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“You know what? Fuck Ħęļł, fuck Ħêąvëņ, and fųčķ all of ŷøų! As long as I wipe that smile off Alastor’s fucking face, I don’t care what happens!” Vox yells, cackling maniacally. He had very clearly lost it even more than he had previously; if the deranged look on his face and his willingness to kill himself and half of Hell just to spite Alastor is anything to go by.
Alastor grimaces at him. It’s not lost on the Radio Demon the tears building up in Vox’s eyes. ’Pathetic,’ Alastor forces himself to think.
Suddenly, Vox gasps in a breath of air, his face freezing in horror before he falls off of his Heavenly weapon and flops onto the ground at the feet of the surrounding Sinners, Overlords, and more.
Vox doubles over, screaming. His claws grip the back of his screen head, ripping at his casing. Everyone stands in silence. What can they do but watch? No one can tell what’s wrong with him. Charlie, always the empath, makes a move to get closer to him, but Vaggi stops her. “He’s a manipulator, you know this, baby. He could be trying to trick us,” Vaggi whispers to her girlfriend.
But Vox’s guttural screams don’t let up. He looks up from the ground, his screen cracked and glitching, pixelated tears streaming from his eyes. He looks to his friends— well, ex-friends— Valentino and Velvette. They both look at him before turning on their heels and leaving him. “V-V@l! V€l! Ŵ@ĮŤ!” Vox screams after them. It’s not his usual screaming at them. No, now his screams are full of terror and pain. But Valentino and Velvette don’t turn back.
Vox’s claws grab onto his screen, puncturing and scratching, causing more cracks. The back of his suit rips open, and now Alastor and the others can see what his screams are because of. The skin(?) of Vox’s back has been ripped open, the bones of his spine and shoulder blades on full display. New bones are beginning to grow from Vox’s shoulder blades, shooting out as more bones sprout from that.
“Śț0p! Płę@šę! Ħųřțš!” Vox’s glitching voice screams out. His vocal cords are failing him from all the screaming, blood dripping from his mouth.
Now Charlie runs over to Vox. Even with all he has done, she refuses to watch a soul in torment without doing anything. Emily and Vaggi follow after her. “Vox! Can you hear me? What’s happening to you?” Charlie asks once she reaches him.
“Ǐ- Î ð0ņ’ť ķň0ŵ,” Vox manages to get out. His voice is absolutely fucked from all the screaming. The girls try to get a look at the gore, but Charlie can’t handle it. So she pulls Vox’s claws away from his face and holds them, trying to reassure him. “I-It’ll be ok, ok? You’ll be alright,” she tells herself more so than him.
“Charlie, he’s growing wings!” Emily says in amazement. “What?” Charlie looks back over and sees that Emily is right. The bones that had been growing from Vox’s back formed two huge appendages. Flesh begins to crawl over the bones and reform over Vox’s back. But the flesh isn’t dark blue like Vox’s demon skin; it’s pale like that of a white human. Vox isn’t screaming anymore, only sobbing. He’s terrified. He has no clue what’s happening to him. The feeling of new skin crawling over his new unknown appendages is so foreign. It feels like the static feeling you get when one of your limbs falls asleep, but crossed with the feeling of that limb being broken and reformed over and over again until it’s completely unrecognizable. Until he is completely unrecognizable.
Then, Vox hears a voice in his head. Well, most likely in his head because the others around him don’t seem to hear it. The voice is soft and kind. “We heard your pleas, child. You wish to enter Heaven. Now you may,” says the voice. He’s so confused. His motors are running too quickly because of the stress and pain, that the fans in his screen can’t keep up. So he shuts down to prevent further damage.
“Oh my god! Is he dead?!” Charlie screams. Now is when Alastor joins their little party around Vox. He tries to appear joyful that Vox may be dead, but his pace is far too quick and worried to be anything but scared for his old friend.
Huge, blinding white feathers begin sprouting from the flesh that has finished growing over the new bones. Emily gasps. “Oh my goodness! He’s becoming an angel!” she squeals.
Alastor can’t even begin to put into words the searing hole he feels in his chest. ’Vox becoming an angel? How is that even possible? Is he going to leave and be in Heaven? Is he going to leave me?’ Alastor can’t stop himself from thinking. Before his ego can catch up with his heart, he kneels by Vox and pushes him onto his side to look at his face. Alastor rears back immediately when he realizes that in the short moment of shock he had had by looking at the wings, Vox’s face— his whole head, really— has changed. Gone is the flatscreen tv Alastor had always despised. There now is a human head; pale skin, sharp jaw, roman nose, sharp black eyebrows, dark lashes, shaggy black hair reaching his shoulders in the back with eye level fringe bangs and layered sides, bright teal from the roots in the back and front, and bright red streaks in the sides, mimicking the colors from his tv screen.
“What the fųčķ,” Alastor breathes out, his eternal grin turning down in confusion. Gone are Vox’s demonic features. Gone are the mocking reminders of how Vox met his demise. Gone is the Vox Alastor had known for most of his time in Hell. Now Vox is, well… gorgeous. Angelic. Alastor can’t believe this. He can’t believe that Vox is becoming an angel. He can’t believe that Vox is now above him, now no longer corrupted like Alastor himself is. He can’t believe that Vox has a human face now, a pretty one at that. And he can’t believe that he’s actually describing Vox as anything but an egotistical, obsessive, psycho.
Speaking of angels, the huge feathers have finished sprouting out, Vox’s wings now full and elegant like a real angel. They’re huge. Each wing must be at the very least 7 feet in length. They’re splayed out on either side of Vox’s unmoving body; stark white against the dirty, burned grounds of the hellish landscape.
Now that Vox has finished his transformation, his eyes flutter open, immediately meeting Alastor’s own wide eyes. Vox’s eyes are also different, his scleras no longer bright red and his irises no longer bright teal. Now they’re human and mismatched— one eye a soft green, the other a piercing blue. Alastor once again finds himself admiring Vox’s looks more than is proper for an arch-nemesis.
“Al?” Vox asks. His voice is soft and smooth. So different from his usual loud, unapologetic pattern of speech. Vox immediately can tell something is wrong. His voice sounds different, his head feels lighter, his neck doesn’t hurt as much, and something heavy is weighing down on his back. “Wh- what’s happening to me? Why do I feel so different?” Vox asks, his anxiety starting to spike again. Alastor grabs under Vox’s arms and hauls him up into a sitting position. Vox is shocked by the contact, and even more shocked that it’s from Alastor. Alastor who had said he has always hated when Vox touched him. “Al, what?” Vox turns and sees the Princess of Hell, her fallen angel girlfriend, and the little Seraphim angel all sat next to him. He also catches sight of the huge white wings hanging from his back. “N- no. No, no, no! This isn’t- this isn’t me! That’s not what’s supposed to happen!” Vox exclaims. The feathers rustle and the wings lift up slightly, shifting with a soft sound far too gentle for him, and allowing Vox to take in their massive size. Both wings longer than his own height. The weight and wrongness of it makes his entire frame shudder. “Get it off!” Vox tries to make a grab at the wings, but then he sees that his hand is no longer navy blue, and no longer clawed. It’s pale and human, just like how it had been when he was alive. ’What. The. FUCK,’ Vox thinks to himself as he looks at his other hand, also in the same predicament. He hesitantly moves his hands up to touch his face. As soon as his fingers meet soft skin and hair, he jerks his hands away. ’That’s why my head feels lighter.’
He looks up at Alastor. The shocked, confused and non-smiling look on Alastor’s face does nothing to quell Vox’s rising fear. “Alastor, what’s wrong with me?” Vox whispers out, a lump forming in his throat. “I…” Alastor looks over to Emily who shakes her head, empathy in her eyes. If even the Seraphim is unsure, no way in Hell does Alastor have any idea what’s going on. “I don’t know, dear.” Vox whines and drops his head to rest on Alastor’s shoulder. If Vox was in a clearer state, he’d tease Alastor about how he’s letting Vox lean against him. But right now, Vox just lets out a small sigh of relief. He had always wanted to do something as mundane and domestic as resting his head on Alastor’s shoulder. But he never could because of the big ass, heavy ass tv that had sat upon his shoulders.
Strangely enough, Alastor doesn’t push him away. In fact, Alastor wraps his arms around Vox— careful of Vox’s new wings— and pulls him in closer. “You look nice for someone who just had a tv for a head, darling,” Alastor whispers into Vox’s ear, now that he has one.
Vox’s face heats up with blush. He pulls away slightly to look Alastor in the face. “D- do you really mean that?” Vox asks, his eyes wide and innocent. Alastor hasn’t seen that look on Vox’s face in decades, not since Alastor had denied Vox’s proposal of partnership. Alastor raises a clawed finger and tucks a lock of Vox’s multicolored hair behind his ear. “I do,” Alastor says, his sincerity causing the air to be knocked out of Vox’s lungs. And for Charlie and Vaggi, who are still sitting next to the two, to gape at Alastor and look at each other to make sure they’re hearing the same thing; that Alastor just admitted to finding Vox attractive.
“I thought you were dying. I do not wish to lose you again.” Alastor cups Vox’s face with his hand. “Are you going to leave me and go to Heaven, now?”
Vox’s brain would be short circuiting right now if he was still mechanical. But he isn’t, so he settles for staring at Alastor with wide eyes and parted lips. (He has those now, too!) ’Did I hear him right? Am I dreaming? Did I already die again? He wants me. He wants me to stay here with him. After all these decades, he finally wants me,’ Vox thinks, starting to tear up again. “A- Al. I don’t want to l- leave you. I don’t want to,” Vox finally says after his momentary shock.
Alastor smiles— a real smile, not his fake one. “Hell would be intolerably dull without you, my dear Vox,” Alastor says, sounding almost soft. Vox smiles too, his genuine smile making him look a real angel.
Before Vox can answer, before he can breathe in the fragile comfort Alastor offers, the air behind them split open. A light blue portal from Heaven appears. A soft hum fizzles through the air as a huge Heavenly being moves through the portal and lands softly on the ground near Vox, Alastor, Charlie, Vaggi, and Emily. The being is bird-like and completely golden and white in color. With three sets of huge white and golden wings, a large golden halo above her head of long flowing hair, and a long gown, she smiles serenely at them. She radiates light and peace.
“Speaker! Why are you here?” Emily asks in shock and confusion. The Speaker of God folds her six great wings close to herself, feathers whispering like wind through tall grass. Her landing leaves no scorch, no crater— only a faint warmth that spreads outward, soothing and terrifying in equal measure.
The Speaker’s gaze rests on Emily first, gentle as a mother bird settling over a wounded fledgling. “Emily,” she says softly, voice smooth as sunlight on water. “I am here because I have decided to redeem a tortured soul.” “I knew it! I knew more Sinners could be redeemed!” Emily says with sincere excitement and awe. She and Charlie are smiling huge, bright smiles.
The Speaker smiles softly at Emily. “Your faith has always been a light, dear Emily.” Then the Speaker turns her eyes onto Vox. Her expression changes— compassion still, but also a quiet understanding that sees far more than he is comfortable with.
Vox stiffens, jaw clenching, wings twitching like foreign creatures strapped to his back. His mismatched eyes lock onto the Speaker, sharp despite the tremors of fear that are running through his body. Alastor’s hand slithers down to grab ahold of Vox’s hand, offering reassurance and protection.
The Speaker kneels in front of Vox. A high ranking Heavenly being kneeling before a man who was a mere Sinner moments ago. “You endured a great deal of pain, child,” the Speaker says, her voice remaining soft and light. Vox clings onto Alastor’s hand tighter. “And that concerns you why?” he asks, voice raw but controlled.
“Because no soul was meant to bear such agony alone,” the Speaker says, her voice like a soft breeze on a cool autumn day. “Your agony was so great, you wished to enter Heaven so badly, that you risked your own life for it.”
Alastor narrows his eyes at her, but says nothing yet. He keeps his hand clasped in Vox’s, and scoots closer to the new angel.
The Speaker continues, “These wings are not punishment. They are a response to your aching soul. Your soul has been given a form that will not collapse under your torment.”
“A form I didn’t ask for,” Vox snips, scoffing weakly with a shake of his head. “You may not have asked out loud, child, but it was clear,” the Speaker replies. Her voice never loses its kindness, softness, or understanding.
Alastor bristles at her tone. He can’t fathom that she would actually care about a Sinner. ’She must have only turned Vox into an angel to prevent him from leveling Heaven with his Heavenly weapon. How cruel,’ Alastor thinks. “His soul is not yours to sculpt, madam,” Alastor spits, letting go of Vox’s hand in favor of wrapping his arm around Vox’s waist and pulling the new angel into him. Vox goes rigid for a second, glancing at Alastor who is busy glaring at the Speaker. Vox smiles softly at Alastor’s protectiveness over him. He relaxes and leans into Alastor’s touch.
The Speaker meets Alastor’s hostility with serene patience, not even blinking at how Alastor is touching Vox. “All souls belong to Heaven, Alastor— even those clawing their way through Hell.” Alastor growls at how she somehow knows his name and how she says it so casually.
“So, what, I’m just supposed to accept this? Fly up into Heaven and pretend like I belong there? Pretend that I wasn’t a serial killer on Earth? Pretend that I haven’t killed thousands of demons and Sinners in Hell? Pretend that I don’t own thousands of souls?” Vox asks desperately, his heart rate increasing. He can’t believe this is really happening. He wants the Speaker to tell him that this is fake; that he doesn’t have to go to Heaven, that he can stay here with Alastor.
The Speaker’s golden eyes soften, but they do not waver. She lifts one calm, graceful hand and places it over her own heart, like she’s reminding Vox that her words come from sincerity, not authority.
“Vincent,” she says gently, “Heaven does not erase what you were. It offers what you may become.” Vox’s breath stutters. That answer is not the one he wanted.
The Speaker continues, “You fear being forced away. You fear losing the life you built, even if it was fractured by pain. But redemption is not a summons. It is an offering. You may choose it… or you may refuse it.” Vox freezes, wings tense and rigid behind him. ’A… choice?’
Charlie lets out a tiny gasp she tries to swallow. “He… he gets to choose?”
The Speaker nods, “Of course. Redemption cannot be forced.” She looks back to Vox. “Your new form gives you the ability to enter Heaven. But you are not being dragged there. You are not being claimed like property. You are simply being welcomed— should you wish to come.”
Vox swallows the lump in his throat. “S- so I don’t have to go?” Vox asks. He hates how weak and unsure of himself he sounds, but he’s a little preoccupied at the moment. “No, you do not,” the Speaker responds.
A breath he didn’t know he was holding rushes out of Vox— a shaky exhale that makes his wings tremble. Alastor’s grip around his waist tightens subtly, protective and firm. Vox leans into him instinctively, still overwhelmed.
Alastor’s polite façade is nowhere to be found. His eyes glow with a quiet, furious intensity. Not so much rage at the Speaker anymore, but raw fear at the thought he nearly lost Vox again, but for good.
“I’m staying,” Vox tells the Speaker. He’s confident in his decision. Down here, he has Alastor. What does he have up in Heaven? Nothing.
The Speaker studies Vox and Alastor for a moment, her expression softening more. “Then the choice is made,” she says serenely. “Your wings are not chains, Vincent. They will not ban you from Hell, nor bind you to Heaven.”
Vox’s breath shakes again. “So I can stay here… with him?” “Yes— if that is your wish, child.”
The Speaker stretches out her great wings, the gold shining in the light of the fiery glow of the Pride Ring. “You will need guidance. Your form is powerful, ancient. Part angel, part the echoes of what you once were. It will take time to understand. But time is yours.” Her gaze slips to Alastor. “And protection, it seems, you already have.”
She rises gracefully to her full, towering height. “Do not fear your wings, child. They are not a verdict. They are a beginning.”
With that, the Speaker steps back and re-opens the Heavenly portal. The light bends around her. “Be gentle with yourself,” she tells Vox. “And you, Alastor… be gentle with him.” Alastor’s ears flatten sharply, but he doesn’t argue. The portal closes in a soft shimmer of blue light.
When the portal fades, the silence that follows feels almost unreal. The Speaker’s warmth lingers in the air, but the spotlight of divine attention is gone. What’s left is Vox. Vox with wings. Vox who almost died. Vox who almost left. Vox who looks completely different. And Alastor— still holding Vox as if he might vanish again.
Alastor’s grip finally loosens, but only enough so he can tilt Vox’s face up and study him properly. His expression is a strange mixture of awe, irritation, and something fragile he keeps trying, and failing, to hide.
“…You foolish man,” Alastor says softly, voice no longer sharp but unsteady around the edges. “You had me believing I had… lost you.” Vox blinks up at him, thrown off. “Al—”
Alastor cuts him off, lifting one clawed hand to gently run his claws through Vox’s hair, specifically focusing on the red and teal streaks in the black. His movements are slow, almost hesitant, like he’s afraid Vox might just disappear.
“I do not care for Heaven sweeping in and dangling you above my head like a prize,” Alastor continues, voice low. “So if you are certain you wish to stay… I will not pretend I am anything but relieved.”
Vox’s breath catches in his throat. It’s still so incredible to him that Alastor actually cares. That Alastor was scared of Vox having to go up into Heaven, of Vox leaving him.
Alastor continues in a quieter voice, “And you need not fear that I see you differently for your wings… or your new face. You are still Vox. Infuriating, dramatic, impossible Vox. And I…” He swallows, visibly annoyed that the sentence is difficult to finish. “I am rather accustomed to your presence.”
Vox, who moments ago was terrified Heaven was going to take him away forever, feels his chest loosen for the first time since the transformation began. “Oh, Alastor,” Vox says with a wet laugh, tears having begun to prick at his eyes. He wraps his arms around Alastor, hugging him tightly. Vox is so happy to be able to touch Alastor again, hug Alastor, just be in the same vicinity as Alastor. It feels so good to feel Alastor’s warmth against him. Now that his body is visually human (besides the wings, obviously), Vox can rest his face in the crook of Alastor’s neck. He fits perfectly against Alastor; just like a puzzle.
Charlie has been watching in silence. She’s sitting on her knees, hands clasped together awkwardly, her eyes flicking between Vox’s wings and his new face.
When she finally speaks, her voice is gentle and thoughtful.
“I’m… really happy for you, Vox. Truly. Redemption is such a beautiful thing.” Her smile is warm, but tinged with something contemplative. “But choosing to stay… It tells me something very important.” Vox turns to look at her, his body tensing up again, but nowhere near as much as when he had been before the Speaker. “And what’s that? That I’m stupid for not going?”
Charlie shakes her head immediately. “No! No, Vox, not at all. It tells me that redemption isn’t just about where you go. It’s about who you want to be.” She looks at him with genuine empathy. “And you made that choice for yourself, not because you were told to.” Her smile becomes softer. “You choosing to stay in Hell doesn’t make you unredeemed. It just means that you’d rather stay with the people— er, person you love than escape. And I respect that.”
Vox stares at her, stunned. He expected disappointment, or at least confusion. But Charlie’s smile doesn’t falter.
“And,” she adds with enthusiasm, “I think Heaven respecting your choice means they trust you, us. That says a lot.”
She glances at Alastor and gives a tiny, knowing smile that makes Alastor glare at her.
“And I think you have people here who want to help you get better.” Alastor grumbles in embarrassment and looks away.
Vox’s mismatched eyes widen slightly. “I…” He isn’t sure what to say. He has never felt truly welcome anywhere. He had expected Charlie to be disappointed that he had given up Heaven, but Charlie’s acceptance hits him like a warm gust of air.
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Two weeks after the incident that almost caused the total collapse of Hell, Vox— former Overlord, tyrant, and walking package of compressed rage— is now living at the Hazbin Hotel.
And he’s an angel. Not just visually ‘prettier’, but ethereal.
The other residents of the hotel loved having him around now. Well, maybe except for Angel, Husk, and Vaggi.
But Alastor? He enjoys it the most. He had finally, fully admitted to himself that he loves Vox, and always has. It wasn’t because of the angelic beauty— though that certainly wasn’t hurting anything.
It was because, for the first time in an eternity, Vox had stopped performing and simply… existed. More open. More real. More alive in a way he never was as a pride-fueled overlord.
Alastor finds himself gravitating toward him in ways he did not bother masking anymore.
Vox is hungry? Alastor is cooking jambalaya. Vox feels lonely? Alastor is immediately at his side. Vox needs help preening the wings he’s still getting used to? Alastor is already ready to help.
Is it a little obsessive? Maybe. But Alastor wants to make up for those seventy plus years where he and Vox had been at each other’s throats; and especially for what he had said to Vox in that bar all those years ago.
Plus, Vox doesn’t mind one bit. He has always reveled in the attention, especially when it comes from Alastor. But now, Vox simply accepts the care with a calmness no one expected. He doesn’t demand it. He doesn’t gloat. He doesn’t use it to regain some power advantage. He just… enjoys it. Quietly, and almost shyly.
One morning, Vox sits on the edge of his bed, wings half-furled and trembling with irritation. A few feathers are bent at odd angles from a rough night of Alastor.
There’s a knock on the door, and Alastor steps in without the need of a response— something he only did with Vox.
“You’re uncomfortable,” he says immediately. Vox lets out a low sigh. “The stupid things won’t lie flat,” Vox groans, unfurling his wings from around himself and gesturing to his feathers.
Alastor moves closer, getting onto the bed next to Vox. “May I?” he asks before reaching out to touch Vox’s wings. Vox’s shoulders drooped. “Yes,” he says quietly, admitting defeat.
Alastor works through the feathers with a patience Vox has never seen from him besides whenever he’s doing a broadcast. Not once does Alastor look bored. He cards through each feather, smoothing, aligning and adjusting with a reverence that borders on sacred.
“You know…” Vox says softly after a few minutes of comfortable silence, “you don’t have to do all this.”
“I’m aware.” Alastor’s voice is a low hum behind him. “But I want to. After decades of venom between us, allow me this… correction of course.”
Vox swallows. “It doesn’t feel like correction,” he says. “It feels like you’re making up for everything all at once.”
Alastor pauses for a brief second before continuing. “Perhaps I am trying to,” he admits. “And perhaps I don’t mind that it takes time.”
Vox’s wings relax fully for the first time all day.
That evening, Charlie leans against the kitchen doorframe, watching Alastor stir a pot while Vox sits on the counter next to him, legs dangling.
“This might be the first time I’ve ever seen Vox… happy,” Charlie whispers to Vaggi who had just walked over to see what her girlfriend is doing. Vaggie crosses her arms. “He better not ruin it. Either of them.” But even she couldn’t deny the truth: Vox was no longer the rage-filled tyrant with a god complex. And Alastor was no longer the ever-smiling, sadistic psychopath.
They are two fractured souls who have finally stopped standing on opposite sides of an old, drawn-out war.
Charlie smiles softly. “I think this is what redemption is supposed to look like.”