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Vox was on top of the world.
When he formed his team that would soon take over all of Hell's entertainment.
When he rose to the top of the overlord ranks, making every sinner hypnotized with his televised charm.
When he rallied all of Hell in an uprising against Heaven, uniting the condemned souls to follow his will.
And now he had nothing. Or more specifically, he had nothing else left to lose.
What could satisfy such an ambitious soul like Vox's until he finally had enough to be content with? His power and influence all throughout Hell, even before his plans to conquer Heaven certainly wasn't enough.
Neither was the short-lived godhood he had been after since the idea sparked into his arbitrary mind.
No, for a white man from the fifties that could swoon his way into any position he so desired and even more so— swiftly pass through the non-existent hardships other stars had to endure to even get into the same level as him, it was hard to fulfill his appetite of taking, taking, and taking.
He could've been gifted the entire world and it still wasn't enough.
However, after some time in the afterlife, it all changed when he seemed to have found his match. His missing chess piece, a worthy opponent that was on the same level as him and understood all his moves to outsmart him at every turn. Someone that could fulfill his desires and had a certain feel that wasn't like all the others.
He was charming. He knew exactly what to say and a way around people. He was one of the only individuals willing to see the potential Vincent had when he first landed in the realm below. And yet, he was so out of reach. Like a silk thread that keeps spinning itself no matter how much you tried to pull at the seams, or a shadow you would follow into the crowd and disappear just as you were about to catch it.
For once in his life, he found something different. Something to admire rather than only to apathetically chase. Rather, he found someone he truly adored. That someone to him— was Alastor.
But, it's all in the past now. It didn't matter anymore. How ironic is it to lose everything to the very thing you've been trying to chase over the last seventy years? After all, he was this close to getting those angels to kneel for him. He was so close to finally taking control of both realms.
And now, it was all gone because of that stupid deer.
"Vox, stop! Firing anymore will overload the weapon," Carmilla shouted, but Vox didn't seem to care. He staggeringly walked towards the core of the angelic weapon, clearly visible with multiple injuries. His body was all torn up, and circuits had been cut off from his body in the fight with Alastor.
Did he really need any more reminders when Vox was already so intent on ending it all already?
"Then I'd better make this shot COUNT."
After all, all his followers had lost faith in him after his attempts to get rid of Alastor. Perhaps when he relentlessly hunted the radio demon all throughout the pride ring, it was when those sinners and even The Vees realized that they had never been the true focus of Vox's plans.
It was Alastor all along.
Gaining even more power and spreading his influence beyond Hell would definitely make Vox happy, but the absolute thing that would've finally satisfied the demon was to finally be able to prove himself worthy to Alastor.
It was to show him just how wrong he was when he constantly recognized Vox as the weak, pathetically dependent one, and to finally TBA.
"You idiot! If it overloads, it will blow. Taking you, us, and half of Pentagram City with it."
Carmilla called out. But her attempts seem worthless to whatever Vox was planning to do.
"You know WHAT?! Haha! FUCK HELL, FUCK HEAVEN, AND FUCK ALL OF YOU." Vox briefly paused. "As long as I wipe that smile off Alastor's fucking face.."
Alastor looked up to him with an unyielding guise.
He's really going to do it this time. He thought to himself.
"I don't care what happens."
Are those tears?
Vox had always considered himself to be quite adept at keeping his public persona articulately molded into someone people can trust. In fact, that was his entire brand and one of the very things he excelled at. He always knew what type of person an individual looks for— and how to exactly be that person himself. His charisma, charm, and confidence were what also helped Vox build a following for his image.
He hated sharing vulnerabilities. He thinks that people do not look up to individuals who share their feelings, and he knew well enough to never show them to anyone. This personal rule for himself was finally cemented after he faced a humiliating rejection from the one person he shared these ugly feelings with/.
And for the next seventy years, everyone in all of Pentagram City had since then, always seen Vox as someone who was as stoic as ever.
So, why, after all this time, would he shed tears now? How pathetic.
Right now, Vox feels himself beginning to stir. He can feel the earlier remnants of his earlier agony from his fight with Alastor, just minutes finally catching up to him. His wires were almost all ripped out, except for the ones he's forcibly putting into the weapon itself.
The pain of his blood seeping into the mechanical parts of himself further subjected him to more physical pain.
His body twitches slightly at all the electrical sparks. It must've smelled like burnt wires mixed with the putrid scent of flesh mixing together.
Alastor, on the other hand, dragged himself across the ground, his hand still desperately clinging to the wound on his chest. It was finally starting to heal from his time captive with Vox.
And now, the other parts of his body, inflicted with cuts and wounds, only made the pain spread wider.
At any moment now, Alastor could've passed out from exhaustion— even his own shadow was concerned for his well-being.
As Vox stood there with the will of all the power he could imagine at his grasp, he felt like a God. He looked down at Alastor miserably limping beneath where he stood. He was helpless. Just before, the radio demon was cackling to himself about Vox's stupidity, and now look who is above the other.
His grip on the weapon tightened. The bright, yellow beams were starting to concentrate on the center of the weapon.
Vox was finally going to beat Alastor. This was all he ever wanted, right? Even all those years ago, when a more light-hearted Vox was head over heels over Alastor, in that precious remaining time they were on good terms, a part of him always held back from questioning a doubt that had been plaguing his mind during that time.
He had his doubts about whether he would ever be truly seen by Alastor. Sure, he saw potential in an overlord like Vox to become brighter, even going so far as to spend time with him and offering his services from time to time.
And yet, despite all this, this peculiar deer was always so unreachable.
Vox kept running after him, but he was always a pace too late, or just an arm too far to hold on. To be fair, he always held Alastor on such a pedestal. Showering Al with compliments in such high regard, or the way his eyes beamed when the old radio he kept in his apartment spoke with Alastor's voice.
Every time he thought of getting closer to Al, it was as if there was a barrier that warded off any attempts to do so.
But now, he had the perfect bullseye on his deer.
If he couldn't ever be on the same level with Alastor until now, then at least they would've been equals in death.
His eyes didn't let go of Alastor's stare. This was finally it. He'll finally give up his never-ending chase with the radio demon by destroying them both completely. There would be no more chases, no more indulging in the blood of the other, and undoubtedly, nothing else left to lose.
Vox waited in those remaining moments. Some part of him was hoping that he would hear any words at all coming from Alastor's mouth. But it didn't come. No snarky remarks, no hurling insults, nothing.
Vox took a breath and closed his eyes.
"Vincent."
In the immediate call of his name he hadn't heard in decades, he instinctively pulled the wire from the weapon out of himself. His heart beat elevated with the rush of adrenaline hitting him instantly. He held his breath and looked down from below him. All eyes were on him now.
For a moment, there was a brief exchange of looks from the sworn enemies to one another. What was most surprising was that, this time, Alastor's eyes softened as Vox opened his eyes back to him. He knew because he would catch glimpses of this from all the times they had drinks together.
It was one of the most fond memories Vox had.
Vox simply stared back, tears continuing to stream down his face.
"Giving up so easily?" Alastor picked himself up from the ground, and with the remaining strength he had left, stood firmly before Vox. Hands rested on his staff before he continued, "And after all the hard work you've put through."
Vox shot him a prudent look. His expression suggested that he was preparing for a potential surprise attack by the demon. But his body didn't move from place.
"I must say, that this—" Alastor nudged his hand to the weapon. "Is such a distasteful way to end things! Especially when it was just starting to get interesting." He stepped closer to beneath where Vox was, looking directly upon him.
There was a brief moment of silence before Alastor quickly turned away in the opposite direction. "I suppose you never fail to disappoint me." He turned his head once more. "So, I shouldn't be surprised, really."
At those words, Vox's jaw quivered as his fists clenched on his sides. His shoulders sank, weighed down by something he saw no more worth in hiding.
"Why are you.. like this?"
Vox paused before continuing. Seemingly catching the full attention of Alastor.
"Why is nothing ever fucking enough for you, Al?"
"My dear Vox, I—"
Alastor stopped himself.
The words that usually came so easily. Smooth, deflective, calculated. Stalled in his throat like a bad signal. His smile faltered just a fraction, the corners twitching as though unsure which direction to settle. For once, there was no clever retort waiting behind his teeth.
Vox noticed.
He laughed, sharp and humorless, shaking his head as he took a step back. “See? That. That right there.” His voice cracked despite himself. “You always have something ready. A joke. A lie. Some type of performance.”
Alastor turned fully toward him now, eyes narrowing not in anger, but in something closer to alarm.
“I gave you everything I could without losing myself,” Vox continued, hands trembling at his sides. “Power. Loyalty. I stood next to you, and you looked at me like I was asking for too much just for wanting to fucking matter.”
“You mistake restraint for indifference,” he said. “And please, we both know that desires like that are what make people weak in Hell.”
Alastor stiffened, cane tapping once against the floor. His eyes flickered, the radio static beneath his voice flaring before settling again.
"No," Vox snapped back. "You're just incapable of feeling emotions like normal people do."
“Careful,” he warned.
For a moment, neither moved.
Then Vox exhaled shakily, shoulders slumping as the anger drained, leaving something raw behind. “I didn’t want to own you,” he said softly.
“I just didn’t want to be disposable.”
Alastor’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly.
"So, really. When will it finally be enough?"
The air between them thickened, heavy with all the things neither had ever said out loud.
Alastor’s shadow shifted uneasily, stretching toward Vox before snapping back, as if restrained by his will. His voice, when he spoke again, was quieter, dangerously so.
There was silence.
Somewhere in the rubble, Valentino and Velvette watched all this unfold. They didn't say a word to each other. But there was a shared mutual agreement that their friend had finally lost it.
Alastor's green tone radiated off of him briefly. He sank into his shadows and reappeared in front of Vox.
"I could ask the same of you, Vincent. You, of all people, are never satisfied with anything, in fact!" Alastor walked towards him and pushed his body with the point of his finger onto Vox's chest. "Not when you kept wanting to expand your insipid little company. Not when you kept changing parts of yourself to suit whatever ridiculous trends were happening."
Vox backed up until he reached the edge of the weapon's platform.
"And certainly not when you came up with that mindless idea of a 'partnership'"
Alastor paused to catch his breath and let out an irritated sigh. Vox looked to him with a new look he had never seen before. "All.. all you do is keep wanting more, and more! Never happy with what you already have."
"So really, you should be asking yourself that question."
***
THE 50's— ROSIE'S EMPORIUM.
"Well, I must say, Alastor! You are quite the charmer, aren't you?"
It was an afternoon in the old-fashioned district of Cannibal Town. It was another one of those weekly meet-ups initiated upon Rosie's request when Alastor first set foot in Hell. They sat inside the emporium's personal tearoom, where a charismatic Alastor was telling Rosie another one of his stories back from when he was a human.
"What can I say? I was quite popular with the crowd back then!"
Alastor took a sip from his chamomile, then put the cup back on the table.
Rosie quickly composed herself, sitting herself back upright and taking a steadying breath.
"So! Tell me, my dear. How is that little television friend of yours doing? You seem to be awfully close nowadays."
Rosie's words caught Alastor so off guard that he nearly choked on his drink.
"He is not my friend. That I can assure you."
Rosie's brows lifted in interest. Her body slouched forward to the table, propping her elbows on the surface while her hands cupped her cheeks.
"Oh, really? Implore me."
Alastor's posture remained firm as ever. "He is simply just an acquittance I tolerate. He does me a couple of favors, and I— in return, do the same. I do apologize, Rosie, but I'm not quite sure what you're getting at here."
"Oh, Alastor. Relax! You know me. I'm just curious, that's all."
Alastor's eyes peered at the demon-belle before returning to his tea. His fingers are circling the rim of the cup.
" And besides, Vox is just so easy to use." The cannibal's eyes shot him a look. "He's like a loyal dog. I whistle, and he comes running. His idiotic nature is what makes him an occasionally good companion."
"I can't help but almost feel bad for the poor fellow. With feelings that predictable, who knows how long he'll last in this place without me. "
The radio demon chuckled at that last bit. Rosie remained stiff. After a moment of silence, she finally spoke with eyes that were about to confront something hidden within the man before her.
"I could say the same about you, Alastor."
What?
Alastor's ears flattened against his head. His gaze sharpened, shoulders stiffening. A sudden panic rushed throughout his body, and his eyes darted wildly across the room. Rosie simply sat there, calmly adding another sugar packet to her cup.
"You know.. I've met him a couple of times." She paused before continuing, settling an eerie smile on Alastor. "And on those times, I noticed a couple of things while you two were together."
"What could you possibly mean?"
"Oh, cmon now, Alastor! Do you really not realize it yourself? I mean, your heart rate, those dilated pupils whenever he's close. The way you two seem to completely ignore everything around you, especially during those night outs together, drinking."
Is this what Alastor had not realized? That he had been one to harbor the exact same predictable feelings he said about Vox? On the outside, he maintained his composure. On the inside, he was spiraling.
If this is what the owner of his soul had noticed, imagine what all other sinners had taken note of. How pathetic. To have all these flawed little feelings. Alastor should've known better than to let anyone take control of him this way. What has Vox subjected him to? What has he done to him? Alastor felt mocked. He wasn't supposed to let anyone come this close to him.
Perhaps Rosie was just simply joking! Yes, that must be it. He thought it over. All those times Vox was completely infatuated with him, Alastor was not one to pay attention to how he himself felt the way he did about his so-called acquittance. Maybe he was something more. No, what a silly thought.
Alastor has never let anyone make him feel this way in the past, and he certainly shall not let anyone do it to him now.
But, before he could say anything. Rosie beat him to it.
"Vincent means something to you, doesn't he?"
Alastor's thoughts— almost immediately, stumble over the accusation. The question hits him harder than expected. Means something? Those words stcuk to his mind like a parasite.
Prying into every memory Alastor had with Vox, unwillingly revisiting them. He remembers them vividly.
The way Vox's eyes looked up to him when they first met in some tumbledown alley around the turf war district Vox had unknowingly set into.
The way Vox eagerly followed every advice Alastor had ever given to him to heart whenever Vox stopped by his broadcasting studio.
The way they would get lost in each other's movements when Vox first offered to dance in that jazz bar after their ninth drink of that night.
Oh.
Oh.
The realization hit the radio demon like a punch to the gut. He knew none of these feelings were romantic, heavens no. It was just in the way he never anticipated. Something harder to define but indeniably real.
He thought back to every shower of compliments, every uncomfortable touch, every time he was close to unraveling something deep within him.
Alastor occasionally loathed it. Yet, at the same time, the brief moments of sincerity buried beneath these moments drew something out of Alastor.
And that was the worst of it all.
Because it meant that Vox was someone who mattered in a way he couldn't control or simply dismiss. It didn't mean transactional or strategic, not a chess piece he could move on the board. At the same time, this was his weakness.
This was something that could pose a threat to Alastor's authority over Hell.
"I'm not wrong, aren't I?"
Alastor's chest tightened with the weight of it all. His deer ears stayed pinned back, not in embarrassment but in defensive instinct—as if lowering them could shield him from the realization pressing inward even more.
Because if he cared, in any way, shape, or form, then he could be hurt. Back on Earth, Alastor had learned to be quite adept at not needing to rely on anybody in his life.
Constantly facing scrutiny back in his time, it was rare to find someone who would see him.
Every time he came close to it, he would shut himself down from potentially being abandoned or disappointed. He had no language for this type of connection, no means of navigating it even more so..
At least for now, he was satisfied with what he had with Vox. Over the years, he had built a gradual respect for the ambitious sinner. He was glad that despite their close proximity, he always kept a line between their matters— for the most part at least. In fact, he was even beginning to consider them equals.
<
They weren't anything more than 'friends' at best. And Alastor would be sure to keep that.
"It doesn't matter." He muttered. "I'm afraid nothing has changed, I can assure you."
Rosie leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. "Yeah, well— from what I see.. Some folks can even say you've gone soft."
Alastor's signature green static filled the atmosphere for a brief second.
"Look, Al, sweetheart. All I'm saying is that I don't want you to end up like the rest of these good-for-nothing overlords—"
Alastor cut her off.
"Oh, goodness! Would you look at the time, already? I'm running late for another meeting this afternoon."
Alastor got up from his chair and quickly adjusted his red coat before heading towards the exit.
"It was really a pleasure, as always, to catch up, my dear Rosie. But, I must really get going now."
"Oh, Alastor. The pleasure is mine, really. This was a fun little conversation we had, wouldn't you say?"
And with that, Alastor finally left the emporium. The next appointment on his list for today was ... a meeting with Vox at the bar! How delightful. Alastor had been craving the taste of an alcoholic beverage after all the talk he had just gone through with Rosie.
Vox had actually just asked him to meet up that morning in person at the studio. He noted how it was rather important and that he couldn't wait to tell Alastor. Very well then. Alastor soon lingered in the depths of his shadow, eager to see what his old pal was on about.
What could Vincent possibly have in mind?
***
The bar down a few blocks after Mimzy's club was one of the places Alastor always frequented. The overall feel and atmosphere were reminiscent of the golden age of jazz, with the scent of whiskey filling the air. The musicians played a repertoire of familiar tunes. It was calm.
So calm that Alastor had tuned back into the conversation he was having with Vox.
"—We would be unstoppable. Radio, and video— me and you!" By this point, Vox had gotten up from his chair as he went on about his proposal. He briefly held onto Alastor's shoulders for a bit, catching a piercing gaze before finally getting to what we wanted to say.
"We can rule hell— together." Vox said with much ingenuity behind those dear eyes. "As partners!"
self-
What?
For a moment, he stared at the hand Vox offered to Alastor.
Instead of accepting, he burst out in a fit of laughter at the man before him.
A partnership. What an absolutely foolish idea of a joke! Was Vox actually serious? No, he couldn't be.
He looked at Vox again, then to his hand once more. He seemed rather hopeful still. That was the part Alastor couldn't stomach.
"Oh that— OH! You're SERIOUS." Another round of his loud cackles escaped from Alastor again.
He suddenly became aware of every compliment Vox had tossed his way, every soft smile, every reckless moment of camaraderie that had chipped away at when he didn't notice. He had been comfortable with what they had, where he could respect Vox without having to give him anything beyond that.
But this? This was the line Alastor didn't care cross.
And Vox, a promising man with so much ambition. Alastor should've known that he would've wanted more. The demon took that no matter what they had, Vox would keep wanting more, and more until eventually, Alastor would be off the air.
Vox didn't understand that crossing that said line meant asking Alastor for the one thing he could never risk offering.
That risk involved a sense of deep commitment, and at worst, vulnerability. A foreign concept the radio demon had always known to stray away from. He was certainly not going to give Vox what he wanted, even if it meant putting a permanent dent in whatever they had now.
God, why did Vox have to ruin it?
All his life, Alastor had to swoon his way to the top. Constantly pleasing individuals who don't deserve an ounce of the kindness offered to them. He was used, abandoned, and faced constant subject to ostracism by those repugnant townsfolk.
When he began to find success, he had to face parasites that would attempt to leech off of Alastor's growing success in the industry.
It was unfortunate, but he admitted that it also helped mold Alastor to become the self-reliant person he is now.
Unbeknownst to him, Vox wasn't scheming. There were no greedy, external endeavors planned behind that outstretched hand. Vox laid out a future that held Alastor as an equal, not a tool nor a stepping stone. It was genuine, and that type of sincerity was something Alastor wasn't equipped to answer with anything other than fear.
So, in Alastor's eyes, he interpreted it as another chain waiting to be fastened to his throat. Another person who would just walk away once they get bored, then discard him like filth after getting what they wanted to carve out.
To Alastor, it was better to be the one who walked away first.
And he did just that.
What followed this event was the start of their relationship's decline. Over the years that followed up until it led to the radio demon's seven-year disappearance; suffice to say that not only did they grow a part influentially, but also in terms of the remains of their relationship.
With Vox trying to salvage the remnants of what they had, he was only met with a growing barrier that kept Alastor further apart than he could ever reach again.
Until eventually, they became distant acquaintances.
Then competitors.
Then rivals.
Until finally, enemies.
For seventy years, they lived up to exactly just that. (TBA)
In those seventy years, they both realized how their different ideals, not just in Hell but as people, could never have worked out in the first place. They were too different and the living embodiment of what they opposed in their past lives.
Vox— constantly having life being handed to him on a silver platter, but never wanting enough.
Whereas Alastor— a man who persistently faced prejudice and had to work his way to just be given a chance at success.
They were on opposite sides of the chessboard. They had grown to hate each other, feeding off the misery the other faced, never seeming to get enough. Any shred of warmth they once shared was now nothing but black-and-white static, replaced with a sense of an unquenchable thirst to relentlessly get off each other's pain and agony.
This inescapable duet they've been playing ever since is, needless to say— ensnared with an unrestrained lust for the other's blood.
They are the other's poison, incessantly playing a mind game to see which one drinks their fill of the cup first. No one else can hold this role better than the two. Over time, their animalistic impulses became more predatory, more consuming, but never undiminished.
This never-ending dance was the closest they had ever come to something that felt like belonging.
A mutual need to see the other in their worst states, knowing full well that in the end, one of them would fall.
Despite everything that has happened, neither one of them has fully, truly, let go.
─────────
A spark of pain snapped Alastor back into the moment.
Oh, right. The wound left by the angel hasn't fully healed yet. With all the other inflicted injuries from their earlier fight, his body tried to pull him to his knees out of utter exhaustion. He almost collapsed to the ground, yet Alastor remained defiantly on his feet.
Charlie and Emily remained somewhere below them in all the debris, tending to their injuries in hiding. The whereabouts of the rest of the overlords were unknown, though they couldn't have been far. The angels watched the scene unfold from above, the winners growing anxious.
From her perch in the light above, a familiar angel waited patiently. She was shining her angelic blade, waiting for the perfect moment to bring the sinner's damnation.
Back to the scene, Alastor brushed himself off and played around with his staff in front of a weak-willed Vox, who is the splitting image of someone on the verge of a breakdown.
"Now, now, enough of this banter. I really must ask the question— will my death truly satisfy you? Will it finally be enough to fill your appetite after all these years of relentless chasing?"
"I don't.. I—"
Alastor didn't let him speak. "I must really confess something to you, Vincent."
Vox held his breath. What could he possibly say now?
"You were persistent. Clever. Infuriatingly difficult to ignore.” He tilted his head, gaze sharpening just a touch. “I wouldn’t have kept you so close for so long if you truly meant nothing, you know?”
For a moment, Vox forgot to breathe.
His shoulders slackened, tension bleeding out of him as his screen flickered unsteadily, warmth ghosting through the static.
He swallowed hard, eyes searching Alastor’s face for something real.
In secret, while Alastor's left hand clung onto his staff for balance, his other hand coiled inside his red coat to retrieve a shard of angelic steel. His hand held tightly onto the body of the concealed weapon, waiting for the moment to strike.
"Alastor!" Charlie called out to him. "What are you doing?!" Her pleas seemed useless against the bargain the radio demon was offering.
Alastor pulled his body back, and the shine of the angelic blade glimmered at the corner of Vox's eye.
At the sight of it, Vox instinctively jerked his body forward and swept Alastor's coat aside.
"Oh.. fuck!" Vox began to crack up. "I should've known! Oh— Oh, god." The laughter erupted from inside him as his hands flew up trying to contain this cruel humor.
Alastor stood there with an uncomfortable smile. His eye seared, and he let the shard of blade free from the shield of his coat and clutched at his side.
As Vox tried to compose himself, he asked in a hitched breath, "Fucking where did you get that.."
"Favors, favors." Alastor's eyes shifted to Carmilla, who stood below them. Her eyes stayed fixated on the radio demon, still as sharp and calculating as ever. This unspoken acknowledgement of a debt uncovered caught the attention of Vaggie, who stood next to her at the scene.
"Alastor asked you a favor?!" The angel pressed, and Carmilla's focus switched to Vaggie with a flushed look mixed with insolence as she continued, "That means he did something for you— but why?"
"Alastor offered his protection to my girls just in case, if well.." She sighed briefly. "If Vox's whole plan spiraled out of control. It was merely a contingency plan."
Hearing this, Vox's initial laughter faltered and was replaced with something more unhinged. His hands came up and held his head as his gaze darted from face to face; his movements grew more erratic, his breaths becoming more hitched, and his mind scattered as if someone pulled his wires out in all different directions and tangled them even deeper.
Alastor took sight of this. "Now, Vox—"
"So that was it, huh. You assholes had a whole fucking plan for me!"
They didn't trust me, after all.. No— shit. Of course, they planned this. Don't panic. That's what they want, right? I won't let them see me break. Fucking Alastor.. I won't let him see me break. I won't give him that. Agh.. fuck, everything hurts. They're not going to stop me. If that fucker wants entertainment, I'll make damn sure that I get to choose how he gets it.
Vox stood there in silence. All of Hell watched closely.
He pulled himself up and walked towards Alastor. The radio demon is on guard now.
He is now just inches away from him. Alastor clasped the blade close to his chest. "How about we end this with a good old classic duel, old friend?"
The mention of 'friend' lingered in what was left of Vox's torn mind. What could've been all those years ago.. No, now it's not the time to reminisce on old fairytales.
Vox lifted his arm, clutched his own to Alastor's hand, who held the blade, and pulled him closer than ever before.
"Do it."
And for the first time, he means it.
Alastor did not move.
The moment seems frozen in time, as if the hour hand on the clock has stopped. Alastor's smile remains as it was before, but something beneath it tightens, imperceptible to anyone who wasn't looking closely enough.
Ah. So this is how it has led to.
For the briefest moment, the radio demon's thoughts betrayed him. Rosie's words all those years ago echoed in his head.
"Vincent means something to you, doesn't he?"
Because if Alastor delivered the final blow now, it meant there would be no more of his favorite little piece of entertainment to watch over. Vox and Alastor are so used to each other's unequivocal styles in fighting, and even more so, it has intertwined into a natural dance. Their whole affair would not function without them being constantly present in each other's lives.
It was inescapable— like a poison that left you wanting more whilst killing you in the process.
They had the entire proximity of Pentagram City as their audience now, waiting for their next move in this timeless charade.
Despite everything, Alastor's hand did not move.
And now, that may be his biggest mistake.
Light blinded their field of view from above with a screeching sound like it was tearing at the seams. The floor shudders beneath them as something seems to slam down hard enough to shake the ground below.
Before he could react, a violent force drove Alastor crashing into a desecrated building.
"ALASTOR!" The princess cried out. She hurriedly ran in his direction.
The sudden impact left Vox staggering in place. He fell to his knees on the weapon's platform, and as he got up, he realized that the angelic blade was missing. A sudden bright light pierced his peripheral vision from behind.
He turned around to see an army of exterminator angels above him. This time, however, they had tripled from the last extermination's number.
Instantly, the denizens of Hell screamed from below. The crowd from Vox's initial rally dispersed like ants, frantically trying to locate shelter away from their deaths.
Where was Valentino and Velvette?
Vox desperately tried to spot them in the crowd, but his attempts were futile. They were nowhere to be seen.
Above him, Lute, in the front lines, broadcast a message for the entire ring to hear.
"Sinners of Hell! We will not let you massacre the souls we safeguard in Heaven, let alone let your filthy blood stain our land. So heed this warning; surrender yourselves to us, and we will make your deaths quick and swift." The lieutenant briefly paused before continuing.
"Attempt to run away, and we will spare no mercy."
The citizens of Hell were filled with cries, anger, and panic. It was like wildfire, except it was almost impossible to extinguish the flames. It was difficult to locate anyone he recognised.
He didn't know where The Vees were, the rest of the overlords seemed to retreat back into their domains, the princess and her crew were scattered from each other, and most peculiar of them all— Alastor was nowhere to be found.
"Fuck— Velvette! Val! Where the hell are you guys?!"
With the remaining power he had left, Vox tried to seep into the street cameras, but it was to no avail. In the middle of doing this, Lute descended down to his level, proceeding to kick him from his back to the dirt ground.
Vox turned his body around and witnessed Lute standing above him at the foot of the weapon.
"Filthy wretch. So you're the one who started this whole uprising against us, weren't you?" Lute snickered at him. She flied down and approached him. Her eyes fixated on Vox backing away almost immediately.
"What's wrong? Are you.. scared of us, now?"
Vox didn't answer. His body lay stiff on the ground. His expression suggested a disdain for the angels. He had a previous thought that maybe he could weaponize them in his uprising against Heaven, but now, that plan seemed to be out of the question.
Lute pointed his sword at him. Then, she smiled in a sadistic tone before bending down to whisper something in his ear.
"Don't worry. We have something special planned for you once we kill all these demons, including that red one you seem to have an interest in." That caught an unintended reaction out of Vox. Lute noticed this and added, "For you, it's something worth dying for."
The head angel retreated back to her flock of executioners and yelled out their calling. Letting every sinner in the proximity of the pride ring know that their time has come.
"Angels! The hunt begins now."
And with that, Lute marched into the crowd while her army dissipated all around her.
Vox remained on the floor, sprawled against the fractured ground. The ringing in his ears from his fall drowned out everything except his inner thoughts. How great. Lute’s taunting laughter still echoed in the back of his mind, worming its way beneath his skin until every word felt like it was pressed to his raw nerve. His jaw tightened at the humiliation he faced, so close yet so far.
The sky above burned white and the air filled with agony, and for a brief, suffocating moment, Vox wondered if this was it; left broken on the floor, reduced to a cautionary spectacle. Then the air shifted, and the noise dimmed.
And though he hadn’t heard a single step, Vox felt— no, he knew— that Alastor was there.
"What do you want."
Eventually, the shadow around him showed Alastor's actual self. He walked towards Vox and stopped in his tracks to glare at him below.
"Vox. I'll make this straightforward. I want to propose a deal with you."
Vox scoffed at the notion. A deal. From the same bastard who laughed in his face those years ago. What a joke.
Vox got up and stood inches away from Alastor. "And.. what exactly makes you think I'll accept your piece-of-shit deal?"
"Now, now. You haven't even heard it! Surely, you want to know the details first."
"No, no, no. I already know that I'm not gonna fall into whatever stupid scheme you got this time."
The nerve of Alastor. The humiliating irony of it all. This was definitely another one of his tricks waiting to lure Vox in, right? It's gotta be it. But, what if Alastor was going to give him something he had wanted before? Maybe he had come to his senses and realized just how capable Vox truly is now— no. Forget it.
Vox wasn't going to waste his time chasing old fantasies he buried long ago.
"Yeah, I don't think so." Vox turned his back and staggered away. Alastor stood there, posture still defined and expression unchanged.
Whatever deal Alastor has in mind, it's surely just another trick anyway. Vox was sure of it.
"A partnership!"
What?
Vox stopped. He paused. He turned around. He looked at Alastor with a sour expression. But, sour is an understatement. Vox chuckled with the irony of it all.
"You're so fucking funny, Al. You know that, right?" Vox staggered with a hand clutching the side of his body to his hips, steps uneven as all the pain had finally seeped into his system. "No. You're not going to trick me anymore. I know damn well that you got another plan up your goddamn sleeve and I'm not about to fall into it."
"Vincent, Vincent." Alastor said in a mocking tone. "Very well then, if that's what you want. But I do have to ask this— what will you do when all this is over?"
Shit. It is clear Vox didn't think of it before. Well, for starters. It is clear that Vox's reception with the denizens of Hell has definitely spiked for the worse. With the stunt he pulled earlier, waving around that weapon like a child throwing a tantrum is certainly not a good look for Hell's front-page covers.
Even more so, at the rate those angels are exterminating the crowd, he'll be met with his power downgrading with the number of souls they might kill off.
This is not good. Either way, he'll no longer be the strongest sinner in hell anymore. His initial good graces with the crowd have soured, and he's not entirely sure whether Velvette and Valentino will be okay with him moving back in after he did technically tried to take them out with him. Fuck.
As the realization hit him like a truck, Alastor reappeared behind Vox, and with his head peering into Vox's side, Alastor had more to say.
"Not good, isn't it? Then, I'll suppose you have to hear me out on this one, pal." Alastor melted into his shadows and reformed once again. This time, in front of Vox is a good distance away. Vox tried to calm his head down as glitches began to transpire across his screen.
"After the humorous show you pulled off, in which I have to say— was nothing short of entertaining—" Vox scrubbed down his face, exhaling hard. "I wouldn't say you, how should I put this.. exactly resonate with Hell's audience anymore."
"Yeah, I got that part."
"So, I propose that we finally commence that partnership offer. It's simple, really." Alastor walked over to Vox with his arms tucked behind his back before one of them pinched the side of his head. "Nothing to worry your little head about."
Vox pushed his hand away as his screen flickered briefly. Alastor let out a small giggle.
"We'll march into battle and kill off the angels for all of Pentagram City to witness. This way, we can safeguard our power supply of souls, and with your—" Alastor extended his arm. "Modern broadcasting abilities can display all over the city so they all can go home and know that you still care about them."
Vox thought about it for a moment. He hated to admit that he agreed with Alastor here. If there were no more souls left to supply their power, their control over Hell would go significantly weakened. And even worse, nonexistent with the rate of the massacre at this point in time.
However, Vox needed to make sure that there would be no more tricks this time.
"This could be your own way of redeeming yourself to earn back the support of Hell, Vincent. So what do you say, old friend?"
How could he make sure that he won't be a fool to Alastor's old game? Back then, he admired the way the radio demon was always able to outsmart his enemies. He had always praised him on it and how much he thought over his plans before striking deals.
This time, Vox needed to figure out a way to secure himself.
Then, an idea came over him. Fuck it, he has nothing left to lose now.
"I.. accept. But, not without my own condition." That earned a look from Alastor. "Instead of just a simple teaming-up thing, I want us to bind our souls."
There was no way Alastor would accept now. He would never let anyone share his power—
"Very well, then."
Now, Vox was questioning whether he had made the trap himself. Alastor actually agreed?! He sincerely wasn't expecting that answer. Especially not to a soul-binding deal.
The soul-binding deal, as the name suggests, permanently binds two souls together, wherein their fates become intertwined. This meant that since their souls would be joined together, the souls in question would share their strength as well as pain.
Whatever happened to one of them, happened to the other.
It was one of the most infamous deals an overlord of all things could ever do since it involved great risk and trust.
Alastor told him this a while back. Now, they're actually going to do it. Alastor knew that with what little strength he had left, it was difficult to fight all those angels alone, even though he had reclaimed his title as the most powerful sinner in Hell.
As much as Alastor hated sharing an ounce of his power with anyone, he calculated it to be a good trade-off.
Alastor knew that, deep down as much as he hated to admit it, Vox was the closest one to be considered 'equals' to the radio demon. And getting some of that power to himself was the push he needed to maintain his control over Hell entirely. It would also encourage them not to attack each other.
Well. Desperate times call for desperate measures.
"Let's do this." Vox said.
With that, they shook hands.
They both felt it immediately. The power surged through them like wildfire. Simultaneously, pain also swept through the course of their body. The other's wounds, cuts, and bruises suddenly materialized on the other's body. It was an overwhelming feeling.
Alastor felt electricity cackle through him like he had been thrown into a bath spiked with lightning. Vox felt like a needle passed through the inside of his body as it made its way to his heart.
It feels like being torn up from the inside and rebuilt again. From across him, Vox noticed Alastor struggling to stabilize himself as shadow and static mixed together. He reached out his hand from across the floor they fell to, and Alastor took it. This is agony.
Unbeknownst to him, all of Hell felt the shift in the air as if something big had just happened, although they couldn't exactly point to its source. Somewhere in the crowd, Carmilla noticed it as well. She stopped in the mass crowd with Zestial beside her.
"This power.. Zestial. Could you feel it too?"
"I experienced it before, Hither in hell. Nay, one Hath ever bound their souls together since then. But with this amount of power.. It's different."
A soul binding deal? But, who could ever be willing enough to do it..?
Some time has passed until they finally managed to compose themselves of the overwhelming sensation. They leaned into one another as they rose back up on their feet. Vox never got to touch Alastor this close before. At least, never in the way that was returned before. The proximity was disorienting.
He forced his thoughts quiet, muted the noise that threatened to spiral, and let himself exist in the moment instead.
Vox steadied his breathing, fingers flexing once before loosening their hold, reluctant despite himself.
"Did it work?"
Alastor steadied himself as he bent down to grab a hold of his staff. To test out the power, he attempted to materialize some power from his fingertips. He let his hand out. Almost immediately, sparks of electricity ignited within the tip of his fingers.
"Well.. this seems to answer our question. Hm.." Alastor trailed off his fingers to his lower arm. He noticed the wound from their earlier fight. Vox stared at his behavior and examined his own body. The gash on his chest was the most noticeable part. It also hurt the most.
He looked back at Alastor, who toyed with the wound before using his pointer finger to drag the cut deeper across his own skin.
"Agh! Asshole! The fuck are you doing?" Vox held onto his arm as he applied pressure to it. Alastor simply smiled back at him with a sinister grin and a playful nod to it.
"Relax, relax. I was merely testing out whether we'd actually receive the pain inflicted.." He looked over Vox's arm and the trail of blood he had left. "And it seems like everything as according to what we thought. Now, we must really—"
Before he could finish that sentence, Vox bit down on his own hand. Hard. It earned a look of pain from Alastor, who immediately reacted upon the jolt of pain as he looked down to left hand covered with bite marks.
His eyes wandered off to Vox, who grinned even harder.
"What on earth are you doing?"
Vox simply stood there as he used his tongue to lick the blood off his self-inflicted bite. Alastor could feel his own blood pulse at the sensation. His shoulders stiffened, fingers curling reflexively as the awareness settled in.
His gaze snapped back to Vox, smile tightening, eyes flashing with something between irritation and alarm.
“That,” Alastor said coolly, “was entirely unnecessary.”
Vox’s grin only widened, feral and knowing, as if he’d just confirmed something he’d been waiting to prove. He was so close to Alastor now. Inches away from their bodies touching each other. He could feel Alastor’s presence like pressure against his skin, a heat that wasn’t quite warmth and a pull that made it hard to remember why he should step back at all.
Alastor’s smile lingered, sharp and deliberate, eyes tracking every small movement as if savoring the restraint it took not to close the distance himself.
Alastor bit back down on his finger real hard. Since he was a cannibal, it was sharp enough to dig deep into his own skin. Blood poured out instantly. The sensation snapped through the bond.Vox sucked in a breath as pain bloomed in the same place, a matching gash opening across his finger as if carved there by an invisible hand.
He stared at it for a bit, then laughed softly, breath hitching. He lifted his hand, studying the wound with a breathless smile, pulse racing as the ache hummed through him. He's eyes went off to Alastor, who looked as smug as ever.
"Getting brave, are we?"
Alastor returned the laugh. Before they could continue their desires, an angel's spear bolted down inches away from the pair.
Oh, right. The extermination. They both exchanged glances before escaping from beneath the ramshackle rubble. They examined the scene. The angels were everywhere, and judging by the amount they had to handle, they decided it would be best to split up and cover each side of the ring.
"Before you go," Alastor called off to Vox. "Don't pull off anything foolish that will get us both killed, dear."
"Yeah, yeah, I got it, Al."
Alastor and Vox went their separate ways.
Vox jumped across the buildings using his wires as he tried to locate where Velvette and Valentino may be. He heard screams coming his way as the first angel dives, blade flashing his sight.
Vox reacts on instinct—he twists aside, movements jagged but fast, electricity bursting from his hands as he hurls a crackling surge straight into the angel’s wings. He noticed how instead of the usual blue light coming off from him, it was mixed with Alastor's signature green color whenever power emanated from him.
The angel's feathers ignite mid-air, scattering in spirals as Vox delivered the final blow. Vox barely has time to process it before another presence crashes in from his left. He pivots, movements uneven but driven, nearly dodging the angel's attack.
It caught the attention of nearby angels, all swooping side-by-side into Vox's direction, weapons at the ready. Vox bolted, boots skidding across fractured ground as he veered toward the rubble-strewn street.
A blast shattered the roadway ahead, sending chunks of stone tumbling down from above.
He leapt without thinking, landing hard on a falling slab, then another, momentum carrying him downward as debris collapsed around him in a dangerous cascade. He hit the ground hard, sliding to a stop as the angels closed in, wings beating, weapons raised, nowhere left to run.
"Oh— fuck, FUCK!" He panicked.
He backed into a corner in the alleyway. Before he could think straight, Vox somehow managed to summon a portal that opened from the underground. Little black-and-white demons crawled free and latched themselves onto the bodies of the angels.
"Yeah! Oh, get her! That's it"
While the other angels were occupied by the little gremlins, one angel escaped its relentless grasp and gripped the rim of their blade, pointed at Vox directly. He turned his gaze towards the end of the sword. Before the first blade could fall, the shadows surged.
Alastor’s presence hit like a shockwave. He materialized out of lightning like Vox this time. His laughter cut through the chaos as his shadow tore through the angels from behind, ripping wings apart and hurling bodies skyward.
Vox's screen glitched, a faint wash of a warmer color flickered his screen briefly. He picked himself up.
"Al, you really didn't need to do that. I had it covered!"
Alastor tilted his head. "Hm? Well, it looked like you needed rescuing to me."
"No! I had it under control! Besides, what were you before? I couldn't see you anywhere."
"I was simply testing out my powers elsewhere! A man should always prepare himself before mindlessly marching into battle."
Vox scoffed, his arms crossed. "Yeah? And how's that working out?"
"Exceptionally! I've picked up a few tricks myself. I must say, your powers really are something, Vox." The television's eyes lit up. "Nowhere close to my level, but doable, for now."
Oh.
Alastor steps closer, cane tapping once against the ground, smile widening just enough to be infuriating.
“You do look terribly tired, my dear,” he murmurs, voice threading low and even. “All that power… one might think it difficult to keep up.”
Alastor's eyes spiraled for Vox to witness. His head tilts before he can stop it, the command slides in naturally. Vox’s chest tightens as his breathing stutters, then falling into the exact rhythm Alastor sets. Heat prickles beneath his skin, irritation flaring hot and immediate.
He's doing this on purpose.
Static crackles sharply as Vox wrenches his gaze free, shoulders tensing as he shakes his head hard, breaking the hypnosis. “Knock it off,” he snaps, voice pitched just a little too fast. “This isn’t funny.”
Alastor chuckles, the sound rich with satisfaction, withdrawing the pressure as easily as he’d applied it.
“Oh, but it is,” he says, straightening. “You should see your face.”
Vox scowls, screen glitching as he regains full control, pulse still racing. He hates that it worked—even briefly. Hates that Alastor noticed.
"We still got some angels to kill, Al."
Vox walked off far and stopped to see the angels rounding up a crowd of sinners, intent to finish them off soon in a bloodbath. Alastor aproached Vox slowly, eyes glaring into the far distance of the sight.
"Shall we then?"
Vox prepared himself. He readied the cameras to broadcast this show live. Alastor dusted off his staff.
"Let's kill these fuckers."
The crowd doesn’t even see them coming. Angels descend in tight formation, wings beating in brutal unison as holy blades carve through the mass of screaming sinners. Bodies fall where they stand. Panic ripples outward too late—there’s nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.
Then the air shifts.
Neon light tears across the street in a blinding arc as Vox crashes into the formation head-on, electricity screaming as it lashes outward, ripping weapons from angelic hands and hurling them in all different directions.
At the same time, Alastor’s shadow explodes forward, swallowing the ground beneath the angels’ feet and dragging them down into darkness below. God knows where they went. Probably in a ditch somewhere. The slaughter halts.
Vox lands hard across scorched pavement before snapping upright, hands already glowing as he throws himself between the angels and the remaining crowd. “MOVE!” he roars, voice amplified, shaking buildings as his signal blasts outward in a wide, protective surge.
The survivors scatter, scrambling over rubble and bodies alike.
Angels retaliate immediately. Holy light detonates around Vox, slamming into his shields hard enough to force him back a step. Pain flares through the bond—but Alastor answers instantly.
His tendrils coil tighter, reinforced with Vox’s electric energy, tearing through wings and armor alike as he wades forward, laughter ringing sharp and fearless through the chaos.
They've rendered the angels incapacitated in minutes; the ordeal consisted of a joined type of chaos and energy laced with desire. Vox dragged the angels out of the air, locking their movements mid-strike, while Alastor finishes them with ruthless precision.
Feather and ash rain down as the street fractures beneath the weight of it all.
Then the angels adapt.
A blinding column of light slams down between them, splitting the street in half. Vox is thrown backward, crashing through a storefront in a shower of glass and sparks. The bond strains but doesn’t break.
“Vox!” Alastor snaps, shadow surging instinctively toward the rupture.
Another blast cuts him off.
Angels descend in force, boxing them apart with overlapping fields of holy light. Vox fights like hell on the far side, neon flaring bright enough to paint the sky as he’s driven deeper into the wreckage, surrounded.
Alastor bares his teeth. “Cowards,” he snarls—and turns.
He moves fast, shadow snapping back to him as he cuts through the remaining angels guarding the street, carving a brutal path forward. Screams echo from ahead, different now. Familiar.
Before he could do his next move, an angel's divine light blasted him towards him. Alastor reacted just in time to put a debris of rock in front of him as he was sent flying across the opposite direction. Alastor skids to a halt at the edge of a collapsed plaza.
"Alastor?" Said a familiar voice in a worrying tone.
His vision blurred. He noticed the figure of a girl before him, before multiple individuals covered his peripheral view. His eyes finally managed to focus.
Charlie was there.
So were the rest of the crew right in front of him. Vaggie, Husk, Angel, Cherri, Nifty, Baxter.
"Alastor! Can— can you hear me? Are you okay? What happened?"
Alastor blinked once, then again, the ringing in his ears slowly giving way to the sound of panicked voices and distant wingbeats. Dust clung to his coat as he straightened, one gloved hand bracing briefly against the cracked ground. His smile returned out of habit more than humor, thin but intact.
Eventually, with the help of Husk and Nifty, Alastor got up to his feet again.
"Charlie, my dear!" He said, voice crackling faintly with static as his eyes flicked over the group. "Still standing, I see. How reassuring."
Charlie didn’t look reassured in the slightest. She hurried closer, hands hovering as if unsure whether to touch him.
“You got hit really hard— we thought—” Her voice wavered, then steadied. “There are angels everywhere. They’ve been herding people into the plaza.”
Alastor’s gaze hardened at that, the playful lilt in his expression dimming as his shadow stirred restlessly at his feet. He glanced past them, toward the shattered skyline where light flared, and screams still echoed. Somewhere out there, he could feel Vox, faint but present.
“Yes,” Alastor murmured, straightening fully now, cane tapping once against the stone. “I gathered as much.” His smile sharpened, feral at the edges, as he turned his attention back to the angels circling above.
"Alastor, what the hell were you thinking?" It was Husk's voice. "One thing, we all heard the overlords talking about how something called a 'soul-binding' deal happened. And the next thing we know—"
Husk calmed himself down. Luckily, Vaggie continued his words.
"Everyone's saying how you teamed up with Vox."
"Alastor, is that true?" Charlie pleaded.
Alastor’s smile didn’t falter, but something behind it did.
The question hung there, heavier than the smoke curling through the ruined plaza. For a heartbeat too long, he said nothing. His fingers tightened imperceptibly around the handle of his cane as the bond tugged at the back of his skull, a distant pulse of static and heat that reminded him exactly how true the rumor was.
“My, my,” he finally said, tone light, almost amused. “You make it sound so scandalous.”
Charlie didn’t laugh. Neither did Vaggie. Husk’s eyes narrowed, ears flicking back as if he could already smell the lie forming.
Alastor exhaled through his nose, straightening his coat with meticulous care, as though this were a parlor conversation instead of a battlefield. “The circumstances demanded desperate measures,” he said smoothly. “A temporary alignment of interests. Nothing more.”
“That’s not what people are saying,” Vaggie shot back.
"Alastor, he tried to kill us all! Don't you see? He hypnotized Angel," Angel looked away in shame. "And trapped my dad somewhere! What makes you think you're not next on his list?"
Alastor tried to ignore her words.
“They’re saying your power changed. That angels were glitching mid-air. That Vox was—” Vaggie stopped herself, jaw tightening. “That you’re connected to him somehow.”
The shadow at Alastor’s feet twitched, stretching unnaturally long before he reined it in. His gaze flicked skyward for half a second, toward where Vox should have been, then snapped back to the group.
“Rumors,” he replied, a touch sharper now. “Have always been so dreadfully exaggerated.”
Husk scoffed. “Yeah? Then why do you look like you just crawled outta a bad deal?”
That landed closer than Alastor liked.
For just a moment, the radio host's charm slipped, his eyes narrowing, something guarded and old surfacing beneath the grin. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, edged with static.
“Because,” he said, “I did what was necessary to keep this city standing.”
Another explosion rocked the distance, holy light flaring bright enough to cast their shadows long and warped across the plaza. Alastor turned toward it, smile snapping back into place with unsettling ease.
“We can debate my personal choices later,” he added pleasantly. “Provided we all survive long enough to do so.”
Above them, wings beat closer. Everyone stood guard now.
Charlie braced herself. "Just.. know what you're getting into." She said with a sigh.
They all prepared themselves for the bloodbath they were about to endure.
***
From above, Lute watched as the massacre unfolded from below. The smoke, the panic, the clustering survivors—predictable. Hell always reacted the same way when cornered: fear first, defiance second, desperation last. Her wings beat once, slow and deliberate, as she hovered just beyond the mass.
From the corner of her eye, she spots the glimmer of a halo. She would recognize that sparkle anywhere. The stupid princess of Heaven. Emily.
Lute slowly descended down. Emily, unable to fly, could only stagger across the street to find shelter, all while attempting to calm down the panic. As she wavered around, she noticed Lute coming down her direction.
“Lute!” The angel pleaded. “You need to call off your army, now. Don’t you see what you’re doing? This!” Emily pointed to their surroundings. Pentagram City has never been so filled with bloodlust since the earlier days when Lilith led her uprising against Heaven.
“This, this is not right, it never has been! Charlie is going to—“
“SHE is not going to do anything. Have you forgotten what these wretched, demon scum did to Adam?”
“They were trying to defend themselves! WE started these exterminations, and WE have to be the ones to put an end to this.”
Lute paused for a moment. There was a momentary silence and exchanged glances, before Emily grabbed Lute’s hand and held her close to herself.
“Lute, I know—“
Another silence before she could finish her words. This time, a sword has pierced the other side of the little seraphim’s wings.
“I never liked you, you know. Always so cheerful, always so stupidly innocent.” Emily’s screams were filled with agony. Soon, her eyes started to fill with tears. The angel eventually collapsed to the ground, blood overflowing from her clipped wings, sword still intact before being brutally ripped out.
“At least, now you could be useful. Imagine it— the little sister of Heaven’s High seraphim mercilessly killed by savage demons of hell. Sera would for sure let these exterminations going.”
“So all of this, this was your plan all along? To kill me and frame these sinners as the killers?!”
Lute showed off a wide grin as she kneeled down next to Emily's ears.
“If these fuckers don’t get to you, you’ll lose enough blood to die eventually.”
Lute straightened slowly, boots crunching against broken stone as she withdrew, leaving Emily crumpled in the blood-slicked street. The seraphim’s breaths came shallow and uneven now, each one a wet hitch that scraped against Lute’s nerves like static.
She glanced upward, listening.
The battlefield sang to her—screams, collapsing structures, the rhythmic thunder of wings. Somewhere in that chaos, overlords fought back harder than expected. Stronger than expected. Lute’s jaw tightened at the thought.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she said coolly, glancing down as Emily’s trembling hand clawed weakly at the pavement. “You were never meant to survive this world. None of you soft-hearted types are.”
Emily tried to speak again, lips trembling, but no sound came out, only a broken gasp. Tears streaked down her face, cutting clean lines through soot and blood.
Lute turned away.
She paused until her tracks, something tugging at the edge of her awareness. That same wrongness again—stronger now. Closer.
Her eyes snapped toward the distant plaza.
Green light bled into red shadow, twisting together in a way that made her feathers prickle. Power surged like something stitched together out of desperation and defiance.
Lute smiled thinly.
“Ah,” she murmured. “There you are.”
Somewhere else, Vox had an entire flock of angels chasing after him.
Vox barely had time to register the shadows overhead before the air split with the shriek of blades. He outmaneuvered backward across broken concrete, boots sparking as he dug in, screen flashing with warning static while halos cut sparks of light inches from his head.
“Jesus—!” Vox snapped, throwing an arm up on instinct.
Signal flared outward, bright and violent, but instead of dispersing, it locked onto them. He stood his ground and faced them head-on.
From the ground beneath the angels, shadows erupted—Alastor’s shadows—thick, writhing tentacles tearing free from cracks in the street and snapping upward like living wires. They coiled around wings and limbs mid-flight, yanking angels out of the air with brutal force.
Vox didn’t hesitate.
“Now,” he hissed.
Electricity detonated from his body in a blinding surge, green and blue fused into a single screaming current. It raced down the shadow-tethers all at once, flooding them with power. Angels convulsed mid-air, armor glowing white-hot before shattering. Bodies dropped immediately.
"Haha! Holy—"
The recoil of the impact slammed Vox sideways onto the side of a knocked-up building near the Vees Tower.
He crashed through a half-standing wall, rolling hard before slamming shoulder-first into the pavement. His vision stuttered, display glitching violently as he forced himself upright.
As he adjusted his vision from his screen, the shadow of two figures approached him. He recognized those figures.
He froze.
Velvette stood a few feet away, heels planted amid rubble, eyes wide with something sharp and furious. Valentino loomed beside her, cigarette dangling forgotten from his fingers, one of his wings burnt up.
“Oh,” Velvette said flatly. “You have got to be kidding me.”
Valentino laughed, low and ugly. “I knew it. I fucking knew it.” He stepped closer, pointing accusingly. “You’re with him again. After everything—after we talked—”
“I don’t have time for this,” Vox snapped, trying to push past them.
Velvette blocked him, jaw clenched. “No. You don’t get to disappear, come back glowing like a busted circuit board, and pretend this isn’t fucking happening."
Vox’s screen flickered violently. He stopped that in his tracks and turned his whole body around.
“It’s not— it’s complicated.”
"Ay mierda.. then tell us, Vox. What's so complicated that you abandoned us— No, wanted to fucking kill us over that stupid dear?!"
Each point came with a shove, the pressure escalating from a tap to something bruising as Valentino closed the distance.
Vox didn't had the words to respond. He stood there on the pavement staring at his closest friends, but no words came out.
Velvette eventually broke off the silence.
"You don't just get to disappear," She snapped. "We had plans. Real plans. You, me, and Val, we were building something." She paused before continuing.
"And you walked out on us. Left us holding off the mess while you went running off—"
"I didn't run." Vox shot back, his screen flickering violently. "You.. You guys think this was—"
"Isn't it obvious?" Valentino added. "Don't you dare pretend that it isn't. We know you, Vox. Even when Alastor was with us, you kept him alive. You wanted him."
"Val, that's not what I.."
Vox struggled to find the words. As much as he hated to admit it, they were both right. He agonized the truth.
Velvette and Valentino were certainly the closest people Vox had. But, they were nowhere near the same level he held with Alastor. They didn't have the thrill and chase he shared with the deer. If it came down to it, Vox would rather destroy the entire world than him. And today, he proved that.
Another wave of static silence washed over the trio. Vox was about to say something, but he felt something else crawl over him.
Pain suddenly surged all over Vox's back.
Vox screamed in agony. The accusation died in Valentino’s throat as Vox gasped sharply, knees buckling as static screamed through his head. Vox’s hand flew to his back, breath hitching as he felt it then, unmistakable and not his own.
A deep, blood-stained cut had slashed his entire back. It was excruciatingly burning his entire body from the inside. The cut engulfed him as if the sun was concentrated on his back. Vox's vision became blurred.
He fell on his stomach to the front, his arms holding his body from falling completely.
The ringing in his ears didn't help when Velvette and Valentino surrounded him, screaming at each other on what to do.
After a brief moment, his eyes flashed with a vision. It was dark, but an angel was slowly walking towards him holding a blade covered in blood.
Vox snapped back.
Alastor was in trouble.
Vox straightened abruptly, eyes wide, fear punching through the anger so fast it left him dizzy. The plaza, the Vees, the argument—all of it fell away.
“He’s hurt,” Vox said hoarsely under his breath.
Without waiting for another word, he tore himself free from Valentino’s reach, power flaring violently around him as he turned back toward the chaos, already moving, already running, towards Alastor. The Vees were left behind the rubble; he couldn't even face them as he leapt on.
The world fractures, vision stuttering as something else bleeds through.
Not his eyes though, but Alastor's.
Smoke-choked air with ash all around. The Hotel—its highest reach looming above everything else. Vox sees it from a skewed angle, Alastor’s perspective unsteady, vision dipping as if he’s bracing himself against something unseen.
“No—” Vox breathes, already moving.
He doesn’t remember breaking into a run. Doesn’t remember shoving past rubble or bodies or angels scattering in his wake. His thoughts narrow to a single, blinding directive: find him. The bond floods his senses. Alastor’s pain, sharp and grinding, the strain of holding something back alone.
The vision sharpens.
There, on the highest point of the Hotel, shadows writhing violently around a familiar red silhouette. And opposite him—
Her. Lute.
Vox’s screen flares white-hot.
He vaults the falling debris without slowing, electricity tearing free from him in wild movements, barely controlled. Angels dive to intercept, but he doesn’t even register them. His body reacts on pure instinct, signal bursts knocking them aside like interference on a dead channel.
Something glints in the rubble ahead.
The missing blade from earlier.
He halts to a stop, hand closing around a familiar weight—the angelic blade, half-buried where it had been lost earlier. The moment his fingers wrap around the hilt, the bond howls, power surging so violently it nearly drops him to his knees.
Vox doesn’t think.
He launches himself upward in a crack of thunder.
Lute barely has time to turn before he slams into her, momentum carrying them both across the rooftop. The blade flashed her countless times, his movements were brutal, unrestrained. She screams as Vox drives the weapon through divine flesh, electricity screaming down the steel as he tears through her wings in a frenzy of motion and light.
Feathers explode into the air, burning as they fall to the ground. She had fallen.
Lute collapses, shrieking, holy light sputtering violently as Vox rips the blade free and staggers back, chest heaving, hands shaking. Blood slicks the rooftop, steaming where it hits the stone.
For a moment, Vox just stands there.
Breathing hard. Vision glitching. Power still roaring through him like he doesn’t know how to turn it off.
Then he looks up.
Alastor is staring at him.
And only then does Vox realize—dimly, distantly—that he hadn’t been fully conscious at all.
And through he bond, Alastor felt everything.
He feels the adrenaline pumping through the television's internal wires. He feels his elevated heart rate beating against himself rapidly. He feels the blurred mind that made him half-conscious in the act. He feels everything Vox felt.
Vox instinctively ran towards Alastor hurriedly. He bent his body down and picked him upright. Alastor staggered with his movements. His staff was lost somewhere, and multiple cuts were all over his body. The cut on his back only spilled more blood as he got up. He was a mess.
Vox clung to Alastor’s arm as he hauled him upright, their bodies pressed close out of sheer necessity rather than choice. They moved in a broken rhythm—Vox bearing most of the weight, Alastor’s steps uneven, his fingers locking around Vox’s sleeve with a grip that trembled between stubbornness and collapse.
Every few paces, Alastor faltered, and Vox tightened his hold, anchoring him, their forearms hooked together like the only thing keeping either of them vertical.
The battlefield had gone strangely quiet.
Vox lifted his head first. The smoke finally thinned. Angels—what remained of them—were pulling back, their formation fractured, their confidence shattered. Below, from the streets and shattered balconies, the sinners stared upward in stunned silence.
The overlords gathered around the watch as the portal above them opened, and the entire flock of angels escaped outward. Carmilla and Zestial looked at each other with a firm expression, unsure if this would be the final time they set foot down there.
Charlie managed to reunite with a battered Emily. Abel also finally descended down from a portal after the angel's retreat. With the amount of blood loss faced, he hurriedly carried the little seraphim towards the portal to tend to her wounds. The rest of the hotel's crew stood outside the Hotel looking at the whole ordeal.
“They… they did it,” Cherri whispered, hands clasped tight.
Vaggie’s grip tightened around her spear. “They stopped them.”
Husk said nothing. His ears flattened as he took in the way Vox adjusted his stance every time Alastor faltered, how carefully he moved despite the devastation around them. “That ain’t a deal,” he muttered finally. “That’s something else.”
Charlie’s chest ached. Someone was missing.
"Dad.." The realization had finally struck her. "Vaggie— we gotta find my dad."
With that, the rest of the crew followed suit as they ran towards the location of the angelic weapon.
From the Vees Tower, Valentino stared up at them, cigarette forgotten as ash burned uselessly between his fingers.
“That stupid—” He cut himself off, jaw tightening as he realized what Alastor and Vox had just pulled off. “That stupid bastard.”
Her eyes narrowed. “So that’s what he chose,” she said quietly.
Valentino scoffed, but there was no humor in it. “He chose him.”
Below them, the denizens of Hell— everyone saw it. Whispers rippled through Hell faster than fire. Some looked impressed. Some looked afraid. Some began recalculating everything they thought they knew.
High above them all, Vox and Alastor stood at the center of it.
The noise below began to shift. The terror bleeding into reverent silence. Even the fires seemed to hesitate, as though Hell itself were holding its breath, waiting to see what the two figures at its heart would do next. Power still crackled in the air, residual and unstable, but the battle had ended.
But then there was Vox’s arm—solid, present, holding him without asking for anything in return. No demand. No deal. Just support.
Alastor’s thoughts tangled.
This changes things.
There would be rumors now. Fear. Reverence. Vox’s name is spoken in the same breath as his. A bond no one could ignore, least of all Alastor himself. Whatever fragile distance he’d kept—whatever rules he’d convinced himself protected him—had shattered the moment Vox chose him over everything else.
For once, he didn’t decide.
He let the moment and fate decide for him.
Alastor’s head tipped forward, resting briefly against Vox’s shoulder. Just for a second. Just long enough for Vox to freeze, breath hitching as the weight settled—real, undeniable.
Vox let himself feel it. This.This was everything Vox could ever hope for.
Then Alastor’s grip tightened.
"Alastor.." Vox spoke close to where his ears were. "This is all I ever wanted for us."
Alastor's hands buried themselves deep on Vox's arms, digging into his skin. But Vox didn't care. He enjoyed the touch. To be devoured by someone who'd finally seen you. To be with the one you gave up everything for.
They hated each other, and yet— neither one of them has stopped playing the charade.
"Jusqu'à ce que la mort nous sépare.." He heard Alastor's voice.
"It means till death do us part, Vincent."
Before Vox could react, Alastor shifted his weight and pulled.
The ground vanished beneath them.
Together, they fell down.
***
1 MONTH LATER.
The Hazbin Hotel had never been this full.
Souls crowded every hallway, spilled down the stairs, pressed shoulder-to-shoulder in the lobby like the building itself might burst from the strain. There were finally sinners looking for redemption after what followed the whole fiasco.
After the angels retreated, everyone had somehow managed to gather around the weapon and, using their shared power, neutralise it. Releasing their one and only king from his prison. Pentious' angelic presence also helped provide proof that the hotel was capable of redeeming sinners.
Charlie stood at the center of it all, voice hoarse but steady as she moved from sinner to sinner, offering reassurances, directions, promises she fully intended to keep. Vaggie never left her side. Husk and Niffty worked nonstop. Cherri helped where she could, explosions mercifully absent for once.
However, it missed Alastor's lingering shadows in every corner of the Hotel. His absence caused a shift in the tone of the hotel itself. They had left his radio tower untouched as a memory.
The Vees only consisted of Valentino and Velvette now. With Valentino taking charge of the face of their brand, they took complete control of Vox's position, securing VoxTek as well.
Wherever Alastor and Vox were, if they still were at all, Hell would never forget the moment they ended up being each other's deaths.
Rosie's Emporium was unusually quiet.
Afternoon light filtered through lace-curtained windows, dust drifting lazily over polished wood and porcelain shelves. Rosie sat at her usual table, spine straight, ankles crossed, delicately stirring sugar into her tea as if the world outside hadn’t very nearly ended.
The cup trembled faintly—not from her hand, but from something deeper. A tension she hadn’t yet named.
She paused.
There it was.
Static.
Not the erratic, broken kind that plagued cheap radios, but a familiar, deliberate hum—low, warm, unmistakable. The radio mounted high on the wall, one she hadn’t touched in years, flickered to life on its own. She remembered it being a gift from Alastor.
The dial spun slowly, reverently, before settling.
Music poured out.
—Ooh, unforgettable (unforgettable)
In every way (in every way)
And forevermore (and forevermore)
That's how you'll stay (that's how you'll stay)
She knew this song. Nat King Cole's 'Unforgettable'.
But this, this didn't seem like a song Alastor would be into. It was a song from the 50's. She stirred the tea in her cup. Silence.
That's why darling, it's incredible
That someone so unforgettable
Thinks that I am unforgettable too.
"Oh, Alastor.." She sighed with a faint smile. "What are you and your little picture-box up to now?"