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There he was. From atop his great tower in Paradise, Vox tried to gaze at the view he had gained through the window, but all he could still see was himself; his silhouette was reflected in the glass as lonely as one star shines distantly from another in the vast universe.
After striving so hard to achieve what he desired, he, a mere sinner, had finally arrived. His plan to conquer the heavens, the "promised land" of the angels, had been a success. When he shattered the pearly gates and defiled them by trampling them with the filthy shoes that had once walked so much on the floor of Hell, he felt fulfilled, as if nothing could make him fall from his glory.
No one dared challenge him or doubt his abilities anymore. On the contrary, celebrations were held in his honor for days on end since the event, praising him as he had always wanted. His name was shouted by everyone, even those who had previously discouraged him or insulted him. Now, no one could say that he was not the most powerful among his people.
But then, why did he continue to feel so empty?
He found himself holding his breath every time he thought about it, as if his body already knew, instinctively, that a lack of oxygen to the brain was the only way to cloud such a question.
He finally had everything. His dream had been achieved with his own hands, words, and merit. He had everything his arms could hold and much more. Even the view of the most beautiful sky from the window of his new room was exclusively his. But still, all he could see through his reflection in it was someone incomplete.
Being the most powerful sinner in hell or the most cruel ruler in Heaven wasn't enough. Not if he wasn't by your side.
Vox hugged himself, seeking some comfort from the cruel reflection, but all he could feel was a shiver throughout his body, as if he had been enveloped in sadness. It almost hurt.
He hadn't seen Alastor again since the taking of the kingdom of heaven. He didn't even have any idea where he might be or if he was even still alive. He was irritated by these uncertainties. Would he never be able to feel fulfilled? This afflicted him. Not even his — few — duties as ruler of Paradise were enough to distract his mind from the feeling of emptiness in his chest.
In the end, when he arrived in hell, Vincent thought he had lost everything he had achieved in life, but Alastor was responsible for helping to rekindle that flame of yearning for greatness in his heart. He was his role model, his inspiration. And, each day, unconsciously he added more fuel to make it burn brighter.
It was an outrage for Vox to know that, in truth, everything he had done and achieved had never been for himself. But rather, for him. Never, as long as his lungs could still breathe, would he admit that her true dream, his greatest wish, was that he had taken his hand that day.
After all, without Alastor,
“All the shine of a thousand spotlights
All the stars we steal from the night sky
Will never be enough
Never be enough
Towers of gold are still too little
These hands could hold the world but it'll
Never be enough
Never be enough”
For him.