosie set the bloodied cloth aside, jaw trembling not from fear — but sorrow.
“You believed he’d… mellowed. That the guilt or the insecurity or even the obsession would keep him tame.”
“Yes. And I grew… bored with expecting more of him.”
Then, with a deep inhale:
“I thought the day would never come.
And the moment he finally grew a spine—
He did it on the eve of an extermination.”
He laughed sharply, bitterly.
“The timing could not have been worse.
I had him—
Rosie, I had him. Between my teeth.”
Rosie placed her hand gently on his wrist.
“And Heaven interrupted.”
Alastor’s eyes slid shut.
Alastor:
“They robbed me of closure.
Of justice.
Or more like she did
The fear of the eternity I will spend in her timeless punishm-torture
Of the only thing left I could do for Voci.”
Silence.
The only sound was the faint hum of magic as his wounds sealed further.
Rosie sat beside him, folding her hands in her lap, voice barely above a whisper.
“Voci deserved better. He deserved to be laid to rest — properly.
Not torn apart and… worn… by that monster.”
A soft tremble broke her voice.
“He was bright.
He was sweet.
He brought color to a place that chokes it.
He lit up rooms without even trying.”
She blinked hard.
“I miss him, Alastor.”
Alastor opened his eyes, and for the first time that evening…
there was no smile.
Alastor (gentle, earnest):
“So do I.”
The shadows behind him settled, folding quietly like wings around his feet.
“And I swear on every frequency he ever loved —
his killer will not escape me a second time.”
Rosie leaned her shoulder against his, closing her eyes.
“Just… don’t let that promise be the death of you, Al.”
Alastor let out a breath — soft, almost human.
“I assure you, my dear…
I’m far too stubborn to die before I’m satisfied.”