Delightfully Dark

Alastor walks around the empty carcass of their old shared studio.

It's been such a long time since he'd last been here. Familiar memories of the past he'd forgotten echo all around him in the silent void. A twinge of remorse constricts his chest as he recalls the late nights spent here—spent with Vox. It was a time he'd buried deep in the recesses of his mind, a chapter of his life he'd ended and never truly intended to look back on. Though it was impossible not to in the vast hollowness of this space, in this tomb of his and Vox's relationship.

His ears twitch with the faded memories of laughter. If he looked hard enough he could see the couch and chairs where many nights had been spent talking the hours away, the table that'd grown water rings in the specific spots they'd both put their drinks in. It fills him with a bitter nostalgia, something which grew tainted and corrupted with the deterioration of their relationship.

Alastor was never the sentimental type, but being in this space after so long, it's difficult to not mourn what could have been. In another life if Vox could've accepted no for an answer, if he had understood why Alastor denied him. He never meant to hurt him, he simply couldn't be something he wasn't.

His old desk has been pushed up against the broadcasting equipment, forgotten scripts strewn across the floor beneath it. The dust on the surface has been disturbed, a thinner layer settled between the older thicker ones—signs this space had been used more recently. It wasn't the only sign, there were a few stray body parts littering the floor—a stray eyeball, a tongue, two hands that seemed to have been decomposing for awhile now, and several bloodstains scattered across the space. He wonders what extracurriculars took place here. Who would be so careless as to leave such a mess behind?

The building's front door creaks open. Alastor stands to attention folding his hands behind his back, waiting—anticipating.

No matter what happens next, one way or another, he knows it all ends here.

Vox's eyes find his as soon as he enters the room, his footsteps slowing to a halt.

Alastor's smile remains unwavering. "I was beginning to think you wouldn't show."

Vox grits his teeth, already feeling on edge. "It's a bit hard to ignore a summons when it's sent to you with your partner's severed head in a box."

Alastor levels him with a look of seriousness. "Come now Vox, we both know I gave him exactly what he deserved after what you allowed him to do to her."

"Is that why I'm here? You plan to put me in your broadcast along side him?"

"Why of course not, do you really think so ill of me? I merely wanted to have a conversation."

Vox scoffs, his eyes rolling. "Yeah right, it's never just a conversation with you."

"Considering our past, I figured we both owed it to each other. Despite what you might believe, I don't want to hurt you."

Vox throws back his head and begins to laugh like it's the most absurd thing he's ever heard. Mania dances in his eyes as he refocuses them on Alastor. "Bullshit! Everything you've done since that day has been to hurt me. The only reason you went after Bea was to hurt me!"

A heavy sigh. "I can admit in the beginning I used Bea as a means to get under your skin, but I can assure you the time we've spent together the last few months had absolutely nothing to do with you."

Vox throws up his hands in exasperation. "Oh fuck off! You can't convince me it wasn't anything more than a ploy to steal her away from me." He starts to pace, his body unable to stay still.

"Did you ever stop to consider I care about her?" He tilts his head.

Static begins to distort Vox's laughter. "No, of course not! Because when has the Radio Demon ever cared about anyone?"

"I cared about you once." Alastor says calmly—evenly.

It only serves to further enrage Vox.

"You only care about what people can offer you, you've never cared about them!"

"For someone so smart, you really can be so incredibly dim, can't you? Once upon a time I held you in quite high regards, respected you even, but you were always so clouded in your own emotions and false realities to see the truth."

"What truth?! All you ever did was make me feel less, make me feel inferior. And then when I dared to share my feelings with you, you went and stomped all over them. And you know what? It hurt when you told me you didn't love me, that you couldn't, but nothing will compare to the pain I felt when I saw you fall in love with her."

For a moment Vox is consumed by a evident heaviness, a forlorn sigh falling from his lips. "The worst part is, I'm still in love with a version of you that no longer exists."

"It never existed!" Alastor points his finger at Vox, his eyes narrowing. "It was a fantasy you crafted in your mind! You treat people like they're the versions you create of them, but they're not! They're their own people, not your delusions."

Vox's demeanor quickly hardens once more, something akin to a snarl ripping through his throat. "What's the point of all this? You call me here just to cause more pain, to rip open these old wounds?! You killed Valentino! Wasn't that enough?"

"Oh please don't act like you're actually mourning him! Besides, Valentino's death had nothing to do with you and everything to do with what a vile evil creature he was. Every last second of his torture was well deserved. In the end ripping his soul apart for my broadcast was a kindness."

"Nothing you do is a kindness! Do you even know what that word means?"

Alastor shakes his head with a dissapointed sigh. "I've come to make a request, to make you finally see reason. If you keep Bea, you're only going to continue to hurt her. Please if you love her—if you truly care about her at all, you need to dissolve your deal and let her go. There aren't many people in Hell who do, but she is one of the few that deserves peace."

Something about his words only seem to stoke Vox's ire. How dare he talk like he knew anything about this? Like he knew anything about you. His hands clench so tightly his claws threaten to pierce the flesh of his palms. His teeth grind against one another so hard it's audible. His eye begins to swirl as the lights around them begin to flicker.

Alastor wanted him to let you go, to give you up—he wanted to take the last good thing Vox has ever had and rid him of it.

He couldn't let that happen—he won't.

"Oh Alastor…" Vox chuckles before his tone drops to something more serious. "You could beg on your hands and knees and I still wouldn't give her up. You can't trick me into letting her go, you will never have her."

Vox snaps his fingers conjuring a contract out of the air. He grabs it before storming closer to Alastor and shoving the paper into his view. It's a document similar to several Alastor himself has, only carrying a few differences here and there. The name signed on the bottom isn't one he's familiar with but he knows it's yours. The name you had before you'd fallen into Hell.

"Do you see this? This says I own her! She sold her soul to me, not you. She knew very well what she was doing when she signed this contract. And so long as I am still breathing, she will belong to me. I will do whatever I want to her and you can't stop me because she's mine. I own her—mind, body, and soul."

Vox's words confirm what Alastor knew this whole time, but just this once he truly wished to be wrong. He wanted to give him a chance, to change—to see reason—but it was clear, Vox was beyond that and he always would be.

Alastor hangs his head. "Then you leave me no choice. I'm sorry Vox."

Being so caught up in his emotions and turmoil, Vox doesn't process the tentacle shooting from behind Alastor's back. It hits him so quickly and with such force it sends him flying into the opposite wall, the brick fracturing under his impact. There's barely a beat before cables emerge from Vox propelling him out of the debris.

"Why couldn't you just let me be happy?!" Vox's cords lash out towards Alastor.

Alastor dissipates before it can make contact, quickly reappearing behind Vox. Vox turns but he's already being struck across the face by Alastor's magic.

Alastor's smile thins. "I think a better question is, why can't you let yourself be happy? You're always sp eager to pin the blame on everyone else but have you ever stopped to think it was your fault?"

Vox snarls, electricity sparking off of him in violent bursts. Vox lunges forward catching Alastor's face with his claws. Another tentacle strikes in retaliation forcibly colliding with Vox's chest causing him to stumble back. Blood drips steadily off of Alastor's face, the collar of his shirt starting to stain a deeper red. He lifts his fingers to the wound. It stings, sending small shocks across his skin but there's no time to pay it any mind.

Vox growls pressing a hand against the wall sending a current of electricity through to the ceiling. It trembles under the shock before dislodging a piece loose. There's no time to side step it, the crumbling ceiling coming down on top of Alastor's head. He crashes to the ground, a feedback whine screeching vehemently in the space.

Wasting no time Vox walks to Alastor, grabbing him by the lapels of his coat and flinging him as hard as possible into the opposite wall. Vox follows in a burst of energy, his hand engulfing Alastor's throat as soon as he appears before him.

His chest rises and falls with angered breaths, his body itching with an all consuming need to hurt Alastor—to cause as much pain and suffering as possible. He wanted him dead—no destroyed. He wanted to guarantee Alastor stayed down and never got back up again. He wanted to cause him to suffer everything he had and more—to return even an ounce of the suffering Alastor had put him through all these years. It's what he deserved.

"All this could have been avoided if you'd just stayed gone Alastor."

Alastor's throat constricts under Vox's hand. Only a hint of a smile remains on his face. He takes the time to look his old friend in the eyes. There's a subconscious need to look for any semblance—any trace—of the man he once knew and cared for. The air is charged, it feels as if the whole of Pentagram City holds its breath. When his searching comes up empty, he knows there's only one move left.

The wrath in Vox's expression dissolves into a look of shock and confusion when sharp pain laces through his abdomen. He releases his grasp on Alastor, stumbling back a few steps as his screen begins to glitch.

"W-what—?

It takes Vox a second to fully realize what's just happened. His brow furrows. He looks down at his abdomen where the blade Alastor plunged into him resides. Deep crimson pours out around the blade, the blue of his suit quickly turning to a dark navy. His hands clasp around the wound as the realization fully hits.

He'd been stabbed by angelic steel.

Vox looks at Alastor and the gravity of it all fully hits him.

He was going to die.

He opens his mouth to speak but he coughs instead, a spurt of blood splattering out around his lips. His legs feel unstable, the room around him starting to distort around the edges. Tears form in his eyes before spilling down the front of his screen. An ache opens up inside his chest worse than any he'd ever felt before.

"I—" Another spurt of blood, his steps becoming unsteady. "I don't understand, was I really so impossible to love?"

Alastor softens. He strides forward catching Vox in his arms before he can collapse to the ground. There's an uncharacteristic delicacy in which Alastor cradles him. Vox takes a breath. It rattles painfully inside his chest.

Carefully Alastor lowers the two of them to the ground, taking extra care to not hurt Vox further. Vox keeps his gaze on Alastor's face, his brows furrowing with distress and the ever growing pain consuming his torso. He's greeted to a sight he never thought he'd see—something he wasn't even entirely sure was possible.

Alastor wasn't smiling. Not even the hint of an upturn in his lips remain.

"Don't you understand?" Alastor says, his thumb carefully tracing the side of Vox's screen. "I did love you, but it was never enough—it never would have been enough. You asked me for a type of love I could never give you and you never would have been satisfied with what I could."

Vox's eyes squeeze tight. He takes a moment to savor the feeling of Alastor's touch on his skin. What cruel fate it was for him to finally get what he wanted, only at his end. His heart aches when he realizes the truth of Alastor's words. He was telling the truth and one thing is made clear to him.

It was Vox's fault.

All of it.

He opens his eyes and he's met with the one person he'd truly ever loved. It would be so much easier if Alastor wasn't holding him so tenderly, if he was looking at him with hate instead of this. A broken sob leaves him. The pain starts to fade into a numb emptiness and he swears he can feel his soul starting to deteriorate inside his body. His hands reach for Alastor's in a desperate attempt to cling onto this moment just a little longer.

At least he got to die in the arms of the person he loved.

He struggles to to keep his grip on Alastor's hands, his body growing weaker with each passing second. His vision starts to dim and he can feel his body giving up. With what strength he has left, he clings on long enough to say the last thing in his mind.

"Tell her I'm sorry. Please…"

Vox's screen fades to black. His body goes limp. Alastor is left with only silence, his reflection and the tears beginning to stream down his face.

With a shuddering breath Alastor presses a gentle kiss to the top of his screen.

"Goodbye, Vincent."

~

There's no need for words.

By the time Alastor comes for you, you already know.

Vox is dead.

~