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A shot, clear, rings out. Both of their heads turn toward it on instinct. Angel Dust, in absolute fury, holding a very clearly angelic weapon, is aiming at Valentino, laid down in a rather pathetic form on the ground. Angel is. Well, there’s a halo over his head, so bright that it couldn’t possibly be missed. Redemption immediately followed by manslaughter seems counterintuitive, but who is Alastor to question the ways of the Lord?
Two voices scream out a “no” at the same time. Charlie, running after Angel (ha!) looking half hysterical, and Vox, who in a second had thrown himself off Alastor, abandoning him without even picking up the angelic spear they had been fighting for at first, a few meters away. It’s a first. He stands almost between the gun and the moth. The brief moment of outward panic disappears behind a rather feeble attempt at his usual sleazy businessman smile.
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or : Vox gives it all up for someone else than Alastor, for once.