Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Pentagram City, 1959

Working the evening shift was – something. Vox didn’t mind which shift he would take, as long as it took him to the top at one point. This job – one of the three he was working – was mainly to earn enough money to launch his company, eventually. Also, he could do what he was good at – influence the masses. He was working in the marketing team of Pixalon Cameras.

Waking up in hell with a television for a head had been - something. But it had been fairly easy to get used to, had it only underlined the destiny he needed to reach out to. He'd establish his broadcasting company no matter what.

The only issue was that when you respawned in hell, you started from zero. You had nothing but your looks and knowledge to offer - but if you were smart, you could make it in hell just like you did on Earth. Vox had always leaned toward hard work to achieve his goals, but that's never been all. You couldn't simply play by the rules and expect money to rain on you. You had to do something criminal from time to time.

And the only downside was that it was a team he was working in. He didn’t mind teamwork, as long as there was at least some competence among his team members, but most people here were far below his expertise.

The only person who had some potential was a young demon with eel attributes whose name was Papermint. Vox liked working with him because even if he was somewhat shy and withdrawn, he had a pretty damn impressive skill set. Especially when it came to organization and paperwork.

Right now, Papermint was trying to make the radio work. There wasn’t too much pleasant music in hell, unless when Vox was singing himself. But there was more to achieve in his life after death than becoming a singer who’d be chained to some Overlord. He had other ambitions – and they were fairly ambitious. He just knew that if he’d take all the right steps, he could become an Overlord himself. Just like that goddamn Radio Demon. Speaking of which…

“Salutations sinners, and welcome back to another broadcast!” the Radio Demon’s voice rattled through the speaker. “I have a special treat for you this very evening! A new addition to my soul collection, which I’m going to hunt down today. Stay tuned!”

“Wow, if he continues at such a high rate, soon there won’t be any other Overlords left!” Papermint uttered both in awe and fear, as he sat down in front of his desk, right before Vox’s.

“Yeah, but there are some that he won’t defeat so easily. Like Carmila Carmine, she’s insanely powerful”, Vox replied. He didn’t want to believe that Alastor was almighty. Although what he was doing was fairly impressive. But there had to be limitations to his power – or ways to copy it.

Maybe, if Vox was more powerful, he could even hijack the Radio Demon’s broadcasting system. Television technology wasn’t too different from radio, just more advanced. It was transmitted on the very same radio waves.

“Depends on how he’s doing it”, Papermint caught just his train of thoughts, “If he’s doing it with his shadows or his radio waves, that’s impalpable. Even for someone like Ms. Carmine, she’d have to get through to him and land a fatal hit on his body. But she’s got a lot of weapons and knows a lot of fighting techniques –“

“And you know an awful lot about the Overlords, don’t you?” Vox smirked. Maybe Papermint wasn’t only skilled. Maybe he could be exceptionally useful.

Chapter Text

Vox didn’t like spending time in the darker alleys of Pentagram City. Even the normal streets weren’t pleasant to walk through, but the creatures you’d find in the shadows were beyond comparison. The true scumbags of hell.

He was more than happy that he didn’t have to deal with one of them. When thinking carefully about who you’d make deals with – if you had to be involved in crime – you could only conclude that you’d need to deal with the bigger fish in the sea. Working with addicts for example could bring you customers, but if you worked with the provider, you’d be right at the source. You’d make connections and could gain favors for favors.

Just like today. Vox was trading information – he was fairly observant and knew how to collect people’s personal information. He had just met one of his many customers and had collected data about this very customer himself while he had been on it. The bastard had paid good money – money which Vox would invest in the latest broadcasting technology. He had rented an apartment above the television store he was working at. People loved to linger in front of the store, so he could even watch their reactions when they’d watch his shows. But for that to work out, he needed to turn his apartment into a studio. And now he made just the right amount of money, to –

“You won’t get hold of my soul, I’d rather die than be owned by someone like you!”

Vox tilted his head at this very interesting scream he had heard from just around the corner. He probably should’ve walked away, but he was a bitch for good stories. So he walked right towards the battleground. Carefully, silently, of course.

When he peaked around the corner, his heart stopped beating for a second.

This wasn’t a battleground. It was bloody shambles.

An enormous figure towered over a smaller, cowering one. The cowering one was pathetic. Looking the taller one dead in the eye, the same blood that was splattered all over the surrounding walls spilled out of the place where their arm should’ve been. They didn’t even fight, they simply accepted their fate.

The taller figure though – he took Vox’s breath away. He was in his demon form, a natural force, controlling the darkness like additional arms. But his most striking feature was his smile. Diabolic, sadistic, ever controlling. There was no doubt, this was Alastor, the radio demon.

“Oh, but I won’t only get hold of it, I will tear your soul apart,” Alastor’s radio voice resounded in the alley.

With that, Alastor ensued his killing stroke. There were no more games to play. The cowering overlord didn’t deserve any of those anyway.

Vox gasped when he felt the shift in the air. The electromagnetic field they were in was not the way it was supposed to be, it quivered. He could sense the radio waves that Alastor sent towards the overlord, he could feel the soul in the body and also how Alastor ripped it out.

Vox didn’t flinch when the body fell to the floor with a thud. He was captivated by the power Alastor possessed – by what he could do with it. The soul was screaming as it hovered over to the radio demon, an eerie, high-pitched noise of pure pain. Alastor strangled it, laid it bare, and tied it to the radio waves he was sending out. He was breathing heavily, but not because it exhausted him – it was because he enjoyed this just a little bit too much. Or was it? Too much? Vox gulped as his mouth felt dry all of a sudden. He also enjoyed what he was witnessing.

Then, it was over. The air shifted back to normal, the soul disappeared, the shadows vanished and Alastor went back to his normal form.

That was when their eyes met, each of them standing at one end of the alley. Vox could feel a sting in his heart, he probably should’ve run away, but he knew that if the radio demon wanted to kill him, running wouldn’t be of much use anyway.

Alastor chuckled, then he vanished into shadows on the floor and overcame the distance between them in an instant. He reappeared directly in front of Vox who, more than ever, clung to his masquerade. There was no way he could reveal how weak he still was, despite everything. He hated it, but it was the truth. He had nothing to hold against a powerful overlord like Alastor. Not yet, at least.

Alastor tilted his head and looked Vox up and down with interest. Just when the latter wanted to say something, the radio demon raised his voice.

“I hope I provided you with a good show, dear sinner,” he patted Vox’s head, “Don’t forget to tune in on my radio show. I’ll have another treat prepared, anything for the audience.”

With that, he bowed like a real showman and disappeared into his shadows.

Vox remained alone in the bloodstained alley. Only that he wasn’t alone – battalions of emotions were fighting in his chest. Alastor was the most … interesting person he had ever met – outright frightening, madly powerful, and through all of that – incredibly hot.

Chapter Text

It had been only a day since Vox’s encounter with Alastor, but never once had the Radio Demon left his mind. In his head, on repeat, Vox kept playing pictures of Alastor killing the other Overlord. It was insane, he knew that. But how could he not admire the passion Alastor had approached his victim with? How could he not… appreciate how Alastor took whatever he wanted, and on top of that with his seemingly playful attitude? Vox knew he had tons of other stuff to do, and he tried extremely hard to focus on his work, but everything reminded him of Alastor.

When he had finished building the prototype of what would soon become his broadcasting room, it had been the smallest things that were doing so. A set of red buttons, the microphone that could only make you think of Alastor’s walking cane, and worst of all, the very same magic they shared. When Vox had sent a small broadcast out into hell this morning, he had known that Alastor was watching. Somewhere, at one of the few stores, Alastor must’ve stood in front of a TV, watching. But it must’ve been more than that. Somehow, he had intervened with the broadcast. It had felt like he had been trying to uncover how exactly Vox was broadcasting. It had been a sensation like nothing else when Alastor had touched Vox’s radio waves. A form of electricity he had never experienced before. Tender, uncovering, almost… intimate.

Vox snapped out of his thoughts when the doorbell rang. For fucks sake, that disruption was probably for the best.

“Come in!” Vox shouted and walked into the hallway to see who was at his door.

“Good afternoon!” Papermint smiled as he entered clumsily. He was carrying a big cardboard box with all kinds of office supplies, making it hard to handle the door. Vox leaned against his doorframe and watched Papermint’s struggles with amusement.

“Y’need some help with that?”

“Nope!” Papermint smiled at his victory over the door as he had managed to both enter and slam the door shut with a kick of his foot. “So, um, where can I put these?” He lifted the box to emphasize what he meant when talking about ‘these’.

“I cleared some space in the closet. Follow me”, Vox ordered and walked into his half-empty closet.

Papermint followed him without hesitation. How in hell was he so trusting? Then again, if Vox had wanted to do anything to him, he might’ve as well done so in any other part of the apartment – or in any other part of hell, really. It wasn’t like anybody cared.

“You know, I’m honestly glad that you called,” Papermint smiled when he placed the box on a table which stood in front of a wall with a giant corkboard on it.

“Is that so?” Vox asked as he watched Papermint unpack.

“Yeah. There aren’t many people in hell who want to actually spend time with you.”

“It’s hell, after all,” Vox shrugged. Papermint didn’t need to know that he had only called him to gather more information about Alastor – and the other Overlords. It wasn’t like anybody cared about keeping records of them, although that would be extremely useful. Papermint came as close as Vox could get to an informant regarding the Overlords – one that would voluntarily share everything he knew, instead of a few snippets you’d gather here and there from abductees you’d have to kill in the aftermath. This time, Vox would use his charm to walk the easy path.

“That’s an awful lot of files,” Vox dropped the subject and picked up one of the many records Papermint was cluttering all over the table.

“Well, what’s left of an organization without files?” Papermint grinned as he continued to unpack his cardboard box, “Everything consists of data. Processing them makes us understand how the world works. They give us knowledge-“

“ – and knowledge is power,” Vox raised an amused digital eyebrow.

“You could put it like that, yes,” Papermint smiled, sat down on the one chair in the room, and finally set to start writing. He had brought pencils, biros, paper, and – in addition to that – an entire fucking typewriter. He was well prepared, which made Vox think he chose just the right guy to work with.

“All right”, Papermint sat up straight in the chair, “I think we should start strategically, from most to least powerful. So probably with Carmilla or Zestial –"

“No, I want to start with Alastor.” Vox bit his lip as he realized how eager he had sounded.

“The radio demon? How so?”

Shit. Vox couldn’t admit he was just a tiny bit dotty about Alastor. He just couldn’t. It was ridiculous. It was impossible. And it was a weakness. Nobody could know even the slightest hint about all of – that.

“He has lots of potential”, he quickly made up an excuse, “He's rising fast, he might be the most powerful Overlord, soon.” Which was true. And that would definitely be in the way of Vox becoming the most powerful Overlord himself.

“Well, sure. But he’s kind of secretive about everything that concerns himself,” Papermint went through the pile of files and picked out one that said ‘Alastor – the Radio Demon’ in capital red letters.

“Show me that file,” Vox spoke as controlled as possible this time and held his hand out for Papermint to pass him the document – which he did, hesitantly.

Papermint had been right. There were a few newspaper articles, one page of notes and one photograph that showed more about how the air around Alastor swayed than anything else.

A slow “fuck” escaped Vox’s lips. This couldn’t possibly be everything there was in data about the Radio demon.

“I know, right?” Papermint muttered.

“What do the articles tell us?”

“Not much, actually."

A knock on the door made Papermint jump – and redirected Vox’s attention to the door.

“Are… you expecting anyone else?”

“I’m not,” Vox replied and quielty walked over to his broadcasting room. The first thing he had bought – when his salary had been transferred onto his bank account – had been a surveillance camera. Now, he connected his screen to the camera. Being the way he was had his pros and cons, but –

“Shit…”

That… couldn’t be true.

“What is it?” Papermint poked his head into the broadcasting room.

Panicking, Vox displayed the pictures the front camera was taking on his screen.

“It – it’s Alastor. At the front door.”

“What?” Papermint squeaked, “What is he doing here?”

Vox couldn’t make sense of it either. But he knew that he needed to come to his senses. Regain control over the situation. Nothing bad had happened yet. He unplugged himself from the surveillance camera and took control like he always did. He pushed Papermint away from the broadcasting room. “I don’t know. But you need to go.”

Papermint didn’t seem convinced – or calm – in the slightest though. “Go? Where could I go now that he’s at the front door?”

Vox sighed and forced himself not to speak up so Alastor wouldn’t notice what was happening. “The closet. Now!” Vox ordered and as Papermint didn’t move, he literally shoved him into the small room. “And hide all the evidence! But quietly.”

Without another word, he slammed the closet door shut and quickly collected himself. A fast look in the mirror, an adjustment of his jacket and pullover – which had looked kinda messy because of the rush – and a flash of the signature smile Vox had trained to be perfect.

And just like that, he swung the front door open, his seemingly perfect appearance on display.

“Oh, it’s you!” Vox put on his most welcoming voice, “Alastor, if I recall correctly? Good afternoon. Just what does an overlord like you do in this area?”

Alastor was smiling, too. Vox was beginning to think that he was always smiling – the perfect act.

“You enjoy talking a lot, don’t you?” Alastor said in his filtered voice.

“And you apparently enjoy calling people out.”

Alastor seemingly smiled even wider at this response. “It’s quite entertaining and usually silences my oponents.” He tilted his head. “But not you, as it seems.”

“Yeah, well maybe that’s because I enjoy talking a lot.”

There was a short silence between them, before Vox invited Alastor to enter the apartment.

“Make yourself comfortable, if you wish.” Vox gestured towards one of his chairs, and continued talking when Alastor declined the offer. “I was just wondering – what are you doing here?”

“Oh, silly, I wanted to see you, of course.”

Vox’s heart skipped a beat, only to speed up afterward. Alastor had wanted to see him?

“Oh yeah, and why’s that? I can imagine that you have better shit to –“

He was interrupted by the noise of scratches on the closet wall. For fucks sake, hadn’t he ordered Papermint to be quiet?!

Alastor however appeared more intrigued than irritated. “What was that?” he asked.

Vox could feel his control over the situation fade. Something he didn’t like, at all. Something that simply couldn’t happen. But even before he opened his mouth, he knew that his nervosity would show in his voice. But he needed to try, needed to change the subject – regain control. “I didn’t hear anything. How did you find my apartment anyway?”

“Piece of cake. It’s the only building that has a store with these picture boxes that resemble your head on the ground floor.”

It had sounded like an insult, but Vox kept up his smile up as well as he could.

Just then, a loud rambling emerged from the closet. Papermint must’ve made the corkboard come off the wall. He was so fucking dead.

Alastor looked in the direction of the noise and lifted an eyebrow. Vox knew that he couldn’t deny it any longer.

“Ah, that’s the noise you meant. Don’t worry about it, I’d say. I just bought some new pieces to enlarge my wardrobe, they must’ve fallen off the clothes rail. Can’t wear the same boring shit every day, right?”

Alastor tilted his head, which made Vox question his sanity again. He’d never been this nervous in front of anyone. He was calm and controlled, and nobody could see through his deceiving nature. Why was it different with Alastor? – Maybe because he wasn’t stupid. Maybe because there was, for once, a possibility that someone could see right through the web of lies.

“Mhmm, I don’t really care about what’s in your closet,” Alastor shrugged, “Although I feel you’re hiding more than some meretricious clothing in there – I’m much more interested in that room over there. It doesn’t look too tawdry, I must say.” With his walking cane, he pointed towards Vox’s new broadcasting station.

The latter bit his lip as he watched Alastor walk directly towards it. Vox wasn’t dumb. He knew that Alastor was up to something, and just like he had been trying to collect information with Papermint just a few moments ago, he could tell that the radio demon was up to do the same thing. But just maybe he could gather some information in return. Maybe, if he acted stultified and pretended to give Alastor what he wanted – he could learn a little more about the infamous radio demon along the way. Then he’d have a little more to put on that damn corkboard. How difficult could it possibly be to win Alastor over?

“So, you’re interested in my new broadcasting station? Why’s that?” Vox asked as the Radio Demon inspected every lever and button.

“Oh, you know my dear, I’m interested in everything that deals with entertainment. It’s rather exciting, don’t you think? Walking the world like the stage it is. I was just wondering – what kind of appeal does it have for you?”

“And why would you wanna know that?”

“Well, well, I see you’re trying to start something, here. And I’d like a seat in the front row. I was thinking to myself: Will he succeed? Will he fail? And what is he doing it for? Pride? Fame? Avarice? I can only reiterate that you’re the most exciting thing to happen to this place in the last twenty years.”

Those words struck right into Vox’s heart – whether he wanted it to happen or not. Alastor might as well have sung him a love song.

Chapter Text

Five days had passed. Five days of backs and fourths, of Vox denying that he had a soft spot for Alastor, because soft spots were weaknesses. Wanting to fuck him, that was an entirely different thing. Sex didn’t have to involve feelings. Which was fine. But there was so much more about Alastor. Everything he did was so powerful and perfect and – hot.

And just like that, Cannibal Town was – something. It was hard to believe that somebody like Alastor would feel at home here. The people Vox saw on the streets were wretched, collecting body parts for lunch like vultures would tatter roadkill. One thing he had to grant them was that they were ruthless.

If it hadn’t been for Alastor inviting him to a business dinner, Vox wouldn’t have set a foot into this place. He clenched his teeth when he thought about how the Radio Demon already had a grip on him. He hated going outside and dammit, he had better shit to do. But if a powerful overlord wanted to see you, that was an opportunity. That was why he was here, business and business only. If Alastor was fond of him, or at least interested in any kind of way, Vox could use that to climb to the top faster. You needed powerful acquaintances if you wanted to climb the ladder.

By now, he had been sitting in this restaurant for about thirty minutes – by himself. Not because Alastor was late, but because Vox had come early. He always was the first one to show up, whatever kind of meeting. The one who was there, first was the one to set the rules. You basically owned the place when the others would show up. They would have to play by your rules – you could dictate where everyone would sit, and what the tone of the conversation would be – and you had the advantage of getting to know the place. Which, in this case, had been incredibly necessary as Vox assumed that this was a restaurant that Alastor went to on a regular basis.

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Another fifteen minutes later, Alastor had shown up. Vox’s heart had skipped a beat and he had known that his face had glitched for a second. He just hoped that Alastor had missed this small loss of control.

Apart from that, everything was going great. As far as Vox could tell, at least. While Alastor wore his smile like a piece of armor, the rest of his body language exuded – fondness? Maybe it was wishful thinking. But it made Vox’s attempts bolder.

“So, this is a place you go to, often?” He adjusted his tie just slightly, his fingers lingering a beat too long as he spoke.

“Heavens, no! I usually don’t eat out”, Alastor tilted his head, then added: “It’s rare that I have somebody join me for a meal. But let me ask you, what made you decide to try out a restaurant in Cannibal Town?” He waved a hand dismissively, completely missing Vox’s attempt to steer the tone.

Vox’s smirk faltered for a split second, but he tried again, his eyes narrowing just a bit as he leaned closer, elbows resting on the table, voice dropping. “You invited me here. Which then must mean that my company is something you don’t loathe entirely.”

“Oh my, you’re quite dramatic, aren’t you?” Alastor chuckled, leaning back in his seat. “If it appeases you, I don’t loathe your company, so far. I stand by what I said – You’re a peculiar creature. Intriguing, even. And maybe, you’ll entertain me.”

Vox wasn’t sure how well Alastor could already read him, but those compliments made him speechless. He was flirting back, wasn’t he? But that didn’t align with his image. He couldn’t help himself. He found Alastor fascinating in ways that went far beyond business. His eyes lingered a little too long on the smooth, elegant curve of Alastor's neckVox wished that he could touch Alastor. Hell, he wanted to do so much more than just touch him, but even this seemed to be impossible. Alastor appeared to be a person who hated being touched. And although Vox was all for taking whatever he wanted, he wouldn't in a case like this. He wouldn't cross a boundary like that. Never.

Vox’s thoughts shifted back to the conversation, and he tried to latch onto the topic at hand, using it as an excuse to keep his mind occupied. Alastor had a way of distracting him, making every moment feel just a little too intense.

“I just wonder,” Alastor said, tapping his finger thoughtfully against his glass, “if there’s radio, why interact with this television nonsense?”

Vox scoffed at the provocative remark. “That’s easy. TV’s the future. Like the better radio-“

“Mhmmmm”, Alastor hummed as interruption, his eyes glimmering with presumptious amusement. Clearly, he wasn’t convinced the slightest.

“Oh, but it is,” Vox replied, leaning forward slightly, voice smooth and persistent. "Television gives us the possibility to feel alive again. Films create an illusion of movement. You can get lost and forget everything you are. When you witness others being alive, you feel like you are, too.”

Alastor tilted his head. “That’s the most ridiculous and most logical thing I’ve heard in a while. Of course, people want to rid themselves of their mediocre existences.”

Vox’s lips twitched into a smirk as he leaned back in his chair. “People crave being alive,” he said, his voice dropping slightly, as if this were a secret. “On Earth, but even more so in Hell, I suppose. It’s funny how fiction, an illusion, can create images larger than actual life. And while people sit at home, watch TV, I can make them experience more emotions than if they actually went outside.”

“You make people feel - emotions?” Alastor smirked.

“I can make people feel all kinds of things” Vox replied with a smug grin, going all in now.

Alastor’s smile deepened, his eyes dancing with a mixture of amusement and something darker, as if he were thoroughly entertained by Vox’s boldness. He leaned in slightly, his posture still impeccably formal, but there was an unmistakable air of playfulness in his gaze.

Alastor hummed, his voice dripping with sweetness. “You certainly have a knack for words. But I must admit, I’m so curious to see if your actions can live up to your promises.” He paused, letting the words hang in the air like a delicate thread waiting to be pulled. “Tell me, Vox was what you call yourself, right? So, Vox, do you truly think that you have the power to make people feel emotions? Or is that just part of the illusion?”

Vox’s heart skipped another beat as Alastor said his name. But his confidence didn’t falter. He’d come this far; there was no backing down now. But the way Alastor spoke, so knowingly, like he had already unraveled the entire game, made him feel like he was dancing on the edge of something far more dangerous than he’d anticipated.

“I’ve made them feel,” Vox said, a mad grin sneaking onto his face as he leaned forward again, his fingers almost brushing the rim of his glass. “I can make them crave the things they don’t know they need. I can create a world of sensation, all through their own desire. It’s easy when you know how to push the right buttons.”

“You speak so confidently, Vox. Yet, you’re new to Hell. You possess no real power. Let me know, just what makes you so confident?” Alastor purred, leaning back again, folding his hands beneath his chin. His gaze remained fixed on Vox with unnerving intensity, but there was no denying the amusement lurking behind his every word.

“I was somebody, in life. Before I ended up here. I had no magic up there, why would I need it down here? It’s easy to manipulate people. The only thing you must know is what you have that they need.”

“Is that so?” Alastor acted like he was completely oblivious to that fact. But Vox knew that you didn’t become an Overlord for nothing. But he liked this game. He liked Alastor. So he played along anyway. Just what could go wrong?

Vox nodded slowly, his gaze never leaving Alastor’s face, trying to gauge his reaction, trying to find a crack in the mask that would let him in. "People need to forget the misery they live in. They crave distraction – getting to live these experiences they can't have in their own lives, simply by watching. It’s all about that illusion—feeling things you never would otherwise." He paused for a moment, his eyes flicking to Alastor’s hand resting on the table, just inches away. If only...

Alastor’s lips quirked in a strange little smile, as if Vox had amused him rather than deeply resonated with him. “A rather roundabout way of saying people don’t have lives of their own to live, I suppose. What a pity.”

Vox chuckled softly, his voice low, as he leaned just a fraction closer. “Maybe. But I think it’s more of a need. People are desperate to feel something beyond the dull, repetitive reality of their own lives. They want to be entertained.” In a bold move, he added: “Just. Like. You.”

Vox’s breath caught in his throat for a split second. He couldn’t believe he had actually said that. But he didn’t want to back down now, either. Not after all the attempts he’d made to move this conversation in his direction.

“You want to be an Overlord, eventually. Don’t you?” Alastor changed the subject, his voice low and deliberate.

Vox was very well aware of the fact that Alastor was just toying with him. To him, he was nothing but a wannabe at the end of the food chain. Right? Maybe, that could be an advantage.

“Who doesn’t?” Vox shrugged off the question.

“But you have plans, don’t you? Ambitions. You’re different from the rest. You know which steps you need to take to rise to the top. And you know that a powerful Overlord like me could be very helpful with that.”

“Are you… offering a cooperation?” Vox asked.

“Let’s rather call it a deal”, Alastor interfered, obviously appalled by the word ‘cooperation’.

“A deal.” Vox repeated and raised an eyebrow.

“Not for your soul. Didn’t you just say you were all about entertainment? Well, I’ll guide your potential and if you fail, which I predict, at least I had a good show to watch. What do you say?”

Vox considered this for a moment. The idea of working with Alastor—however twisted it sounded—was undeniably tempting. The Radio Demon was one of the most powerful beings in Hell, and aligning himself with someone like Alastor could give Vox the kind of leverage that most others could only dream of. He didn’t need to trust Alastor; he just needed to get something out of this.

“Alright,” Vox said, his voice low, his eyes gleaming with a new kind of resolve. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Radio Demon. I’ll be looking forward to putting on a good show for you.”

Alastor’s smile widened ever so slightly, his eyes glowing with something more than mere amusement now. When they shook hands to seal the deal, the sensation was electric. A jolt of green energy rippled through the room, like the crackling of static before a storm, and Vox felt the subtle hum of Alastor’s magic thrumming against his skin. The moment stretched, the force of Alastor’s power mingling with the intensity of the agreement they’d just made. Vox could almost feel the weight of what had just been promised. What had begun as a flirtation—a game—was now something more. Something far more dangerous.

“Good,” Alastor purred, his voice rich with satisfaction, drawing Vox’s attention back to him. “And now that we’ve come so close—” His gaze flickered, almost predatory. “—you might as well stop tiptoeing around it and call me by my name.”

Vox's smirk faltered just the slightest as he met Alastor’s eyes. He was treading on dangerous ground, but he couldn’t stop now. He knew that this was just another game, one that could get him what he wanted—if he played it right.

For a brief moment, the surrounding noise of the restaurant seemed to fade into the background, as if the whole world was waiting for Vox’s next move. The sounds of clinking glasses, the soft murmurs from the other patrons, all became a distant hum.

“Alright,” Vox said, voice low but clear, his words wrapping around the name like a challenge. “Alastor.”

The air shifted. The atmosphere grew heavier as Vox spoke the name aloud, and Alastor’s smile widened ever so slightly, the joy in his eyes evident, even if his lips never wavered. In that moment, it was like a contract was sealed in more ways than one. The game had only just begun.

Chapter Text

There’s a difference between watching a movie and watching television that gets clearer and clearer the more you think about it. It is something that television inherited from radio and now it’s become something the two of them share: Immediacy.

“What exactly are we doing here?” Vox asked as he walked a few steps behind Alastor, taking in the atmosphere. The extermination was coming up, soon. People were starting to panic and everybody was behaving even more licentiously than usual.

“We’re going hunting, of course!” Alastor declared, his voice dripping with cheer.

“Hunting what exactly?”

“Stories, my dear! You have to put yourself out there and lost souls will cross your way, eventually!”

Vox scoffed. Alastor acted as though he knew nothing about anything. Not about collecting information, not about detecting people in need – which you could use to your advantage. In general, Alastor acted like Vox hadn’t worked in the field most of his life. And that was severely annoying him. He might have been starting from zero in hell, but Vox still had the experience he’d gathered during his lifetime. But he would just go with it for the moment. He wasn’t one to be silent, but when being face to face with the radio demon, you might just lose your usual composure.

“And then what?” Vox mocked, but he continued to play the passive role.

Alastor finally turned, but his smirk had darkened, something manic flickering in his crimson eyes.

“Then their soul belongs to you,” he purred.

The weight of those words lingered in the air for a beat too long before Alastor’s mood shifted again, flipping back to his usual playful banter.

“Piece of cake, really. But that’s nothing new for you.” He tilted his head, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Don’t give me that look. I know exactly what you’re thinking.”

Vox highly doubted that. If Alastor could actually read his thoughts, he’d know that all he’d been thinking about for the past month was getting the Radio Demon’s ass into his bed.

“You think I take you as a wannabe and know-it-all,” Alastor continued, his grin unwavering, “but I’ve told you before: I see your potential. You know how to put on a show, you’re a politician at heart, and as innocent and sweet as you’re looking right now, you’re a reckless businessman who’d stop at nothing to get what he wants.”

Alastor paused, then he added: “Correct me if I’m wrong, but everyone has a reason they’re in hell.”

Vox smirked. “Maybe I’m here because of my horrible taste in men.”

Alastor froze mid-step, his grin widening at Vox’s bold statement. Slowly, he turned on his heel, the red glow of his eyes flickering with amusement. For a moment, there was silence, except for a moan that emerged from a window above the street.

“Now that sounds more like you,” Alastor said, his voice lilting with mockery as he walked closer to Vox, their faces only inches apart now. “Keep up that confidence. It suits you better than silence.”

Vox felt like his heart would jump out of his chest any moment as he glanced down at Alastor’s lips. All he had to do was close the distance between them and take what he wanted.  

But Alastor moved first.

Almost tenderly, he traced the back of his index finger along the side of Vox’s screen, his touch featherlight. “My dear,” he murmured, voice a whisper of static and silk, “I’m doing this for you. A small welcome gift.”

"And to show me how this soul-hunting procedure works."

"Mhm, yes. The way you put it sounds a lot less fun, though."

Alastor’s finger lingered on Vox’s screen for a moment longer, his expression softening into something unreadable. The warmth of his touch, though brief, sent an unexpected shiver down Vox’s spine.

Vox swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way his skin buzzed beneath Alastor’s fingertips. He forced himself to focus, but the bastard’s presence was overwhelming — too close, too intoxicating. His mind spun, and before he could think better of it, he leaned in — Just then, Alastor pulled back and acted as if nothing had happened.

“How do you think Overlords get so powerful?” he asked, leaning back against the wall behind him. “How do we get our magic?”

Vox exhaled sharply, trying to push down his frustration. He shook his head, partly to clear his thoughts, partly because really?

“That’s basic hell 101”, he scoffed.

“So?” Alastor raised an amused eyebrow, not willing to let Vox off the hook.

Vox didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward, closing the gap once more, one hand pressing against the wall just beside Alastor’s head. A neon flicker surged through his eyes, casting a sharp, electric glow across the demon’s smirking face.

“I’m flattered,” Vox drawled, his voice smooth as polished glass, “that you chose me for this little game of yours. But don’t mistake my charm for innocence, Alastor. I know how to play, and I won’t let you run over me.”

His claws curled slightly against the wall, the charge in the air crackling almost imperceptibly.

“You’re right about one thing, though: I don’t stop until I get what I want.”

His voice dipped just enough to let the weight of his words settle between them. “The real question is: What do you want? Because I’m not buying this mentor act of yours.”

Alastor’s smirk didn’t falter, but there was something keen behind his gaze – interest, maybe. Amusement. But before he could reply –

The sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the allyway.

Vox pulled back, his expression smoothing into something unreadable. Both demons turned as a small, frazzled anglerfish demon skidded to a stop in front of them. His dark lab coat was wrinkled, his glasses slightly askew, and the frantic energy rolling off him was almost palpable.

Chapter Text

The anglerfish demon had introduced himself as Baxter. He had spoken mostly gibberish, about some experiment of his that had gone wrong. Vox had had little interest in whatever he had been talking about – until Baxter had mentioned that he was working on a portal to the other rings of hell.

            “I had witnessed one of those Goetia demons create a portal, then walk right through it,” Baxter explained. “And I was thinking – what is this code determining we can not leave Pride Ring? Is it because we have souls and the hellborn don’t? I followed that hypothesis and… lost my dear wife in a … tragic accident.”

            Alastor tilted his head, and static filled the air like a threat. Vox watched the change in his demeanour carefully. This anglerfish demon – Baxter – he wasn’t here by accident. Alastor knew him, Vox was sure about that. The Radio Demon’s grin was still in place, but there was something colder about it now.

Interesting.

            “If that’s what you call selling her soul for your profit,” the Radio Demon commented and proved Vox’s assumptions right.

            Baxter straightened. “It was a variable that needed to be taken into account – for the greater good! For science! Besides, she decided to go with you all by herself. I – I suppose you’re taking good care of her?”

            Alastor chuckled, the sound rich and unbothered. “Not like it’s any of your business anymore, but I’m treating Nifty better than you ever cared to do.”

            Vox sighed dramatically. “Okay, not to interrupt your heartwarming reunion here, but weren’t you talking about immediate danger?”

            “Yes! That’s what I was trying to explain!” Baxter turned to him eagerly, as if finally spotting a lifeline. “Through a soul contract, the soul still remains in its vessel – even though it belongs to somebody else.”

            “So you built a fucking machine that splits souls from their bodies? I don’t know if I want to call that crazy or impressive.” I’ll be going with impressive. Vox decided for himself. Such a powerful weapon was more than useful.

            “It would be impressive,” Baxter admitted, “if it worked the way I had intended it to.” He wrung his claws together. “But it’s unstable. The energy buildup is exponential, and if it overloads…” He turned to Alastor. “So will you help me or what?”

“Oh, I love when problems solve themselves,” Alastor interrupted cheerfully.

Baxter sputtered. “No, you don’t understand! If it reaches critical mass, it won’t just break—it will release an uncontrolled wave of energy that could rip apart anything within its radius.”

Vox’s amusement dimmed slightly. “Define ‘radius.’”

Baxter swallowed. “The city. Maybe more.”

That earned him a slow whistle.

Alastor, however, still looked delighted. “So dramatic!”

“So will you help me or not?” Baxter demanded.

Alastor tilted his head. “That depends. What do I get in return?”

“In return? Didn’t you listen?! We’re all going to die!”

Alastor merely chuckled. “We’re already dead, silly!” He then turned to Vox, his red eyes gleaming. “What do you say? Should we help a poor soul in need?”

Vox could feel Alastor’s gaze on him, sharp and expectant, like a knife resting against his throat. A test. A gift. A game.

He knew why they were really here. This wasn’t about charity. It wasn’t even about Baxter’s problem.

They had come hunting.

And now, Alastor was offering him his first prize.

The Radio Demon wanted to be entertained? Well, Vox would give him one hell of a show. He let his smirk stretch, slow and deliberate. He turned his attention back to Baxter, who still looked rattled, his gills twitching with barely contained nerves.

“See, fish boy,” he drawled, “lucky for you, my friend here is feeling generous today.” He tipped his head toward Alastor. “And generosity, when it comes to him? That’s rare.”

Alastor gave an exaggerated bow, grinning. “Oh, but of course! After all, what kind of mentor would I be if I didn’t give my dear protégé a proper welcome gift?” He extended a hand toward Baxter in an exaggerated flourish. “And what better gift than a soul?”

Baxter stiffened. His translucent fins flared slightly, his yellow eyes darting between them. “W-Wait—”

Alastor’s grin never wavered, but his fingers twitched, and in an instant, a scroll of parchment appeared in his grasp. It unfurled midair, the edges curling with an unnatural fluidity, as though the paper itself was alive. The ink scrawled across it shimmered, shifting between deep crimson and something far darker.

A soul contract.

Alastor turned it with a flick of his wrist so Baxter could see the words. “Now, now,” he said, voice dripping with mock concern. “I wouldn’t dream of taking something so precious from you without proper documentation. That would be terribly rude of me, don’t you think?”

Vox leaned in slightly, reading over the elegant script. The terms were standard—ownership of the soul transferred to Vox in exchange for safety from his failed experiment’s catastrophic fallout. He glanced over to Alastor. Was he being serious? Would he simply gift him a soul like that? Souls meant power, Vox knew that. He had never given Alastor anything in return - and he doubted that he did this purely out of amusement. Everybody had their goals, and somebody as dangerous as the Radio Demon - let's just say that Vox knew himself, so he would only ever expect the worst from people in positions of power. Then again, what did it matter? Vox could profit from Alastor right now, maybe they'd fuck later, who knew? So he would play along, and accept the gift.

A desperate trade.

A permanent one.

“I don’t have a choice, do I?” Baxter swallowed hard. His hands clenched at his sides.

Alastor’s grin widened. “Oh, my dear boy, there is always a choice.” He tapped a clawed finger against the line where Baxter’s signature belonged. “It’s just that some choices are better than others.”

Vox folded his arms. “I mean, you could refuse,” he mused. “And if that portal implodes, at least you’ll go out with your dignity intact. You know. As matter scattered across Hell.”

Baxter’s fins twitched violently. He squeezed his eyes shut for a long moment, then exhaled sharply.

“Fine,” he muttered. “Give me the damn quill.”

A pen materialized between his fingers, conjured the moment he asked for it. No hesitation now. He scrawled his name at the bottom of the contract.

The ink sizzled the moment the signature was completed. The contract glowed, sealing itself with magic older than Hell itself. The parchment rolled up on its own, vanishing into nothingness as if it had never been there at all.

Then it happened.

Power.

It hit Vox like a lightning strike straight to the core. His entire body jolted, back arching as raw energy surged through his veins. The world around him blurred, static screaming at the edges of his mind.

Electricity.

Light.

It wasn’t just moving through him—it was becoming him.

His breath hitched, sharp and ragged, as the charge settled under his skin, simmering, waiting. He flexed his fingers, and a flicker of pale blue danced between them—tiny sparks, vanishing as quickly as they came. Not much. Just a whisper. A promise of something more.

He exhaled, slower this time.

He had power.

Real power.

And he was going to get more.

Vox let his smirk return, slower, sharper. He rolled his shoulders, feeling the lingering energy hum beneath his skin, and met Alastor’s gaze.

“Well,” he murmured, his voice glitching slightly. “That was… something.”

Alastor chuckled, utterly delighted. “Oh, my dear, you have no idea how much ‘something’ this truly is.”

He looped an arm around Vox’s shoulders and patted Baxter’s head.

“Now,” Alastor purred, his grin widening with anticipation. “Let’s go save Hell, shall we?”

Then, without warning, the shadows around them surged forward, swallowing them whole.

The sensation was instant and disorienting. Darkness curled around Vox’s limbs, weightless yet suffocating, and for the briefest moment, there was nothing—no sound, no space, no body. Just a dizzying sense of being pulled through something vast and endless, like plunging headfirst into the unknown.

And then, just as quickly, the shadows spat them out into the dim, flickering glow of fluorescent lights.

Baxter’s lab.

Vox staggered slightly as his feet hit solid ground, his body still tingling from the aftershock of Alastor’s magic. Static buzzed through his chest, sparking along his nerves like an afterglow. He barely noticed, too distracted by the way Alastor stood there, perfectly composed, adjusting his tie with that ever-present smirk. Smug bastard.

But fuck—that had been hot.

Vox had seen powerful demons before, but there was something about the way Alastor wielded his magic so effortlessly, so playfully, like it was nothing more than an extension of himself. No theatrics, no incantations, just a flick of his fingers and reality bent to his will. Effortless. Dangerous. Completely intoxicating.

It took him half a second too long to remember himself.

He straightened, smoothing out his suit with a scoff as he finally took in his surroundings.

“That’s it?” Vox drawled, glancing around the cluttered, dimly lit space. Scattered blueprints, shattered beakers, and half-finished contraptions littered every surface. The whole place smelled of burnt metal and ozone. “Not quite as spectacular as I thought.”

Baxter shot him an irritated glance but didn’t argue. Instead, he turned to Alastor, his webbed hands wringing anxiously. “Can you just fix it already?!”

Alastor chuckled, stepping aside with an almost theatrical wave of his hand. “Oh, but I won’t be the one fixing it.” He turned his crimson gaze to Vox, eyes glinting with something unreadable. “This is his problem to solve.”

Vox raised a brow but didn’t protest. He had expected as much. This was all part of the game Alastor was playing—dangling power just out of reach, watching to see how far he’d go to seize it.

Fine.

He crouched beside the damaged device, his movements slow and deliberate as he picked up a scorched metal casing. It was a mess of tangled wires, broken gears, and shattered glass tubes—a puzzle of someone brilliant but horrifically disorganized.

Vox ran a hand over the mess, feeling the lingering heat where something had short-circuited. He recognized the way the metal had melted and fused together. An electrical overload.

Interesting.

For a brief second, he focused on the static still humming in his chest, the leftover charge from when Baxter’s soul had become his. A tiny, almost imperceptible flicker of energy danced along his fingertips, sparking against the metal.

His smirk deepened.

“Well,” he mused, picking up a frayed wire, “this is going to be fun.”

He turned his focus to the machine, tapping a claw against the damaged panel as he examined the mess of components inside.

“Look at this,” Vox muttered, mostly to himself, as his neon eyes scanned the contraption. “It’s an energy dispersal system… sloppy soldering on the circuit board… and this capacitor isn’t even grounded properly.”

Baxter blinked. “Wait, you can actually understand it?”

Vox shot him a glare. “Of course I can. This is basic electronics.” He held up a fractured tube filled with glowing liquid, turning it in his fingers with mild fascination. “Though I’ll admit, this magic-conductive filament is interesting. Primitive but clever.”

Alastor, still lounging casually against the nearest wall, let out a rich, velvety chuckle. “Do continue, my dear. You’re proving to be quite the jack-of-all-trades.”

There was something about the way he said it—mocking, amused, yet almost impressed—that sent a sharp thrill down Vox’s spine. He wasn’t distracted, exactly, but damn if Alastor’s voice wasn’t sinfully smooth.

And the way he watched him—head tilted, eyes gleaming, like Vox was some intriguing little puzzle he was piecing together.

It was hot. Annoying, but hot.

Vox forced himself to ignore it, focusing instead on the mess of circuitry in front of him. With practiced ease, he began reassembling the pieces, scraping away residue from a burnt wire before rewiring a section of the circuit. His hands moved with the kind of confidence that came from years of experience, each adjustment deliberate, each connection purposeful.

“Too much current must’ve overloaded the stabilizer,” he muttered, twisting a knob to recalibrate the flow. “You were lucky this didn’t blow up in your face, fish boy.”

Baxter bristled at the nickname but held his tongue, his attention locked on Vox’s hands.

As Vox reached for a tiny coil that had rolled under a pipe, his fingertips crackled faintly with neon-blue electricity. He smirked, watching the charge flicker between his fingers for a brief moment before carefully applying it to fuse two loose wires together.

“That little spark of yours…” Baxter breathed, his voice tinged with awe. “You’re channeling magic into the circuitry?”

Vox’s smirk widened. Damn right I am.

“Welcome to the future,” he replied smugly. “Magic and technology can go hand in hand if you know what you’re doing.”

A faint hum filled the space as the device began to stir under his touch. The broken components whirred softly, energy stabilizing as he twisted a final dial.

“Careful,” Baxter warned, his voice trembling. “If you don’t balance it perfectly—”

“Please,” Vox interrupted, shooting him a cocky look. “I’ve got this.”

With a final click of the dial, the machine let out a soft chime. The erratic energy flow smoothed out, and the glowing liquid inside the filament pulsed rhythmically, casting faint blue light over the room.

Vox straightened, dusting off his hands. “There. Crisis averted. You’re welcome.”

Baxter stared at the now-functional device, mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air. Eventually, he let out a shaky laugh. “I don’t believe it… You actually fixed it.”

“Of course I did,” Vox said, flashing him a sharp grin. “I’m not some amateur.”

Alastor’s slow, deliberate applause filled the air. “Oh, bravo, Vox! A truly dazzling display.” He leaned forward slightly, that ever-present grin widening. “You’ve exceeded my expectations.”

Vox turned to him, their eyes locking. It was ridiculous how much satisfaction he got from hearing that.

“Told you I could handle it,” he said, tilting his head just enough to let his confidence drip into the words.

Alastor chuckled, and for a split second—just a fleeting moment—there was something unreadable in his expression.

Vox didn’t know what it was. But he liked it.

Alastor clapped a hand onto his shoulder, steering him away from the device with a light push. “Well then, my dear Vox, I do believe our work here is done! I’m sure our dear fishy friend can take it from here. Won’t you, Baxter?”

Baxter, still blinking at the now-functional machine, barely managed a nod. “Uh… yeah. Sure.”

“Splendid!” Alastor beamed, already turning away. “Then best of luck with your little… experiment.” The way he said it made it sound like an absolute joke, but Baxter was too relieved to argue.

Vox smirked, already stepping into the shadows beside Alastor. But as they prepared to leave, his gaze flickered back to the machine one last time.

Magic and technology.

He hadn’t felt that spark before – not like that. And now that he had, he wanted to know exactly what it meant.

Baxter’s work was messy, unrefined, but it wasn’t nonsense. There was something in it, something worth paying attention to. He’d look into it later. For now, he had other things to focus on.

With that thought, he stepped fully into the darkness, following Alastor into the night.

Chapter Text

The sharp click of a pencil striking wood filled the air, steady and restless, punctuating the slow drift of cigarette smoke that curled above Vox’s desk. He wasn’t usually one for smoking, because although it appeared to be in fashion for the gentleman of today to do so, it proved that something outside himself could take hold of his will. That there were things which, if you let them, could take over your self-control. But he had just needed one. With everything going on, he had needed one.

Alastor was everything.

This was as clear as the fact that the sky was red or that he would eventually reach the top.

Alastor was Vox’s future, one way or another. And if he truly wanted to be by his side, he needed to accelerate his pace. Vox couldn’t let there be a power imbalance. He couldn’t be with Alastor as his little plaything; they had to be equals. And the way to achieve that was getting hold of more souls.

Vox glanced over to Papermint, who was typing away on his typewriter. Weeks of calculated charm had brought him this far — dinners, drinks, little gestures of trust. It was the easiest rope to pull tight around a neck. Trust was essential for what was coming next. And Vox knew how to make people trust him.

He glitched when the calm jazz music Papermint’s little radio had been playing ended abruptly, just to be replaced by his voice.

“Ahh, wasn’t that a treat, folks? Nothing soothes the soul quite like a little jazz on a fine evening—smooth, sweet, and oh-so-timeless. Ha-ha!”

The cigarette paused halfway to Vox’s lips. His vision sharpened. There was something there. Something in the sound, the signal, the way it cut through the air. He could see it – thin, shimmering lines twisting through the room, static dancing along their edges. Vox looked over at Papermint, wondering if he could see them, too, but he was too invested in his work to even notice. But even if he hadn't been... something told Vox, that he was special. That he could see this and others couldn't.

“But speaking of time”, the broadcast continued, “the clock does tick ever closer to that grand event we all know so well – the Extermination! Yes, the angels are polishing their halos and sharpening their lances as we speak. Now, of course, I haven’t the slightest reason to fret… but you, my dear listeners, would do well to tidy up your affairs and brace yourselves for the festivities.”

Vox wasn’t listening to his words for once. This... static – what was it? Without thinking, he reached out. Just the smallest motion, his fingertip brushing the invisible current.

A faint spark leapt from the air to his skin.

His breath hitched. It was Alastor’s frequency.

It was like touching Alastor himself. Smooth, electric, dangerous. The sensation made his pulse quicken, made his mouth dry. His lips parted, a tremor of sound caught in his chest before he bit it back.

God, he wanted more.

But while his body betrayed him, his mind was still there, a screaming realization in the back of his head: These lights, shimmering darkness, were the radio waves, the magic that Alastor was using for his broadcasts. For an instant, Vox imagined letting it consume him, imagined drowning in that frequency until it filled every corner of him. The thought alone sent a shiver of heat down his spine.

And then – control. Vox tore his hand back, clenching his fist tight, claws biting into his palm. No. Too reckless. If Alastor noticed…

But if he did, he didn’t let it show, as the broadcast continued normally: “After all, it simply wouldn’t be Hell without a good fight to keep us on our toes, don’t you think?”

The static still lingered in the room, coiling invisible and alive. Vox stared into it, chest rising and falling too quickly, and for a long moment he didn’t move. Then, slowly, a grin curved across his face.

This changed everything. Alastor’s magic wasn’t untouchable. It wasn’t only his. With enough souls, enough power, Vox could claim it. Could claim him.

And he burned to find out how far Alastor would let him go before that perfect grin finally broke.