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Cold.
So cold.
His fingers were cold, his hooves, his heart even.
Everything was just numb. A silent kind of suffering within him as he laid on the ground, bleeding out.
The worst of the pain had subsided, though. Not a good sign at all. It meant he was deep in shock and all his nerves were giving out on him.
His radio tower was where his career in Hell began and it seemed it would be his final resting place as well. At least he would die somewhere where nobody would see him in his one and only moment of weakness.
Suddenly, he heard a low, appreciative whistle followed shortly after by a, “Look what the cat dragged in.”
Well, there goes that hope.
He couldn’t turn his head towards the sound; it felt too heavy to even think about moving it. He didn’t have to wait for long for his voyeur to make their appearance in his line of sight. If he had the wherewithal to make any sort of noise, he would’ve let out the longest sigh he might have ever uttered because of course, the person who would tease him relentlessly for something like this was here.
Vox’s TV head made its way into his vision and he felt the dread that was already there - because he was dying - increased tenfold. He didn’t want to be mocked and belittled by his long-time rival while he was in the middle of dying, thank you very much.
Alastor did his best to glare at his fellow overlord but couldn’t seem to manage it quite right as Vox simply gave him an unimpressed look. All that could be heard for a couple minutes as they stayed locked in their staring contest was the wheezing of Alastor’s breaths as his lungs struggled to work around the injury that went from his right hip to his left shoulder.
Eventually, Vox must’ve grown tired of just waiting around for Alastor to do or say anything like he might have hoped for. A little banter between rivals was all he was asking for. Why was that such a herculean task to complete?
Suddenly, Vox crouched down to the dying man’s side, lifting his hand and bringing it closer to the angelic wound. Alastor tracked the hand’s movement as best he could but he felt his will slipping away. It was agonizing; forcing himself to keep his consciousness and his eyes open at the same time. A sound of surprise and worry made Alastor tune back into the one-sided conversation. Instead of making the wound worse, like he had thought was his goal, Vox simply hovered over it, staring with intense concentration that Alastor had never seen on him before.
“I’ve never seen you take a hit this bad before.” A breath and then, “You’re actually dying, aren’t you?”
Alastor closed his eyes causing Vox to grab ahold of his uninjured shoulder and shake it slightly. “Hey, don’t give up just yet, old timer.”
‘Interesting,’ he thought. Why would his sworn rival - borderline enemy - care about him staying awake for longer? It wouldn’t do any good. He could feel himself slipping away with each second that passed by. At this point he just wanted to sleep and not have to worry about what this destiny will inflict on others. Both those he held under contract and those he would consider closer than the average sinner. (But not friends, no. There are no friends in Hell.)
Alastor felt the shaking against his shoulder again, this time with a little more force that jostled his injuries. An unbidden, pained groan escaped him and he wondered when he had given up on keeping his composure.
“Shit, I’m sorry. I… I didn’t think…”
Vox was having trouble coming to terms with this, he realized. Alastor had never heard his fellow entertainment overlord apologize for anything. Despite his earlier concern, Vox never struck him as the kind of demon to care about another dying.
The pain gave him a second wind and he opened his eyes again, gazing upon the worried expression on Vox’s screen. He had to wonder why. Why him? Why now? After all this time he had had to accept Alastor’s rejection and fester in anger, why would he possibly care about him now that he was on the brink of death. It wasn’t in character at all.
There was another long, wheezing breath and then Alastor couldn’t do it anymore. He closed his eyes and went to sleep for the last time with the sound of barely-there sniffles and crying in the background as he drifted off.