Chapter Text
The first time they really meet, more than just the perfunctory introductions and Alastor’s quick explanation of Hell’s overcrowding situation, Vox is prepared. He is ready to meet this problem head-on, even if he doesn’t quite fully understand why overcrowding in Hell is such a problem – couldn’t they just expand outwards, into the eternal nether sphere until they all have the space they need?
“Expansion?”
Alastor stares at him for a long moment before raising his cup to his lips, an apprising look in his eyes. There is a damp murkiness in the air around him, leaching through Heaven’s clean scent, and Vox tries to remain subtle as he breathes it in, analyzing and assessing its unfamiliarity. There is an undertone of rot, sweet and cloying, that he can identify but has only just now experienced. It is fascinating.
“Vox, do you truly believe that Hell could expand itself to adjust for the millions of new souls that come crashing down every single day?”
He isn’t sure how to answer that but tries anyways.
“Well… yes. We expand Heaven regularly,” he explains, surprised that Alastor doubts. Ah, but he is a Sinner – it is what they do. “I don’t see why Hell couldn’t do that same. It would certainly solve any overcrowding issues you have, give Sinners more relief. I’m surprised it’s something you haven’t considered yet.”
Alastor barks out a sharp laugh that makes Vox’s wings twitch. There is danger seated across from him, and they are eager to move him from harm’s way. This is an Overlord. Something far worse than a run-of-the-mill Sinner, he’s been told. Something dark and powerful and twisted – a soul does not become an Overlord without corrupting itself into something unrecognizable, something entirely foreign from the Light, and Vox needs to be cautious while also being as open and accommodating as possible.
“Hell cannot expand,” Alastor replies cooly. “It seems the infernal realm doesn’t have the same capabilities that the celestial one does to provide for its citizens.”
“Oh.”
That is troubling. Vox waits until later, when he is seated in front of Sera, his wings meticulously groomed by her soft, gentle fingers, to ask.
“Why can’t they expand?” he asks while she combs out one of his primaries. A shiver runs up his spine and he allows his eyes to close. “That would solve plenty of Hell’s problems, wouldn’t it?”
Sera hums. “The overcrowding is only a symptom of Hell’s true malady – it was designed, from the moment the Morningstar Fell, to be a place of suffering. A place away from the Light, a place for the prideful and wicked to be punished for the evil they committed while they were meant to be living good, clean lives.”
“Oh.” Vox leans back a little, into her touch – she is very good at straightening out the tiny barbs so that they all lay flat and aligned in each feather. He wonders if there are any Sinners in Hell with wings and, if there are, do they take the time to care for one another’s wings like the angels in Heaven do? He hopes so – even if they are wicked. “Their inability to expand their realm… is punishment?”
“Yes. Everything down there is a punishment, Vox.” Sera’s fingers adjust another feather, and Vox lets out a soft, appreciative sound. Not quite a purr nor a trill, but something gently in between. The crisp scent of ozone floats into the air, always a sign that he is happy and content, and he flexes his wings just a little to demonstrate his enjoyment. “Sinners themselves are a punishment for one another. That is how it has been divinely ordained.”
“Then how am I meant to help them?” he asks. “If everything in that realm is designed to punish them?”
Even if they are meant to suffer – Vox is an angel and angels are meant to help. That must include all souls, he is certain, even the souls of the damned. He just needs to figure out how.
“I am not sure.” Sera’s hand reaches forward to comb through the soft hair on Vox’s head and he turns to blink up at her. “You’ll need to be creative, I suppose. Work within the confines of what is possible. But I have faith in you, Vox – if anyone can assist Hell, can help those suffering souls return to the Light, it’s you.”
The confident tone sends a thrill up his spine and Vox nods contentedly. He can do that. He can help Hell – perhaps this is his divine purpose, after all. Restoring souls to the Light. It’s a very good purpose and certainly he’s only entrusted with it because he is the only one who can do it.
“I won’t let you down,” he promises and Sera smiles.
“You never do, little one.”
Later, while Vox is speaking with Alastor once more, trying to learn more about the demographics of Hell – surely, he could begin his work with Sinners whose transgressions aren’t nearly so vile – he notices a feather out of place in the corner of his eye. A quick glance confirms that it is not only askew, but the soft powder blue tracing the lines of his feathers has grown a little darker, a deeper shade of the same color. On this single feather.
Interesting.
He’ll take a closer look once he’s done with Alastor, but for now, he is explaining how his plan to bring Sinners back to the Light will help Hell’s overcrowding issue. Might make those who do not immediately return to the Light a little more comfortable in the meantime.
“Whatever you say, pal. If you think it’ll help, then I’m certainly game to try. It’ll be entertaining if nothing else.” Alastor laughs and reaches out to touch Vox’s shoulder, a curious lick of green magic curling around his fingertips. It dissolves into the air before it can touch Vox, but he can still feel the prickle of it sting through his nerves, tingling in his spine and to the very tips of his wings. He blinks. “Do you have anyone in mind?”
“No, I don’t know any Sinners.” He smiles. “Well, except for you, of course. I was hoping you might have a few suggestions.”
Alastor nods, leans in, and Vox’s mouth goes a little dry. “I might be able to think of one or two.”
He doesn’t notice the blue on his feather darken just a bit more.