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It was always a fascinating event to see a new comer arrive in Hell. Some would just manifest into existence, all wide-eye and full of disbelief. Some would slowly form from the ground up until an actual body was built piece by piece, and as the last morsel was created, they would inhale and panic.
This one, however, had his arrival known before his actual body even manifested. Alastor had been surveying the streets around his current territory, when a strange, shrill, almost distressing wavelength forced its way into his brain. His ears had swivelled on instinct, trying to detect the location of such noise. Never had he felt summoned in such a personal way without feeling a tug prior on his soul. This felt like a siren song dedicated to him. It was unnerving.
He had walked to a slightly obscured alleyway. The disturbance had grown stronger, but Alastor couldn’t pin the exact location of it and that was driving him insane. Especially since he knew he probably was the only one who intercepted it, if the lack of another curious Sinner was anything to go by.
Suddenly, a snapping click, like an electrical outlet malfunctioning. A sizzling in the air and Alastor could feel the hairs on his body stand on end at the sudden static surrounding him. A feral smile stretched his lips at the unusual sensation. There was apprehension and fascination coursing through his body. Under his very eyes, the floor started crackling with electricity dancing about, until it expanded and formed the shape of a body. Captivated, Alastor crouched next to the figure forming under his very eyes. He could now distinguish legs and, consistently, the electricity kept somersaulting, like weaving a new life into existence. There was now a torso on the floor and soon the shape of the head was forming. A cube? Alastor was even more intrigued. Well, Hell wasn’t known for giving Sinner standard looks, but the rest was so human-like that the geometrical head seemed too much. More than a cube, as the definition appeared, Alastor could make a hard casing out of it.
In a flash of bright annoyance, the electricity vanished, its work now accomplished. Alastor stared at the Sinner laying, lifeless, in the alleyway. Still crouched, Alastor dared poke it with the enmd of his staff, wondering if something was missing for it to be animated. No reaction at first when he probed it. A disappointed hum left him and he rose to his feet.
A groan from the new Sinner and a burst of activity on Alastor’s radio waves. Bewildered, Alastor stared at the barely conscious soul laying before him. Was this person a threat to his domain? He squinted his eyes and contemplated terminating this life as soon as it had manifested to not have to deal with a bigger issue down the road. But there was something exciting at finding, meeting, someone who shared such a peculiar part of his power.
The newcomer rose to sit on their heels, unsteadily, hands first holding unto his knees, before they travelled to his head, palping the casing. He looked about, taking in his surrounding in silence. Alastor had to admit he was a little disappointed in the lack of panic outburst. He took a peculiar enjoyment at seeing the distress and horror in people features when they first came to, and especially when they realised where they were.
With his back turned to Alastor, this new person simply let out a long, heavy sigh, the weight of their world shattering around them in a wordless way. “Well, hello there, fella. How are you enjoying your first glance of Hell?” Alastor announced his presence cheerfully, clearly startling the other person who turned their head to him. Alastor’s smile wobbled in amusement at the large eyes staring at him. He swivelled his staff in his hands to give himself some continence as he walked closer to the fellow.
His ears focused on the voice that graced them when the other talked, voice full of conflicted emotions. “So I died… Fuck. I was so close.” A dismissive laugh that prickled along Alastor spine. “It must have seemed threatening to some entity who figured I would be better off. How cruel.”
That voice was made to be listened to; there was something enticing about it, something so smooth that even the harshest of words came out buttery to the ears. This man could be a problem, but he was too fascinating for the time being to completely dismiss him out of existence. A snap of magic and the new comer was dressed. His disbelief was clear on his animated display of a face. “Name’s Alastor, pleased to make your acquittance.”
“Vincent.” Vincent said, getting to his feet and extending his hand in civil courtesy.
Alastor contemplated his hand with amusement before batting it with the microphone on his staff. “Hand shakes are loaded here. You better keep your hands to yourself if you know what’s best for you.” Vincent balled his fist and pressed it to his chest in clear embarrassment. Alastor chuckled darkly before his smile came back falsely amicable. “You seem like you need a drink and I am fancying one myself. Come along, Vincent.”
And Vincent did follow him, to Alastor’s expanding amusement. The man was too trusting, or maybe too confident. Alastor couldn’t say, but it was different from how anyone else threated him.
…
Vincent turned out to be of good company: an intelligent man with the ability to hold mundane conversation and able to debate opinions with finesse. He was cunning enough to carve his place into Hell’s notability. Without being an Overlord by title, his name was known by many.
To Alastor’s delight, and Vincent’s survival, the man wasn’t interested in competing on the monopoly of radio. Sure, as Vincent had tried to explain to him, he used the same wavelength to propagate his medium, but he was working on changing that. Also, he was offering more stimuli to the masses. More than just their ears were captivated, their eyes too.
And Alastor could understand that, if the way he couldn’t keep his eyes away from Vincent was anything to go by. Did he think this picture box was debilitating for the mind? Yes, especially with the kind of content Vincent was putting out there. But it did amass him followers, idiots whose brain was melting under the intense light of the images they were consuming. But it still counted as power for Vincent to build his title of Overlord.
Alastor was fascinated, maybe even softened on the edges, by this over-achieving man who spoke so enthusiastically about his projects, aspirations and dreams. Alastor had caught himself staring at the highly animated features of Vincent with an almost tender smile turning the corner of his lips up. This was nice, this was comfortable. This camaraderie was pleasant, appeasing in the tumults of his soul deal and the biddings he was meant to do.
Alastor would never put too much thought into it, but if he would ever risk it, he would find this must be the closest to love Hell had ever offered him.
…
Vox felt paralysed when the realization grew that he was developing useless, ugly feelings for a man who had never acknowledged him for who he was, who had never seen his true value. If a business offer was seen as a weakness, how would his infatuation be considered?
Vox had left behind Vincent and his need for validation. He had, hadn’t he? If the way he was surveying more than just his territory for a glimpse of the man who despised him was anything to go by, maybe he wasn’t so successful at cutting these feelings off. But Vox was a new, different man with even bigger dreams who would prove to anyone who ever doubted his worth that he was more than just… the guy under Alastor’s protection.
The more time he spent apart from the man, the more Vox felt he was nurturing feelings he should be getting rid of. Every massacre he witnessed, he couldn’t help the awe from filling his chest with pride at the beauty and devotion Alastor put into killing. Every chanced encounter they had, he couldn’t stop his eyes from lingering on the curve of his smile, or the depth of his gaze. He couldn’t close his heart to the flutter in his chest at any genuine laugh that would grace his audio receptors.
And the more time they spent apart, the stronger the longing got. Vox felt hopeless, staring at blurred images of the man for whom he meant nothing. For years, he wasn’t even worth a fight in public. Alastor would mock his attempts at taunting him.
Until one day, when electricity had any electronic and electric devise and contraption sizzle and combust spontaneously, he turned an amused smile to Vox whose breath left him. He felt dizzy and elated to have Alastor’s undivided attention once more – after years of his feelings festering in his chest. But it was over far too soon and Alastor was cackling at his weakness.
The true weakness was how Vox didn’t feel embarrassed at losing, but how he couldn’t forget the sensation of Alastor breath on his monitor as they fought at closed-range, or the warmth of his fingers as they shredded the front of his dress shirt with their claws. How he had captured Alastor’s attention for long enough to be his sole focus.
And as years, decades, went by, this weakness only grew, turning into an obsession he didn’t want to let go of, because there were specks of happiness to be had in always knowing the whereabouts of the man, at being the only living soul who could claim to know most about the Radio Demon, and in being one of the few who would always leave with his soul intact no matter the taunt or the damage he inflicted.
But there was shame and panic at the emptiness he felt when, one day, Alastror vanished from his surveillance. How could he keep going on without the man’s existence fuelling his every waking moments and remaining this unattainable indulgence Vox could never get rid of.
Vox could only clench at his chest and accept that this love Hell had given him was rotting him from the inside. Nothing could erase it or replace it. Until Death does us apart.