Chapter Text
Vox keeps pacing, shoes tapping into the polished floors of his new tower. Well, the foundation of it at least, there's still much to do. Like finding partners, there's no shortage of Overlords in Pentagram City, but he wants only the best.
People who can keep up, who can share his vision of a city bathed in their light. People who can entertain.
It's early days, and his tower has many floors still to build, but he already has candidates in mind. His business meeting with Valentino went well , as crass as it ended up.
Screen burning, he turns to the window, searching his new territory for a familiar flash of red.
Alastor. His closest friend, his mentor and trusted companion since he arrived in hell, since Alastor took a chance on him.
The other Overlord is terrifying at times, and it leaves Vox breathless. Such a performance, fuck Vox wants to match it.
Alastor will surely agree to his proposal, they're the only two who can truly understand each other, the only two who can feel each other's signal crackling across the space between them. It's electrifying, it's alive , and Vox cannot wait to form an official partnership, to see what heights they can achieve together.
The lights in the room flicker and dim, and Vox grins widely.
“Alastor my good friend, I'm glad you're here.”
“Quite the spectacle you're making here Vox, like a house of cards.”
“Hah! Such a joker as always. Come, have a seat, I have your favourites.”
Alastor holds his hands neatly clasped as he sits on the new plush black couch, looking rather out of place amongst the modern decor. No matter, he'll come round eventually to the eclectic style of the 70s, Vox is very persuasive.
Collecting two glasses, and some options for Alastor ranging from high quality Whiskey to Moonshine. Only the best for his soon to be partner.
“Alastor, I need to talk to you about something.”
“It must be quite important to you to go to all this trouble.”
“It is.”
Vox isn't stupid, Alastor is a far older and more powerful overlord than he is, he doesn't need to join Vox's team. Time to put those years as a televangelist to use, time to persuade Alastor he wants to join.
He knows a lot about the other, he knows his favourite foods, favourite sinners to hunt. He pays attention, sees how Alastor takes his tea each morning, sees the old scars and things the demon would never admit out loud. Yes, he knows Alastor. He wants him, needs him for this to work, needs them to be great.
Now just to pitch his idea, their business partnership.
“I love you.”
“I beg your pardon?”
That was not what he meant to say. What? Hold on a minute, no Vox doesn't even like guys.
“Nononono wait, I meant-”
Alastor's eyes have flickered black, and Vox winces in preparation of the radio dials that will signal his imminent demise.
“Alastor! That wasn't what I meant to say, I didn't, I don't…”
“Then what, my good friend, did you mean to say?”
The air thrums with static, and Vox can't help but match it, sinking into the signals. The frequencies scream danger, to run, to hide. Vox has never been good at listening, fuck he loves Alastor's danger.
That word again, what is wrong with him? He likes girls, he married a few, might have killed one but he did love her. Besides, Alastor already knows he was a cult leader, no coverups necessary in hell, he can be who he really is here. Except he's not a homo, he doesn't like men, does he?
“I want you to join my team.”
Wait, isn't that a euphemism for homosexuality as well? Keeping up with modern slang is difficult at times, perhaps he can ask Valentino, maybe next time he sucks his dick. For business of course.
“Why would I want that.”
Alastor's tone is dark, flat, nearly offended .
“Because working together we can achieve so much more. Your show is incredible Alastor, imagine what we could do if we pooled our resources. A joint act, if you will.”
Alastor laughs, loud and mocking. Something twinges deep inside Vox, and he narrows his eyes.
“I'm being serious, this is a good offer. Come on, don't you want a front row seat to the show?”
“And why would I need that?”
“You're a broadcaster! Don't you see the potential here? The audience loves a collaboration, Alastor.”
He stands, walking over to Vox with a cruel glint in his eye.
“But I, however, do not. Oh Vox, you're such a pitiful creature.”
“Hey!”
“Even if I decided to work with someone, why would I choose you.”
Vox blinks, once, twice, before red hot rage fills his vision.
“Fuck you! What the fuck do you mean by that?”
“You're a particularly amusing pet, a flight of fancy. Unfortunately, it seems you've gotten the wrong idea.”
The wrong idea? About what, about Alastor? Hell no, he knows this asshole better than anyone.
“Who else can feel things like we do, who else can understand?”
He sends out a burst of signal, making the lights flicker and burst. He knows Alastor receives it, can see his ears twitching at the sudden shrieking of needwantpleasehurts Alastor .
“Do turn down that dreadful racket, it's beneath you.”
The signal is closed, forcefully, but not by Vox. Ice spreads in his chest, Alastor just shut him out.
“‘Join your team’ oh dear me Vox, you're not truly that presumptuous are you? We are worlds apart, I have no need to be dragged down.”
“Maybe being ‘dragged down’ wouldn't be so bad, I could make it worth it.”
Vox is hit with the sudden realisation he's not talking about business anymore, and his screen glitches, vision turning fuzzy as he waits for Alastor's response.
“Ha, no.”
The rage keeps building, each rejection digging deep into his core.
And then a burning heat, burning but ice cold, sharp and twisting in his guts. Alastor's grin suddenly right in front of him, hand holding the knife now buried in him.
“Alastor, please, I don't understand.”
“You wouldn't. Your proposed partnership doesn't interest me in the slightest.”
He doesn't know what he feels anymore. Betrayal? Anger? Grief? All of the above?
He reaches a hand up, grabbing onto Alastor's shoulder despite the way the demon tries to avoid his touch.
“Don't leave, please? Alastor, make me understand, I need to understand. Don't you want me?”
Alastor doesn't say anything, and his sharp grin is the final thing Vox sees before the lights go out.
Summoning a spark of blue electricity to light the space, Alastor is already gone.
Vox collapses, kneeling in the darkness of his unfinished tower.
Alastor turned him down, turned him down. It's unacceptable, and Vox can feel the fuses throughout the building blowing, screams as glass of broken CRTs falls on unlucky workers.
Alastor's gone. He's gone . How did he fuck it up this badly? Was it his feelings, his stupid tendencies towards men, the stupid way he gets attached?
No, fuck that, it's hell, he can do whatever the fuck he wants here. This is Alastor's fault, Alastor turned him down. Alastor spat out those cruel words that hit every insecurity, everything Alastor knows he hates.
For some reason, that makes him pause. The electric current subsides for a brief moment at the realisation.
Alastor deliberately hurt him, said everything that would make Vox never forgive him. Why?
Why is Alastor so desperate for Vox to hate him? His head hurts, but trying to understand Alastor's mind never ends well.
Whatever, he has better things to do than think about the smiling freak. He has an empire to build, a broadcast to run. He's going to make Alastor regret turning him down, he's going to destroy the radio demon.
And one day, when Alastor comes to him begging for mercy, Vox will spit on him and laugh.