Chapter Text
Angels aren’t born.
They aren’t born, but he can remember the day he blazed into existence, a flurry of bright white and blue, the very last of the angels of creation. It didn’t hurt, despite the flames that licked along his body, tickled his naked skin, and he is told later by much older, much wiser angels that his creation rivaled only the Morningstar’s.
He likes this, even though he knows he shouldn’t. He was created after Lucifer Fell, so he knows that it is a warning to him not to blaze too brightly, not to shine too brilliantly lest he fall into the same trap as Lucifer himself did. One misstep, Sera tells him while he kneels on the ground at her feet, hands folded prayerfully, is all that it takes.
He nods, listens closely, because he has no intention of ever Falling.
Of course, the best laid plans often go awry.
He doesn’t know this when he reaches out to take the tall demon’s hand, eager to learn more about Hell, about how Heaven can help, from its newest emissary. The demon smiles at him with gentle humor and he shakes his hand, unable to stop the flare of heavenly light that flashes from his face.
“I’m Vox,” he says. “I want to learn everything about Hell. Everything. Leave nothing out – I can only help if I know what I’m working with.”
“Vox.” The demon rolls his names along his tongue, tasting it almost, and his smile broadens. “Oh, I do like that. Hello, Vox. I’m Alastor. It’s a pleasure to be meeting you. Yes, quite the pleasure.”
Vox beams in return, blissfully ignorant.
Alastor will be the ruin of him.