Chapter Text
“And that’s how we’d rule heaven!” Vox said proudly. “Any questions?”
“Ok, but like, I don’t get it. Why do we even need to rule heaven?” Valentino drawled. “How would we, like, get up there?”
“Semantics, Val,” Vox grinned. “Let me tell you a story.” He started pacing. “Back on earth, when I was alive, I was the leader of a very influential group.”
“You mean the cult?” Valentino asked.
“ . . . You could call it a cult,” Vox said. “But I prefer the term movement.” He spun in his chair and leaned back, hands steepled. “I was the center of it all. I’d never felt closer to being a god. That feeling—I’d give anything to taste it again. And I’d love to share it . . . with both of you.” He gestured dramatically to Valentino and Velvette.
He banged a fist on the table. “We have the chance to be more than Overlords. We have the chance to be gods.”
Valentino and Velvette still look unconvinced, so Vox took a deep breath.
“Look, it's not what Heaven is, it's what it could be with us in charge! Once we get up there and take over, we could rule heaven together!” He grinned. “I bet our tower would look more powerful with pearlier gates.”
Velvette looked a little more convinced, but Valentino remained stoic.
“We're the biggest fish in Hell, so why not take over Heaven too? It's time for growth, let's rule 'em both! We can take total control! Think of all your dreams that could come true—”
“Even the wet ones?” Valentino interrupts with a smirk.
”Yeah, those too,” Vox’s grin widened.
“Imagine what it could mean for my label!” Velvette’s eyes shone.
“Yes,” Vox grins. “ A heavenly host that bows to none but us!”
“I can have hot new angel sluts,” Valentino added, leaning back, eyes gleaming.
“Tear off their wings and make ’em dresses!” Velvette shot back, smirking.
“And what’s best is—” Vox began, spreading his arms wide.
“That dumb princess showed us the way,” Velvette finished, glancing at Valentino.
“To make those haloed cabronas pay,” Valentino added, matching her grin.
Vox leaned forward, eyes glowing. “And once we’re gods, I cannot wait to say to everyone who doubted me: your doubting days are done. You’ll be cornered, trapped, tortured . . . then I’ll end you, just for fun!”
Velvette leaned closer. “So once we get up there, at the shining kingdom of God . . .”
“No more petty squabbles with the dead,” Vox said, pacing again. “As we stroll the golden promenade!”
Vox grinned. “What’s an overlord to a deity? They ain’t got a prayer!”
Velvette cackled. “It’ll be so nice in paradise!”
“With a splash of vice,” Valentino added, “they’ll pay the price!”
Vox threw his arms skyward. “We’ll rule the sky from up on high, once we get up there!”
He leaned back, smoothing his suit. “They’re fucked!”
—
The Vee’s got their chance just a few days later. Vox was sitting at his desk, swiping through and responding to various emails, when he saw one from his assistant labelled ‘URGENT’.
“Hmm?” He took a sip of tea, clicking on the forwarded email. “Umm . . . oh. Oh, no fucking way!”
A piercing grin split across Vox’s face.
He slid the email over to his left. “She—Velvette!“ He started laughing.
Velvette’s face lit up as she scanned the email. “You’re fucking joking! An invitation to the Hazbin Hotel?”
“Oh, Velvette,” Vox checked, smoothing his suit. “We just got our opening.”
Charlie Morningstar . . . you’ve just made a big mistake.
—
Alastor twirled his staff as he walked down the hall, checking on all the rooms. The Hazbin Hotel was quiet, at least for the moment. Doors line the corridor, each closed, each holding a demon looking for ‘redemption’.
He paused at one door, leaning slightly to listen—snoring.
Another door—muffled music.
Another—silence.
“Wonderful!” Alastor said to himself. “All residents accounted for and only moderately disruptive. Progress!”
In truth, he didn’t do much around the hotel, not really. But appearances were everything, and he found the act of “supervising” rather entertaining.
With a satisfied hum, he turned the corner and entered the lobby.
“Good morning, my good man!” Alastor announced brightly as he slid onto a barstool.
Behind the counter, Husk didn’t even look up from polishing a glass.
“What do you want, Alastor,” he muttered.
“Just a pleasant conversation, my dear bartender! Must every interaction with you be so hostile?”
Husk snorted. “You’re in Hell.”
Alastor rested his chin on his hand, smiling pleasantly. “Well yes, but one must maintain standards.”
Husk finally glanced at him, unimpressed. “What’re you actually doing up this early?”
“Why, making my rounds, of course.”
“You don’t have rounds.”
“I most certainly do!” Alastor protested. “Rooms checked, disturbances monitored, morale evaluated.”
“You walked down a hallway.”
“Precisely!”
Husk groaned and slid a glass across the counter. “Coffee.”
Alastor inspected it.
“How thoughtful!”
Before Husk could respond, a shriek tore through the hotel.“HE WAS REDEEMED?!”
Both of them froze. Charlie's shrill voice was unmistakable.
“HE WENT TO HEAVEN! HE ACTUALLY WENT TO HEAVEN!”
A door slammed somewhere upstairs. Running footsteps followed.
Alastor blinked once.
Husk slowly looked up toward the ceiling.
“ . . . well,” the bartender muttered. “There goes the quiet.”
Alastor took a delicate sip of coffee, unfazed. “How fascinating.”
“You’re not gonna check on that?”
“My dear Husker,” Alastor said calmly, “When the princess discovers something exciting, it’s best to give her space to . . . express herself.”
Another crash sounded upstairs.
“THIS CHANGES EVERYTHING!”
Husk rubbed his temples. “Kid’s gonna blow a gasket.”
Alastor’s smile sharpened slightly. “Perhaps.” He tapped the bar with one clawed finger, thoughtful.
“Still . . . redemption confirmed.” He chuckled softly. “Now that is an intriguing development.”
Husk squinted at him. “You’re enjoying this.”
“Immensely!”
More shouting erupted upstairs—Angel yelling something, Vaggie shouting back, Niffty laughing somewhere in the chaos. The hotel had officially woken up.
Alastor leaned back in his chair, savoring the noise like background music. “Ah, the sound of progress.”
Charlie ran downstairs with a huge smile on her face. “Alastor! Husk! You’ll never guess what just happened!”
“Dear, I could hear you shouting from a mile away,” Alastor said.
“Ok, ok, but listen to this!” She squealed. “Pentious was redeemed! The hotel works!”
“ . . . oh,” Alastor blinked. “And how do you know this?”
“So Emily came down from Heaven and said that Pentious is there!” Charlie grinned. “Isn’t this great? We can clear the hotel’s name!”
“Ah,” Alastor said. “And how exactly are you going to do that?”
Charlie’s grin grew wider. “Well, I called Voxtech for an exclusive interview!”
Alastor stared at her.
“ . . . You called Voxtech,” he said slowly. “For an interview.”
“I said it was a bad idea,” Vaggie called from behind her.
“It is,” Alastor said, voice low. “Do you really think Vox has our best interests at heart?”
“Don’t worry,” Charlie waved. “He can’t deny the truth, can he?”
“But—” Alastor paused. “Do you even have any proof?”
“Well, no, but—” A faint knocking on the door interrupted Charlie. “Oh, he’s here!” She ran and opened the door.
Ah. Vox.
He looked different. More put-together than Alastor had ever seen him, although that might have been because of Velvette.
Vox scanned the room. He was looking for something. Or someone . . .
With a snap of his fingers, Alastor melted into the shadows before Vox’s gaze landed on him. He re-appeared in his radio tower, overlooking the hotel.
He glanced out the window—he could see Charlie, Vox, Velvette, and Angel Dust walking towards the courtyard. Vox grinned, sharp and cocky, and he felt a bit of old familiarity rise in him.
Alastor’s gaze sharpened.
I don’t know what you’re planning, Vincent, but I won’t let you ruin this hotel.