Chapter Text
Alastor felt reinvigorated, like nothing he had felt since he even came to Hell in the first place. For the first time in his damnation, he was off of a chain. He was free. The smile he held was now natural and chipper, if not a little on the hypomanic side. His vermillion eyes creased with their own smiles as he strolled in the lobby, his custom mug in hand that said "Radio Never Died". He hummed a light diddy and sat on the couch, summoning the Chronicles of the Damned newspaper out of thin air from the dark shadows of the void.
The hotel was becoming more and more packed with sinners with their wants of redemption and a better life in heaven. Alastor thought it was all hysterics and was rather bored of the reaction already. Of course, these sinner's path to redemption meant nothing. In the end, they were only trying to save their sorry hides from living a life of debased punishment. With heaven being on their side, now, where was any of the real threat anymore? Alastor couldn't have cared less about it.
There were a couple of sleepy patrons that were at the bar or around the TV. He took a seat on the edge of the C-shaped couch and sipped at the essence of a soul slave of his that he whipped out this morning, literally. He was quite excited for the first time in a long time. Today was going to mark his debut back on the air. With that ego maniac, Vox, out of the way and that pest, Valentino, to try and pick up whatever broken, pathetic pieces of the business were, Alastor was due for a broadcast to make his name well known like it was so long ago.
The morning was quiet and peaceful. His smile perked up around his mug in acknowledgment of Charlie and Vaggie that strolled in with their casual clothes on. There were some sinners that greeted the Princess and talked with Vaggie, but Alastor tuned it out. He was day dreaming about reawakening the entrance of his eternal void, digging up long, lost souls of previous overlords who would probably screech out in horror to realize what fate awaits them after almost 8 years.
Vaggie had picked up the remote to turn on the television, which Alastor would normally not pay a lick of attention to - that was until he heard something that made him look up.
“BREAKING NEWS! There has been word of a sighting of a certain TV demon, previous overlord, standing on the edge of the Vee’s tower! We are getting updates saying that it looks like he is about to jump!”
“Holy shit!” came Angel Dust’s voice with a laugh of disbelief. He came to the setting with short pajamas on and messy bed head. “No fucking way. You think he’ll actually do it?!”
Alastor shifted his eyes away from the TV towards the spider demon, raising a brow of curiosity to his reaction. Did Angel Dust sound almost excited about this upcoming news? Why was the news outlet even broadcasting such an assumption over Vox? All he was doing was standing on the edge of his tower. It was his tower, after all. Was this all just a publicity stunt to get his face back on the channels?
“Ugh, I don’t want to hear about this. Any attention we give him is bad,” Vaggie said while crossing her arms.
Some of the patrons were gathering around the television, gawking at it and murmuring. Alastor caught some whisperings of how serious or how much of a joke this was. There were some that were saying “it is about time” or “serves him right”. Alastor couldn’t help but let his paper down slightly, his interest suddenly piqued.
The camera on Vox had zoomed in, showing the features of his sad, downcast face as he looked towards the ground from the edge. Alastor hummed curiously, his smile growing tight.
“Just change the channel,” Charlie sighed. “I don’t want to hear about this, either.”
Vaggie took a hold of the remote but Alastor held his hand up towards her to stop her.
“No, dear, let it play. I’m wondering how this will play out,” he said, eyes never leaving the TV. For the first time in decades, he actually was looking at the set longer than two seconds and invested in the story.
Though he was interested, he didn’t understand why. Part of him felt like he should have been excited to hear this information, but he couldn’t bring himself to such depravity. Vox was…something to him, whether enemy or obstacle, but he couldn’t fathom taking pleasure in such an event as Vox ending his own life. He did want to see what would happen, however, wondering if Vox would actually consider jumping. Knowing that Vox would die for that moment but just regenerate after some time from healing put his buzzing mind at ease, though he couldn’t pinpoint why it mattered.
After a second, however, Vox held out his arm, drawing up a glimmering, golden blade. The camera zoomed in.
Alastor’s eyes dilated and his teeth were tightly grit. He slammed his mug on the end table, causing a small, bloody mess. His paper vanished back into the black ether.
“THIS JUST IN! It appears that Vox seems to have an angelic weapon in his hands! We aren’t determined if this considers him to be armed and dangerous or just plain stupid! It does seem that whatever his goals are, however, he intends for them to be permanent.”
“Woah!” Vaggie exclaimed. Charlie shielded her eyes, although Alastor took note that he seemed to be peeking through her fingers. The other patrons began to gasp and jabber amongst themselves excitedly, unsure of what was about to happen. Angel Dust was texting furiously. Husk came by from the bar to see what the fuss was all about. Slightly shaking, Alastor turned back towards the TV where the cameras began to zoom in on the sad, blue demon.
Is anyone going to stop him?!
No one moved. They all continued to talk amongst themselves as if they were chatting at a party or a dinner table. Alastor tried to hide the concern in his eyes as they shifted around to gauge the action or reaction of the room until they landed back on the TV once again.
A feedback whine was piercing his ears as he saw Vox aim the knife at himself, furthering himself towards the edge.
Fuck.
Alastor quickly dissolved into the shadows to teleport to the top of the tower where Vox stood.
Vox felt his wiring fraying. The sparks caused his arm to stutter slightly as he held the knife towards his chest. The repair of his body had been shoddy at best due to no one taking true care about attaching his body back onto his head. The bare minimum was done, only performing what the money required. No one cared to make sure everything was connected correctly.
He didn’t quite know if that was the reason why he was feeling like this, but he didn’t care. All he knew was that his world had completely fallen apart. He was the laughing stock of Hell - a disgrace to all demons. Not a shred of fear or respect was left for him after what happened with the weapon.
The Vees had kicked him out and Valentino was now over the company. There wasn’t a soul in Hell that didn’t look down on Vox or cared about him in the slightest, which was made apparent when he received the notice that he was being evicted from his own tower with Valentino getting all of the rights to it as well as Vox’s assets. The only thing Vox had were the souls he claimed, but even that didn’t bring him any value.
Vox was stripped down to nothing as far as worth. He was worthless. The embarrassment and shame of it all drove him to this point. Obtaining the angelic blade was easy with bribing one of Carmilla’s lackeys with the little amount of money he had left. The only thing of worth left on him.
He noticed the drones of the media hovering by with focused cameras. Even then, he didn’t care. He figured at least the last thing he could give was a good amount of entertainment to the industry one last time. A final farewell.
He closed his eyes, raising the knife to plunge.
Suddenly, there was a hand that jerked his arm down, squeezing it tight enough to make him drop the blade. He grunted in pain before he was snatched around, causing his already hurting head to spin and throw his balance off.
“What the fuck?” he murmured, too dazed from the sudden shift of action to show any real aggressive emotion.
“ What do you mean ‘what the fuck’?” asked a familiar voice. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!”
Vox focused his eyes that began to grow wet as he registered Alastor’s yelling. He looked at Alastor with big eyes for just a moment before quickly correcting his expression to that of rage. He gritted his teeth and quickly threw Alastor’s hand off of him.
“Fuck off, dick,” he said with a low, serious tone. “What, you actually paid attention to the news this time? What do you fucking care?” Vox asked, bending back down to reach for the blade. “Stay and watch if you want, but pretending to give a shit isn’t going to stop me.”
Alastor looked at Vox furiously and quickly thrusted a shadow tendril to knock the blade away from Vox towards him. The blade skated towards his foot, and another tendril came out to gather it up and place it in Alastor’s hand before Vox could react.
Vox looked at Alastor with a roiling rage, although his eyes showed how exhausted he was. Alastor could tell it had probably been a long while since he had some sleep. There were times his screen flickered along with sparks of electricity from the exposed wiring in his neck. Vox's t-shirt hung loosely on him, as if he had lost a fair amount of weight. It blew in the wind along with the length of his sweat pants.
You look fragile…
“God, you’re the fucking worse. Why are you stopping me? You made it very clear how pathetic I am and how much I don’t matter, so what the fuck?” the TV demon asked, gripping the air out of frustration.
“You’re right. I don’t care,” Alastor tsked, darting his eyes over towards the blade. “But this is something I didn’t expect out of you. What you did to Hell was actually impressive. You should be proud. So it makes me curious as to why you’re doing this.”
Vox gave a flat, sarcastic laugh.
“Give me the knife, Al, and go away,” Vox said, extending his hand to retrieve the weapon. “Just forget about me. Everyone else already has.”
“You’re certainly not asking for much,” Alastor replied, sneering. He held the knife even further from the other demon. “I already had forgotten until the damn television came on.”
Vox pursed his mouth into a thin line, lowering his eyes dangerously at Alastor. The deer could see tears cresting before a drop fell down the screen. Vox said nothing but didn’t back down and continued to wait patiently for the blade. Alastor glared back, lidding his eyes to ask Vox if he was serious. It was obvious that he was. There was nothing in the frequencies to say otherwise.
In fact, Alastor could only hear the shrill blare of feedback and nothing else. He gave an unsettled giggle with his wide smile, though his brows were furrowed as if he were worried.
“Oh, dear, you really are upset, aren’t you?” he asked, tilting his head in a flippant manner.
“I’m not asking again,” Vox replied.
“Vox, you must realize you have made a statement! A powerful one, at that! Sure, it was pathetic, but what a bombastic blaze of shame it was! Certainly there’s something to continue from that, isn’t there?” Alastor continued, taking the knife and placing the tip of his finger on the edge. “Why, you don’t even know what lies on the other other side. Why risk it all? I hear it’s only a vast, endless fire that is dark and lonely. Painful.”
“Sounds great. There is nothing to risk,” Vox stated simply. “I’m done with this life. I’m nothing and my existence is a waste.”
“Now, that isn’t true!” Alastor said in a singsong voice, though there was an edge to his tone to indicate sincerity. “I am positive you could be useful for something after all!”
“I don’t want to hear it. Give me the knife now, please,” the TV insisted, moving his hand to emphasize where to place the blade. “Go back to your stupid hotel.”
Alastor’s smile was forced as if to hide an enraged snarl and he narrowed his eyes towards Vox. Something inside him cracked from the display of hopelessness.
“You’re an idiot,” he muttered, losing control of his mouth for just a second from growing anger.
“Nice. I no longer care, unlike you, apparently,” Vox hissed.
“I don’t care,” Alastor fumed, gripping the knife tightly. “But I know you’re not serious about this. You’d rather die by my hand, after all.”
“Sure, whatever. Go ahead and kill me, then,” Vox rolled his eyes. He extended his arms out in a cross position to expose his chest fully, looking at Alastor as if he were bored. Alastor gave a short screech of static in surprise, eyes going wide.
“That’s not what I – you little – I meant in battle!”
“You’re stalling. Are you going to kill me or what? If not, stop wasting my worthless time and give me the knife back,” Vox sighed, as if inconvenienced by it all.
Alastor snarled as he flared his ears, trying to focus his frequency against Vox's to search for any sign of coherent thought to say this was all for show for the cameras or that this was all just a stunt to get his attention.
Dammit, you have my attention, you wretched picture box!
There was no electromagnetic reply coming from Vox.
Alastor could feel anxiety rising in his chest, a rare feeling he hated. He still kept his smile and straightened himself up as if to take a step back from the situation. He hummed and gave the knife a playful spin.
“Tell you what. You can be of some use after all, like I said. You want me to kill you? How about I do it slowly? So slowly, in fact, that you will beg me for more,” Alastor asked with a soft, alluring voice. Vox raised a brow, but his eyes were still flat. Alastor took it as a cue to continue his proposition. “I think I could find some use for you as far as my entertainment for both myself and for everyone else around us here in Hell. Since you’re so sure that your existence is worthless and deserving of death, I’ll spare you the death and just give you what you want. Eternal torture. It would happen anyway if you took your own life.”
Vox took a second to think about this before pinching his brows together.
“You’re wanting my soul for your radio shit?” he asked, crossing his arms. He gave Alastor a glare to show that he was both offended and becoming impatient. “I’m wanting to get away from all of this, not be broadcast live on air for everyone to hear and get off to.”
Alastor growled softly, also becoming short of patience. He didn’t even know where he was going with this idea. It just came out of nowhere, it seemed. He didn’t have a clue or understanding as to why he was doing this, but he felt deep within his soul that he could not let Vox take his own life.
Never.
“Fine. I get your soul, you’ll get what you desire, which is to be eternally tortured to the extent that I see fit and pleasing, and in return you won’t be subject to my means of entertaining the public,” Alastor huffed shortly. “Happy?”
“No,” Vox answered, eyes turning down. Another shed of a tear fell from his eyes. “You do care, liar. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be offering a way out for me. You wouldn’t be calling me useful for something.”
Alastor grunted, growing enraged before beginning to shout.
“Damn it! if I cared, I wouldn’t be offering! I get to torment you and get your soul, which includes all of the souls you possess! What do you get besides the brunt of my brutality?!”
Vox pursed his lips and didn’t answer. He continued to look down at the floor.
There was nothing in the frequencies. This made Alastor livid. He held out the hand that didn’t have the knife with a static growl. He was fed up with the exchange, and he was pissed that Vox seemed to have given up.
“Do we have a deal?” Alastor asked, failing to get his voice upright once again to maintain any remnant of charm.
Vox looked at him, his eyes bleak.
“I guess I could be happy knowing that there is some purpose to me,” he mumbled. His arms fell to his side as he drew his gaze towards the hand extended toward him. He sighed, slowly taking his hand to clutch against Alastor’s to confirm the shake.
Alastor shook his head with eyes furrowed in such concern despite his manic smile from the transfer of energy. He couldn’t believe how easy that was. The TV truly had gone off the deep end. Alastor felt a painful throb in his chest, gripping Vox’s hand tightly. He looked at the TV demon, perplexed.
"What is wrong with you, dear? Damn it, speak to me!"
A green light exploded from around them, taking down any of the drones that were certainly capturing the entire thing until that happened. Vox shut his eyes from how bright it was and tried to shield his screen with his left arm until he felt something heavy clinging around his wrist. He looked at it with pinprick pupils, realizing it was a glowing green shackle with a chain wrapped around Alastor’s arm that held the knife.
“I can’t believe you,” Alastor seethed, shaking his head slowly. A green aura from rising energy and power was coming over his person, revealing glowing sutures around his mouth and green in his eyes. Though he was smiling, it was messy to hide the awe at the sheer audacity of the TV demon. His eyes were big from disbelief and even seemed to glimmer from something that wasn’t just the transfer of spirit.
"You are so much more."
He snatched the chain, making Vox grunt as his left arm was extended, hand obediently splaying opened. Alastor took a sharp claw and swiftly left a deep scratch across the pad of Vox’s finger underneath his talon. Vox gave a sharp yelp from the sudden pain. Blood immediately beaded up to the point of spilling over his hand. Alastor then snapped his fingers to create a contract from the shadows that materialized from neon green fire. As there was an invisible force coming over Vox, his arm unconsciously scribbled his signature, though it wasn’t a signature he used since he was alive.
In lovely bloody cursive over the dotted line was Vincent Whitman.
Alastor couldn’t help the blood drooling from his mouth as he licked at his teeth, which normally occurred over a soul retrieval. He was still gob smacked at it all, however, and pondered over what the hell he was to do with this. His eyes glided over the signature to confirm its validity before dissolving the contract back into the void with another spark of green flame.
He looked at Vox before manifesting another shackle to grip his right arm before the two chains around his arms fused together like long handcuffs. Vox couldn’t even react on his own without the manipulation of the binding. There were sniffles and whimpers coming from the TV demon, a sound Alastor normally found delicious. Well, while it was still enticing, there was a bittersweetness to this taste that made his tongue tingle. Finally, he summoned his final chain to be eternally bound to Vox - the collar around his neck. Etched in fine lettering in the metal was Claim of Alastor. When the chain stretched from the collar to Alastor’s hands, he pulled it to force Vox onto his knees.
Vox yelped as he landed hard on his knees, scuffing up the pants and drawing blood from the scratch of skin. He felt pain unlike what he felt in a long time since being in Hell. His normally tough exterior was now gone. The power he harvested from the souls that were bound to him were completely gone and transferred to his new owner. He was weak and dizzy, feeling as if the world were shifting around him until a cold, new reality hit. Everything seemed to be much dimmer than what it was. His head was heavy like a huge weight on his shoulders. There seemed to be a lack of color, but he couldn’t tell why. His eyes were wide, shimmering from everything happening. Static was coming into his vision. His antennae seemed to be picking up audible signals and interferences that made his head spin.
“I guess I can’t forget you now,” Alastor hummed with a small tsk. The ethereal light of power that made his eyes glow green died down until they were their usual red. He looked at Vox with pursed, angled lips.
“You…changed me,” Vox said softly, but gasped when he heard the shift in his voice. His voice was the same but the sound was reverberating through an older model of his - his very first model that he came to Hell with. He patted down his thick monitor in disbelief. “You – you downgraded me…”
“You’re vintage and classic, dear Vincent. You have forgotten who you were, but I never did. I think going back to your roots would serve you well,” Alastor answered, smirking. “Pride cometh before the fall. How is this for the beginning of your torture?”
Vox’s screen warbled with static with a flicker of the SMPTE color bars as he felt his heart beginning to race. Tears were running down his screen until they fell off of the edges. He sniffled, gripping his hands tight before putting his face into them to give out a strong sob. Alastor sighed, eyes exhausted and ears flat.
“Let me show you to your new home, then. I think a drink is in order before our little session.”