Devil Daddy

He barely acknowledged her arrival.

Vox sat behind his desk, reviewing a mountain of financial reports projected across several holographic screens. Contracts floated beside quarterly earnings, all of them changing at dizzying speeds as he signed approvals with practiced efficiency. The only indication he'd noticed Katie entering was the lazy flick of one eye in her direction.

She cleared her throat. "Boss."

"Hm?"

Katie placed her tablet on the desk and turned it toward him. "You've... got a bit of a public relations issue."

Vox spared the screen a single glance.

"So, boss," Katie continued confidently, already pulling up several windows containing deletion requests. "I'll get our cyber division on it immediately."

She smiled. "I can have every photograph, article, and discussion thread scrubbed from the internet before the end of the day."

"No. Leave them."

For a moment, she genuinely wondered if she'd heard him correctly.

"...I-It's no trouble," she said quickly. "Our technicians can wipe every copy. Half the internet runs through VoxTek servers anyway." She gave an assuring nod.

Finally, Vox stopped typing. His fingers rested against the edge of his desk as he slowly lifted his gaze toward her. "Did you not hear me? Let. It. Be."

Katie immediately straightened. "...Of course, sir." This wasn't the response she'd expected. She cleared her throat carefully. "May I ask why, sir?"

For several seconds, Vox said nothing. He simply continued signing paperwork, as though the conversation had already ended.

Katie shifted awkwardly. "I mean... if people keep believing this, it'll become tomorrow's headline."

A faint smile tugged at the corner of Vox's screen. "Exactly."

Katie frowned.

He finally looked up. "All you need to know...is that it should be the headline."

*

The office settled into silence as the doors slid shut behind Katie. The constant hum of VoxTek's servers filled the room once more, accompanied only by the soft crackle of electricity dancing across the monitors lining the walls. 

A soft splash broke the silence.

Vox glanced toward the enormous aquarium built into the wall of his office just as Shok.wav lazily drifted closer to the glass. The shark's mechanical systems emitted a low electronic chirp, and almost immediately, a notification appeared in the corner of Vox's screen. Their neural link wasn't sophisticated enough for full conversations, but it allowed simple thoughts to pass between them.

Letters slowly materialized across his display.

I.want.Mommy.

Vox stared at the message for several seconds before another bubble appeared beneath it.

Bring.Mommy.Home.

A quiet laugh escaped him.

"You've gotten attached rather quickly," he murmured, watching as Shok.wav gave another enthusiastic bump against the glass. The shark's tail swished excitedly through the water, entirely unapologetic.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

Katie had assumed he wanted the photographs deleted. She couldn't have been more wrong.

Why would he erase something that brought the two of you closer together in the public eye? Why dismantle a narrative that practically wrote itself? People already believed the two of you belonged together. 

For weeks he'd been stumbling through unfamiliar emotions, uncertain of what exactly he wanted from you. That uncertainty was gone now. The realization settled in his chest with surprising certainty.

Vox chuckled under his breath as he rose from his chair, smoothing the front of his suit jacket.

If there was one thing Vox had never lacked, it was ambition. And if there was one thing he had never failed to do...It was getting exactly what he set his mind on.

By any means necessary.

The moment the doors of V Tower slid open, every conversation in the lobby died.

Your heels struck the polished marble floor with sharp, deliberate clicks, each step echoing through the cavernous entrance like a countdown. Your expression alone was enough to send employees scrambling out of your path. A few demons instinctively lowered their gazes, pretending to be deeply invested in their tablets, while others quietly slipped into side corridors before you could so much as glance in their direction. 

And judging by the murderous look on your face, they also knew better than to ask questions.

The elevator whisked you to the executive floor in tense silence. The receptionist barely managed to squeak out a nervous, "M-Mr. Vox is currently in a board meeting," before you strode straight past her without breaking your pace.

You didn't bother knocking. With one forceful shove, they flew inward, slamming against the walls with a deafening crash.

Every head in the room snapped toward you.

Around the impossibly long conference table sat the highest-ranking executives of VoxTek, each one frozen mid-presentation. At the far end, Vox slowly looked up from the report in front of him.

Chairs scraped hurriedly against the polished floor as every executive sprang into motion with almost comical urgency. Tablets vanished under arms, folders were snatched off the table, and expensive suits practically blurred toward the exit.

One poor intern nearly tripped over his own feet in his haste to escape. Another whispered a frantic apology despite having done absolutely nothing wrong. Within seconds, what had been a packed boardroom transformed into a stampede.

No one wanted to be present when two Overlords settled... whatever this was.

The silence inside the boardroom barely lasted a heartbeat before you stormed toward him, your footsteps sharp against the polished floor. Vox remained where he was at the head of the conference table, watching your approach with infuriating calm. Before he could utter another word, you slammed a crumpled newspaper down onto the table between you. The paper skidded across the polished surface, unfolding just enough for the obnoxious front-page headline to stare back at him.

Your eye twitched. "What the fuck is this, Vox?"

Vox merely glanced down at the paper before looking back up at you. To your growing disbelief, he didn't appear surprised in the slightest. Instead, he simply shrugged one shoulder with practiced indifference. "It happens."

A disbelieving laugh escaped your lips. "Oh, don't make me laugh."

You jabbed an accusing finger toward the newspaper. "You own half the media in Pentagram City. You have your claws in every news station, every social media site worth mentioning." Your voice rose with every sentence. "There is absolutely no way this escaped your notice."

Vox rose from his chair with effortless grace, as he walked past you toward the towering floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Pentagram City. His hands slipped casually into his pockets, his back now turned to you as he admired the skyline below.

"Contrary to popular belief," he said evenly, "I don't have the time to personally review every single news article that gets published."

"Fine." If he wasn't going to admit fault, then you'd simply fix the problem yourself.

"We'll get both our PR teams together." You nodded once, as though the matter had already been settled. "And this entire ridiculous mess will disappear by the end of the week."

*

The conference room had transformed into a battlefield of charts, reports, and rapidly changing statistics. Holographic screens floated above the polished table, displaying graphs that seemed determined to mock you. Your own public relations team occupied one side of the room, while VoxTek's PR department sat opposite them. 

You sat rigidly in your chair, fingers tapping impatiently against the armrest as yet another analyst clicked through a seemingly endless presentation. Beside you, Vox looked infuriatingly relaxed, one leg crossed over the other as he lazily watched the meeting unfold. Every now and then, you caught him glancing in your direction with an expression that made you increasingly suspicious.

"Absolutely not." The words left your mouth before the presenter had even finished his sentence. You had lost count of how many times you'd said those words.

One of your senior PR managers cleared his throat before adjusting his glasses. "Ma'am... if I may..."

"You may not."

"I'm going to anyway."

You shot him a look.

He immediately looked back down at the graphs in front of him. "As unfortunate as the situation is, it's too late. The story has reached critical saturation," the analyst explained. "Attempting to suppress it now would trigger what's commonly referred to as the Streisand Effect." 

Your horrified gaze slowly swept across both PR teams. "You're serious."

Every single person in the room nodded.

You looked utterly betrayed. "This is a disaster!"

Behind you, Vox quietly covered his mouth. Not because he was coughing, but because he was trying very hard not to smile. Fortunately for him, you were too busy staring at the presentation to notice the smug grin threatening to split his face in two.

One of your PR executives nervously cleared her throat. "Respectfully, ma'am, it's actually the opposite. The public loves this narrative – a real life rom-com." she explained. 

The others started to chime in.

"Public sentiment has increased by seventy-three percent for both companies."

"Collaborative merchandise sold out."

"Investor confidence is at an all-time high."

You slowly dragged both hands down your face. A long, exhausted sigh escaped your lips.

"Then what," you asked quietly, sounding every bit as defeated as you felt, "would you have me do?"

Both PR departments exchanged knowing looks. Then, almost perfectly in sync, they answered. "Nothing."

You blinked. "...Nothing?"

One of your managers offered an apologetic smile. “The smartest strategy here is to let it run its course.”

You remained seated with your arms folded tightly across your chest, refusing to acknowledge the absurdity that had somehow become your life. Across the table, Vox had been unusually quiet throughout the entire discussion. The subtle scrape of his chair against the polished floor drew every eye in the room toward him. 

With practiced elegance, he offered the room one of those impossibly charismatic smiles that had sold countless products and manipulated millions of viewers over the years. "If we're already discussing public perception," he began smoothly, his voice carrying effortless confidence, "I'd say we're thinking too small."

He paused just long enough to command everyone's attention before continuing. "Why don't we go one step further?" His smile widened. "Give the public exactly what they want. Attend public events together. Award ceremonies, product launches, charity galas... if they're convinced we're seeing each other anyway, we might as well profit from it."

Then, to your absolute horror, one of your own senior PR managers leaned forward with genuine enthusiasm lighting up his face. "I actually think that's an excellent initiative, Mr. Vox."

Your head snapped toward him so quickly you nearly heard your neck crack, "Whose side are you on?"

The poor man visibly shrank in his chair. "Y-yours, ma'am."

"It certainly doesn't sound like it."

Across the room, Vox's shoulders gave the faintest shake as he suppressed a laugh.

You immediately pointed at him. "And wipe that smug expression off your face."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh, please." You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt. "As if you could even pull this off." Folding your arms once more, you let out a dismissive snort. "You couldn't act romantic to save your life."

Vox's amused expression disappeared. Without saying another word, he stepped away from the head of the table. The employees instinctively fell silent as he approached you, sensing something changing in the air. By the time you realized he wasn't stopping, he was already standing directly in front of your chair.

You instinctively looked up.

He leaned down just enough for the dim glow of his screen to fill your vision. Your breath caught. There were only inches separating the two of you now. "Oh...I can."

His gaze never left yours. Then, in that same impossibly deep voice, he murmured, "Do you want to test me?"

Heat rushed to your face before you could stop it. Your heart gave one traitorous thud against your ribs.

When had his voice gotten that deep? There was no way this was natural. The bastard was doing it on purpose. He knew exactly what he was doing.

Determined not to give him the satisfaction, you quickly took a step backward, forcing a sliver of distance between the two of you. You folded your arms again in a poor attempt to recover your composure, silently willing the warmth in your cheeks to disappear.

By the time the meeting was finally adjourned, you had developed a splitting headache.

Your PR team had somehow managed to convince themselves that doing absolutely nothing was a groundbreaking strategy, while Vox's employees looked positively delighted by the prospect of Hell continuing to speculate about the two of you. You left the conference room, muttering under your breath about incompetent publicists and the collective idiocy of the media.

Vox, meanwhile, looked as though he'd just won an award.

The moment you stepped into the executive corridor, he effortlessly fell into stride beside you. His hands rested casually in his pockets as he began talking, his voice carrying with its usual effortless confidence.

He spoke about upcoming investor meetings, the expansion of your collaborative game, press appearances, and several new proposals his development teams had drafted overnight. Every topic flowed seamlessly into the next, barely giving you an opportunity to interrupt. It struck you, somewhat belatedly, that when Vox was genuinely excited about a project, he talked... a lot.

You responded where necessary, occasionally correcting one of his more outrageously profit-driven ideas. It was... strangely pleasant.

The realization irritated you. You quickly reminded yourself that this was still Vox.

"How are the reconstruction efforts in your district coming along?"

You glanced sideways at him. "You suddenly care about city planning?"

"I care because your district borders several of my commercial zones."

"You mean your profits." You rolled your eyes. "The repairs are ahead of schedule."

"I knew they'd be. You don't tolerate incompetence. Since you're already here," he said casually as the two of you stepped into another corridor, "you might as well sit in on another meeting."

You shot him a suspicious look. "Another meeting?"

"My partners."

You stopped walking. "Nope."

"Oh, come now." Vox continued strolling down the sleek hallway as though your refusal had never happened. "It's an exclusive meeting."

"I don't recall asking for an invitation."

"You didn't."

"Then why am I going?"

"Because I invited you."

You watched him for a moment, contemplating the possibility of turning around and leaving. It would certainly save you a headache.

...But then another thought quietly surfaced.

Vox was inviting you into an exclusive Vees meeting.

The Vees weren't merely business partners—they were one of Hell's most influential alliances. Whatever was discussed behind those closed doors was information most Overlords would kill to obtain.

And Vox was willingly bringing you inside.

Whether it was because he'd lowered his guard around you or because he genuinely trusted you enough to hear those conversations, you couldn't say. What you did know was that opportunities like this rarely presented themselves.

Information was power.

If Vox intended to hand you access to the inner workings of one of Hell's strongest factions, you would be a fool not to take it.

"Fine," you called after him, "Lead the way."

You let out an exasperated sigh before reluctantly falling into step beside him. Arguing any further would only encourage him, and unfortunately, he seemed to thrive on being insufferable.

Vox's screen brightened noticeably. "I knew you'd say yes."

"Oh, don't flatter yourself."

"I'm not." He shot you a sidelong grin. "I just know exactly how your brain works."

You rolled your eyes, but didn't bother denying it.

After all...You had every intention of listening to every word spoken inside that room. And if any of it could someday be used to strengthen your own empire...

Well. That would simply be good business.

The room buzzed with an almost manic energy, every member of the Vees feeding off one another's excitement. Vox stood at the center of it all like a conductor before an orchestra, his screen positively glowing as he basked in the success of his little performance. His speech—no, his entire theatrical song and dance about seizing Heaven—had somehow managed to convince the other two that the plan wasn't only possible, but inevitable. 

By the time Valentino and Velvette wandered off to excitedly discuss preparations amongst themselves, you felt exhausted. The silence they left behind was almost therapeutic. You remained seated at the conference table for a few moments longer, rubbing your temple as if trying to massage away the headache the meeting had gifted you. You barely registered Vox approaching until his shadow fell across the table.

He looked positively radiant.

His screen shone a brilliant electric blue, his posture practically humming with confidence as he stopped beside your chair. There was an unmistakable spring in his step when he spoke. "So, what do you think?"

You slowly lifted your gaze to meet his. A pleasant smile spread across your face. "I think I should go home."

For a second, Vox simply blinked. The smile on his screen faltered ever so slightly. "That's it?"

"Mhm." You turned on your heel and began making your way toward the exit, fully intending to leave V Tower behind for the day. You'd only taken a few steps before warm, clawed fingers gently wrapped around your wrist.

With a careful tug, Vox turned you back toward him. "I'll drive you home."

You looked down at the hand around your arm before meeting his gaze again. "I can get home perfectly well by myself, thank you."

He didn't let go. Instead, his brows furrowed ever so slightly. "You sound angry." He tilted his head. "...Why?"

His grip loosened, though he still hadn't released your wrist.

"I'm doing this for m..." He caught himself for the briefest of moments before correcting smoothly, "for us."

Something inside you snapped. You turned fully toward him now, your expression no longer patient. "You can fool every idiot in this city if you really put your mind to it."

Your eyes never left his. "But you can't fool me. I can smell your bullshit from miles away, Vox." 

*

It wasn't supposed to happen like this.

He had a plan. He always had a plan.

Ever since Vox had finally admitted to himself what he wanted, every move had been carefully considered. Public opinion was already on their side. Your companies were thriving together. The two of you worked well enough that even your arguments had become entertaining rather than destructive. So why...

Why were you looking at him like he was the villain?

He frowned to himself. Objectively speaking, he was offering you everything. And eventually...A place beside the ruler of Heaven.

Wasn't that what anyone would want? Once Heaven fell—and he had every intention of making sure it did—you would stand beside him at the very top. Every Overlord would answer to the two of you. The empire he envisioned had room for exactly one equal, and against every instinct he'd ever possessed, he'd found himself imagining that place occupied by you.

To Vox, it seemed obvious. Wasn't he offering everything a woman could possibly desire?

Yet none of it seemed to matter. You didn’t look impressed.

Your gaze hardened as you looked up at him, refusing to let the warmth of his touch distract you from the conversation. "You ask why?" you repeated, your voice low but unwavering. "Vox, you want to incite a war."

His fingers never left your wrist.

Instead of releasing you, he gave the gentlest tug, closing the distance between you until barely a step remained. There was no force behind it—only quiet insistence. "A war?" he echoed, his voice calm enough to contrast your rising frustration. "War already began the moment Heaven decided extermination was an annual event." His screen glowed a softer blue as he searched your face. "Tell me, is it wrong to defend yourself?"

The question lingered between you. Your lips parted, but no answer came. You found yourself hesitating.

Vox noticed immediately. A spark of satisfaction flickered across his screen.

There it is. He was getting through to you. He could practically see the gears turning inside your head, weighing your principles against reality. He'd found the crack.

He knew you better than you realized. You questioned everything, even your own convictions. Present you with enough logic and you'd stop to consider it, regardless of how strongly you felt moments before. If he pushed just a little more—

But then you looked away. You physically shook your head, as though clearing away thoughts you refused to entertain.

"No. You always do this. You find the one argument that's difficult to disagree with..." You sighed, frustration creeping into your voice. "and then you use it to justify everything else."

Very well. He'd simply change tactics. His expression softened, the sharp edge disappearing from his voice. "Then let's make a deal."

That made you pause.

"You like fairness." He smiled knowingly. "You also believe the majority usually reaches the correct conclusion."

Your lips pressed into a thin line. He could tell he'd struck another truth.

"You respect the opinions of your fellow Overlords," he continued. "So, if the other Overlords support my proposal, you'll stand with me."

Your expression remained unreadable. Finally, you exhaled through your nose. "Fine. It is acceptable."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

the next update will be on 3rd August!

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"Yes."

He leaned back against the table, folding his arms. "From what I've seen," he drawled, "you're remarkably terrible at taking care of yourself."

Your eyes narrowed immediately. "I don't see how that's your problem."

For just a moment, neither of you spoke. The tension settled comfortably between you, familiar as ever.

Finally, you stepped forward, reaching for the tray. "Give it here."

Vox didn't move.

"I said," you repeated, holding your hand out more insistently, "I'll do it."

Instead of handing over the supplies, he simply raised an eyebrow. "You'll do all of it?"

"Yes."

Without another word, Vox stepped closer. Before you could question what he was doing, his fingers pressed firmly, not cruelly, but deliberately, against one of the heavily bandaged wounds across your back.

Pain shot through you instantly.

A sharp yelp escaped your lips before you could stop it, and your entire body jerked forward on instinct. "The fuck, Vox!"

He withdrew his hand as calmly as though he'd merely proven the weather. "My point exactly."

You rounded on him, glaring hard enough to scorch holes through steel. "You're an asshole."

"So I've been told."

"You did that on purpose."

"I did." There wasn't the slightest hint of remorse in his voice.

Vox folded his arms once more, regarding you with infuriating patience. "Now, would you mind explaining how you intend to clean and re-bandage the injuries on your back?"

You opened your mouth. Nothing came out. Your expression soured almost immediately.

He was right. You hated that he was right.

The wounds across your front were manageable. Your arms weren't much of a problem either. But the deepest cuts—the ones stretching across your shoulder blades and lower back—you couldn't even reach properly without twisting in pain.

Vox watched the realization dawn on your face and, for once, chose not to gloat. Instead, he picked up a fresh roll of bandages and gave them a small shake.

You sat on the edge of the bed with your back turned toward Vox, arms folded tightly across your chest as though the position alone could preserve some shred of dignity. The room was quiet save for the distant muffled sounds of the Extermination outside and the occasional contented purr from Shok.wav, who had curled up nearby and seemed perfectly content to supervise.

You could hear Vox moving behind you, the soft clink of glass bottles against the tray and the rustle of fresh bandages. Neither of you spoke. Somehow, the silence felt heavier than any argument you'd ever had.

"You're going to have to take your shirt off," Vox said at last.

You carefully slipped the fabric from your shoulders, revealing the network of bandages wrapped around your torso. Some had already begun to stain a dull crimson where the deeper wounds had seeped through. You felt strangely exposed, painfully aware of every second that passed as Vox simply... looked.

Without a word, Vox moved closer. You felt the mattress dip slightly beneath his weight as he sat behind you, close enough that the warmth radiating from him brushed against your back. His fingers found the knot securing the first bandage, working with surprising care as he slowly unwound the fabric.

The last layer loosened, exposing the angry cuts beneath. Vox's expression hardened ever so slightly, though his hands never faltered. He reached for a clean cloth, soaking it in antiseptic before hesitating for the briefest moment. "This is going to sting."

"I gathered."

The cloth met your skin.

A sharp hiss escaped between your teeth as the antiseptic seeped into the deepest cuts. Your shoulders instinctively tensed, every muscle tightening against the burning sensation.

You found yourself watching him from the corner of your eye.

Carefully, Vox began winding the fresh bandages around your torso. Each pass drew him closer, his arm occasionally brushing against your side as he worked the fabric around your ribs. There wasn't enough space between you anymore. You could feel his breath near your shoulder, steady and warm, while his fingers lingered just a fraction longer than necessary each time they smoothed the bandages flat.

Your heartbeat betrayed you. It was ridiculous.

Vox tied the final knot and rested his hands lightly against your waist for just a second to check that the bandages were secure. Neither of you moved. You could feel him hesitate.

Slowly, almost unconsciously, you turned your head. He did the same.

The distance between your faces had shrunk to mere inches. His own eyes flickered downward in response, lingering on your mouth before quickly returning to your gaze.

His hand found the side of your face as though he'd been fighting the urge for far too long, fingers sliding carefully into your hair while taking every precaution not to disturb your healing wounds. The contrast between the sharp claws at the tips of his fingers and the careful way he held you made your breath hitch.

You crashed together.

The kiss was desperate, almost violent in its hunger. Vox groaned low against your mouth, the sound glitching into static as he pulled you harder against him. His screen flared bright cyan while his other hand gripped your waist, claws digging into your clothes like he was terrified you’d disappear.

“No… we can’t—” Vox gasped against your mouth, voice crackling with distortion, even as he chased your lips again, deeper, more desperate.

You pulled back just enough to breathe, your hands fisting the front of his coat. “Then stop,” you whispered, voice shaky.

Vox’s eyes snapped open, glowing intensely as he stared at you. For half a second he looked almost pained. “I can’t,” the words were wrecked and honest. “Fuck… I can’t.”

There was nothing to be careful about now. The kiss was raw, aching, full of all the times he’d watched you from across the room, all the nights he’d replayed your voice in his head. He kissed you like a man starved, tongue sliding against yours with heat, teeth nipping at your bottom lip hard enough to make you gasp.

When you finally pulled back for air, you didn’t know what to say to this lapse of judgement. You were in a hurry to change the subject.

You were the first to look away. "...How do you know first aid this well?" you asked quietly.

The question caught him off guard. For a moment, Vox simply blinked before leaning back slightly, creating just enough distance for the room to feel breathable again. He shrugged one shoulder as though the answer wasn't particularly interesting.

"Experience."

You stared at him expectantly. When it became obvious you weren't going to accept that as an answer, he sighed. "One of my victims fought back rather ruthlessly."

His fingers absently rubbed the back of his neck. "I figured learning how to stitch wounds together would be... beneficial."

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it. "Of course you were a murderer."

His screen flickered with visible exasperation as he rolled his eyes. “Oh, for God's sake. You're absolutely insufferable. Few homicides and it's all whine whine whine. Grow up.”

You nodded thoughtfully. "A serial killer too."

Vox pinched the bridge of his screen with a deep sigh. "I walked right into that one."

"You really did." You folded your arms, unable to suppress the amused smile tugging at your lips. "Sometimes," you mused, "I start thinking maybe you're not actually as terrible as I've convinced myself."

Vox's expression brightened ever so slightly.

Then you continued. "And then you go completely out of your way to prove that you're somehow even worse."

His hopeful expression vanished immediately. "You know," he replied, folding his own arms across his chest, "you've killed people too."

You scoffed and waved dismissively. “Indirectly.”

“Still murder.”

Then, without warning, the soft chime of a notification echoed through the room.

Vox's screen lit up instantly, several messages appearing one after another. He glanced down, his expression shifting as recognition dawned. "Oh... right." He rubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish sigh before straightening his bowtie. "I've got to go."

You tilted your head curiously.

"Velvette and Val are waiting for me." His usual confidence returned almost immediately, accompanied by a grin that bordered on boyish excitement. "We're going to watch the Extermination."

There was an unmistakable excitement in his voice.

You frowned. For a moment, you couldn't understand why anyone would sound so eager to watch angels descend upon Hell.

Then it clicked. This year's primary target wasn't Pentagram City as a whole. It was the Hazbin Hotel. Charlie's appearance before Heaven had guaranteed that.

Your thoughts immediately drifted to a certain smiling Radio Demon who had made the hotel his newest project.

You slowly looked back at Vox. He had noticed the realization settling across your face. A smug grin spread across his screen. "Would you like to join us?"

The invitation was delivered with practiced casualness, but you knew him well enough now to hear the real question beneath it.

He wasn't really inviting you. He was provoking you. He wanted you sitting beside him and the other Vees while they watched the Hotel struggle. More specifically, he wanted to watch you react. He wanted to see your composure crack the moment Alastor inevitably found himself in danger. If the Radio Demon died, Vox wanted a front-row seat—not only to Alastor's downfall, but to whatever expression crossed your face when it happened.

He wanted to see if merely mentioning Alastor would crack that calm expression of yours. He wanted outrage, denial, perhaps even an argument.

You met his gaze and smiled. "No, thank you."

The sweetness of your voice almost caught him off guard.

"I think I'd rather stay here and rest."

He looked almost... disappointed. His carefully crafted attempt at baiting you had dissolved into nothing more than a polite rejection, and somehow that seemed to bother him far more than if you'd yelled.

You shooed him away to get some peace and quiet.

The Extermination came and went, leaving Pentagram City scarred once again. By the time you returned to your district, the acrid scent of smoke still lingered in the air, mingling with the sounds of reconstruction already underway.

Compared to previous years, however, the destruction was surprisingly light. A few damaged buildings, shattered roads, and frightened civilians were a small price to pay by Hell's standards. Everyone knew why.

Adam had poured nearly all of Heaven's forces into one destination—the Hazbin Hotel. Your sector had escaped with little more than superficial wounds while another corner of the city had undoubtedly borne the brunt of Heaven's wrath.

The moment you stepped through the doors of your headquarters, Salina all but abandoned the stack of reports in her hands.

The usually composed secretary crossed the room in quick strides, relief washing over her features the instant she confirmed you were standing there in one piece. "Ma'am..." she breathed, unable to completely hide the emotion in her voice. "You're alright." You offered her a reassuring smile despite the lingering ache beneath your fresh bandages. "I've been through worse," you replied lightly.

It wasn't entirely true, but it was enough to ease the tension from her shoulders. Within minutes she was already listing the damages sustained across the district, the emergency repairs underway, and the casualties that had thankfully remained far lower than anticipated.

Even as you listened, your thoughts wandered elsewhere.

Once you finally found a quiet moment inside your office, you reached into one of your desk drawers and carefully withdrew the old-fashioned radio Alastor had gifted you months ago. It looked almost comically out of place among the sleek technology surrounding it. Your thumb brushed across its polished surface before you switched it on. "...Al?"

Only static answered.

You frowned slightly and adjusted the frequency. "Alastor?"

Nothing.

The speaker crackled with bursts of white noise before falling silent once again. You waited another few moments, hoping to hear that familiar cheerful voice break through the interference with one of his usual theatrical greetings.

There was only static.

A strange knot settled in your stomach.

You slowly lowered the radio onto your desk, your gaze lingering on it longer than necessary. It wasn't unusual for communication to become unreliable after an Extermination. Too much destruction. Too much interference. There were countless perfectly logical explanations.

...Weren't there?

With a quiet sigh, you leaned back in your chair and reached for the remote, switching on the large television mounted across your office. VoxTube was already flooded with contradictory eyewitness accounts, sensational headlines, and wildly exaggerated thumbnails claiming everything from "THE RADIO DEMON IS FINALLY DEAD?!" to "LUCIFER HIMSELF ENTERS THE BATTLE?!" None of the videos agreed with one another.

Frustrated, you switched over to 666 News, only to find the anchors speaking over one another while showing shaky footage from different parts of the city with little context and even less accuracy.

You muted the television. "Reliable as always," you muttered dryly.

There was no point chasing rumors.

Your district needed you first. Once the roads were repaired, the businesses reopened, and your people were safe again...

You would go to the Hazbin Hotel yourself.

You had barely settled back into your chair when your office doors flew open with enough force to slam against the wall.

Salina practically stumbled inside once again.

The tablet she usually carried so confidently was clutched tightly against her chest, her breathing uneven. You'd seen her remain calm during hostile takeovers, bomb threats, and even the aftermath of the Extermination itself.

This was the first time you'd ever seen genuine fear on her face.

You looked up from your paperwork, raising an amused eyebrow. "Forgot something?"

Salina shook her head quickly. "No, ma'am. I—There's... another piece of troubling news."

You couldn't help but laugh.

After everything that had happened over the past week, your standards for ‘troubling’ had risen considerably.

You took another relaxed sip of your coffee. "What could possibly be worse than the Extermination?"

"Someone took photographs. Of... of Mr. Vox carrying you into V Tower."

Salina hurriedly unlocked her tablet before thrusting it toward you. "They're everywhere."

📢 OVERLORD POWER COUPLE?! 📢

IS THE CEO OF VOXTEK SECRETLY DATING HELL'S GAMING QUEEN?

You spat your coffee clear across the room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

next>>>

the next update will be on 27th July!

taglist: @xystia @bobbi-tankthrust @lucifers-guitar-solo @radioappleshipper2002 @hsjdhehsjssj @minoka28 @beautyqueenforbes @cantbecreative @pawfuldayz00 @drpepperdemon

@ch3rrypea @bumblingblockbee @g0d0fcha0s @melody13579 @petaltheory @jazztato @eavenreach @the-mysterious-detective @addison-proud @missniya

@consecratedvampire91 @true-fairyy @digital1shark @n311a-c @fall-myriad @viperkins @x-filthyghoul-x @gayarsefcker @eviepoyo @m4r3tu-f4nn

A chorus of uncomfortable mutters spread through the room. Someone barked out a humorless laugh. "The fuck do you think we are? Suicidal?"

Another leaned back in his chair and shook his head. "Forget it. Alastor's on a completely different level. There ain't enough money in Hell for me to pick a fight with that psychopath."

The gang's leader drummed his fingers against the table, his expression darkening. "Who said anything about going after him?" The room slowly quieted as every eye turned toward him. A cruel smile spread across his face. "That bastard deer's untouchable... for now. But that little upstart who's been following him around?" His smile widened. "She's another story."

A murmur spread throughout the room. One of the demons frowned. "You mean the Gaming Overlord?" The leader nodded. "Exactly. She's still new. Strong? Sure. But she's still building her reputation. She embarrassed us, and blew half our crew off a rooftop." His jaw clenched. "People start thinking they can get away with that, and we're finished."

The leader sat back in his chair, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. "Teach the little Overlord a lesson," he said quietly. "Make her understand that climbing the ladder in Hell has consequences." Around him, heads nodded in agreement, and somewhere in the shadows, the first plans for an ambush began to take shape. 

Vox settled into the backseat of his limousine with a weary sigh, the door closing behind him that shut out most of Pentagram City's chaos. The city rolled past outside the tinted windows in a blur of neon signs and smoke, yet his attention wasn't on the skyline or the reports glowing on the tablet in his lap. He crossed one leg over the other, fingers absently straightening his bowtie before letting out an irritated scoff.

He wasn't going because he cared what you did in your free time.

No.

He was going because he refused to work alongside someone who willingly kept company with an outdated relic like Alastor.

That was all. It was purely professional. If his business partner was associating with one of VoxTek's greatest rivals, he had every right—every obligation—to clarify where your loyalties stood.

*

Your office had finally fallen quiet after what felt like an endless stream of meetings, design reviews, investor calls, and paperwork. The towering windows behind your desk overlooked the sprawling city, their glass reflecting the reddish glow of Hell. You leaned back into your chair with a tired sigh, rubbing your temples as another report landed in the ever-growing pile awaiting your signature. Running a company was glamorous only until one actually had to run it.

A polite knock sounded against the door before it opened just enough for Salina to step inside, her tablet already in hand. She offered you her usual professional smile, though even she looked sympathetic after watching you work through most of the day without a proper break. "Ma'am," she began, scrolling through the day's appointments, "there has been a slight addition to your schedule."

You hummed absentmindedly, still signing a document.

"Mr. Vox has arranged a meeting with you this afternoon."

Your pen froze.

For reasons you absolutely refused to examine, your spine straightened almost instantly. The exhaustion vanished from your posture as if someone had poured ice water over your head. Your eyes lifted from the paperwork to Salina, who looked entirely oblivious to the tiny crisis she'd just caused.

"...He did?"

"Yes." She glanced down at her tablet. "His office requested confirmation this morning. I've already accepted on your behalf, considering the ongoing partnership."

You blinked. "...Right."

A strange nervousness settled somewhere in your stomach.

You frowned at it. Seriously?

It was Vox.

The same insufferable television-headed bastard you argued with every other conversation. You shook your head once, almost as though physically dislodging the memories from your mind.

There was no reason to be nervous.

You cleared your throat, picked your pen back up, and forced your expression back into one of calm professionalism. "...Continue."

Salina nodded without question.

"Following your meeting with Mr. Vox, you have a conference call with the western development division regarding the next expansion. After that, the legal department requires your approval on three licensing contracts, and your engineering team would like a final decision on the prototype demonstrations before tomorrow's presentation."

You listened carefully, jotting down a few notes as she continued through the remainder of your schedule. 

You nodded, rising from your chair as you slipped your coat over your shoulders. "I'll inspect the land we've acquired for the western expansion first," you told Salina, gathering a few documents before setting them aside again. "After that, I'll have that meeting with Vox."

Salina gave a professional nod, making a note on her tablet. "Very well, ma'am. I'll inform the development team that you'll be arriving shortly."

You made your way out of the office, hoping the fresh air would settle the strange nerves that had crept up ever since you'd heard Vox wanted to see you.

Your district was alive as always. Neon signs glowed proudly above bustling storefronts while arcades buzzed with excited customers. Cafés spilled music onto the sidewalks, children chased one another between market stalls, and construction crews worked diligently on new buildings that would soon become part of your ever-growing empire. You couldn't help but smile. 

You wandered at an easy pace, occasionally greeting familiar shop owners with a nod. It was rare that you allowed yourself moments like these—walking without an agenda, simply admiring everything your company had helped create. 

Then the world exploded.

A thunderous blast ripped through the street ahead, the force shaking the ground beneath your feet. Pavement erupted into the air, storefront windows shattered in a shower of glass, and a dense cloud of smoke swallowed half the block. Civilians screamed, scattering in every direction as debris rained across the road. One of the streetlights toppled sideways, crashing into a parked car with a metallic screech.

You didn't flinch. Instead, your eyes slowly drifted downward toward the enormous crater now gouged into the middle of your street.

Your jaw tightened. For several agonizing seconds, you simply stared at the damage. Then heavy footsteps echoed from within the smoke.

Figures emerged one after another, they spread out confidently, expecting fear, panic... perhaps even a desperate attempt to flee.

Instead, they were met with your seething glare.

Your eye twitched. You took one slow step forward, your voice echoing across the ruined street. "WHO THE FUCK IS MESSING UP MY STREETS?!"

The mercenaries visibly hesitated.

You pointed furiously at the smoking crater. You threw both hands into the air in utter disbelief before glaring at the entire group. "You better pay the fuck up!"

The smoke slowly parted, revealing a dozen armed demons standing shoulder to shoulder. 

A slow grin spread across your face. "...Didn't you have your fill before?"

The question earned nothing but sneers.

One of the snipers rubbed the scar running across his jaw where your rocket launcher had nearly taken his head off. "This time," he growled, "we came prepared."

The nearest mercenary roared and charged first, swinging a massive war axe toward your neck. You sidestepped at the last possible second, your hand snapping around the haft before the blade could complete its arc. Using his own momentum, you yanked him forward and drove your knee squarely into his ribs. Bone cracked audibly. Before he could even scream, you ripped the axe free and hurled it end over end into another attacker's chest, sending him crashing through the already shattered front window of a nearby electronics store. 

Pain bloomed along your shoulder as the bullet grazed flesh instead of piercing your heart. You barely acknowledged it. Your gaze snapped upward toward the rooftop, your eyes narrowing.

"Oh..." You smiled. "There you are."

A massive pixelated cannon materialized above your shoulder.

The sniper's face drained of color. "...Shit."

The blast erased half the rooftop.

No matter how many you knocked down, two more seemed to replace them. The street became a whirlwind of smoke, magic, shattered concrete, and gunfire. Bodies littered the road while burning vehicles illuminated the battlefield in flickering orange light.

You were breathing harder now.

The crowd parted as the gang's leader stepped forward, clapping slowly. "I told you we'd learn from our mistakes."

He spread his arms proudly toward the army surrounding you. "Last time, we underestimated you." A cruel smile stretched across his scarred face. "So this time..." He gestured toward the mercenaries. "...we hired twice the numbers."

A ripple of cruel laughter spread through the crowd. "You've got nowhere to run."

You glanced around once more, taking in the sea of armed demons hemming you in from every direction. The odds had more than doubled.

Any sane person would've retreated. Lived to fight another day. But you weren’t going to run with your tail between your legs in your own district.

You slowly rolled your shoulders, wiped the blood from the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand, and smiled. If they wanted your territory...

They were going to have to pry it from your corpse.

Vox arrived exactly on schedule.

His limousine slowed to a stop a block away from your headquarters, but instead of the orderly, bustling district he had heard of before, he was met with barricades, emergency crews, and blaring alarms. Several roads had been hastily sealed off.

Vox frowned. "...The hell?"

This wasn't normal.

Your district prided itself on efficiency. Even after minor incidents, your people had systems in place to restore order within minutes. For it to be under this level of lockdown...

Something had gone very, very wrong.

His screen flickered with annoyance as he attempted to connect to the nearest surveillance drone. Static flooded every feed before the signal died completely. "Useless..."

With a sharp crack of electricity, his body dissolved into blue lightning. A split second later, he rematerialized atop the roof of a nearby skyscraper, giving himself a clear vantage point over the district.

His expression darkened. Near the western development zone, an enormous plume of smoke billowed into the air. Without another thought, he teleported again.

The burst of electricity echoed through an abandoned intersection as he appeared several streets closer to the destruction.

Before he could continue, a group of rough-looking sinners rounded the corner ahead of him. Their clothes were torn, several carried fresh weapons, and more than one was sporting burns and bruises from what looked suspiciously like a very recent battle.

"...Ha!" One laughed, clutching his aching ribs. "We stuck her good!"

A blinding surge of blue electricity exploded from Vox's body.

The sinner barely had time to scream before thousands of volts coursed through him. His body convulsed violently, smoke rising from his clothes as he collapsed onto the pavement in an unconscious heap.

Silence.

The remaining demons froze.

Vox calmly lowered his hand, tiny arcs of electricity still dancing between his claws. "...Now."

Before anyone could react, he lunged forward.

One clawed hand wrapped around the nearest sinner's throat, effortlessly lifting him off the ground. The demon clawed frantically at Vox's wrist as static crackled across his body, every failed struggle rewarded with another painful shock.

The rest instinctively backed away.

Vox's screen glowed an ominous crimson beneath the usual blue. "You are going to give me the answers I need."

*

Your breathing had grown ragged.

Blood dripped steadily from the countless cuts carved across your arms and face, staining the ruined pavement beneath your feet. A deep gash along your side burned with every breath you took, forcing one hand to remain pressed firmly against the wound in a futile attempt to slow the bleeding. Around you, the street had become a battlefield of burning vehicles, shattered storefronts, and unconscious bodies. You'd taken down far more than anyone had expected—but eventually, even an Overlord had limits.

Weapons rose as they cautiously closed the circle, stepping over their fallen comrades with cruel grins. Their leader twirled a bloodstained knife between his fingers, confidence replacing the fear he'd worn earlier.

"Looks like it's over," he sneered. "No more room to run."

A few of the others chuckled, tightening their grip on their weapons. "You've got nowhere to escape."

You let out a short, breathless snort despite the blood trickling down your chin. "...Escape?"

You lifted your head, a tired but unmistakably dangerous smile spreading across your lips. "I wasn't trying to escape, dumbfuck."

The gang hesitated.

You pushed yourself upright despite the pain, removing your hand from your bleeding side. Crimson stained your fingertips, but you paid it no mind.

"Tell me..." Your smile sharpened into something almost predatory. "Do you know what happens when you corner a wounded animal?"

*

The next few minutes dissolved into meaningless fragments.

Steel clashed against conjured weapons. Magic exploded in flashes of blue and crimson. You vaguely remembered throwing another attacker through a wall, remembered someone screaming, remembered the sickening crack of your own ribs as a hammer connected with your side. Faces blurred together until they became little more than shadows lunging at you from every direction. Your legs felt heavier with every passing second, your vision narrowing as blood trickled into one eye. At some point, you stopped counting how many you'd brought down. At some point, survival had stopped being the objective.

Eventually...

Your knees struck the cracked pavement.

The impact barely registered.

You remained there, head hanging low, one hand planted weakly against the ground while the other clutched your bleeding side. Every breath felt like dragging broken glass into your lungs. Warm blood pooled beneath you, slowly seeping into the fractured asphalt of the district you'd refused to abandon.

So... this is it.

The realization settled over you with surprising calm.

You let out a quiet, annoyed huff. You were going to die because a bunch of bitter nobodies couldn't accept losing. What an irritating end.

Footsteps approached.

"...Stupid..."

A familiar voice.

"...Fucking..."

Another wet thud. A body hit the ground.

"...Idiots."

You forced your head upward despite every muscle protesting. Through the haze of smoke and blood, a figure carved a relentless path toward you. Blue electricity flashed between clawed fingers. Blood stained the sleeves of his immaculate suit, splattered across his hands and dripping from the sharp edges of his claws.

His screen flickered violently with static, his usual polished composure replaced by something far more dangerous.

Your exhausted mind struggled to process the sight.

He looked...

...Kind of sexy.

You blinked slowly. "...Huh."

Your thoughts were definitely failing you. It had to be blood loss. There was no other explanation for finding the world's most insufferable bastard attractive while he was committing what was rapidly becoming a small massacre.

You almost laughed. It came out as a weak cough instead.

Wonderful.

Not only were you dying...

You were apparently dying embarrassed. You'd wanted your final moments to have at least a shred of dignity.

The world became little more than fleeting moments.

You drifted helplessly between consciousness and darkness, unable to tell how much time had passed. Every so often, the agony would drag you back just enough to remind you that you were still alive. Every breath sent fire through your ribs, every heartbeat seemed to pump more warmth out of your body instead of through it. The sounds around you came muffled, as though you were submerged beneath deep water—distant sirens, crackling electricity, hurried footsteps, voices shouting orders that you couldn't quite make out.

Yet one sensation remained constant. Someone was carrying you.

Strong arms held you securely against a broad chest, careful not to jostle your injuries any more than necessary. You could faintly feel the vibration of quick, purposeful footsteps beneath you. Whoever it was refused to slow down.

"Hey. You are not dying today."

..Vox?

You weren't entirely sure. His voice sounded... different. You wanted to tell him that he was making an awfully big fuss over someone he supposedly couldn't stand.

The pain was unbearable.

It seeped into every part of you until it became impossible to distinguish where your body ended and the agony began. It would be so easy to stop fighting it. So easy to simply let your eyes remain closed this time. The darkness waiting at the edges of your consciousness felt strangely peaceful, promising silence instead of pain.

"You stay with me." You felt a clawed hand brush the hair away from your face with surprising gentleness. "You can hate me again tomorrow."

The strange conviction in his words reached somewhere deep inside the fog clouding your mind. You couldn't understand why he sounded so certain.

Consciousness returned slowly.

At first there was only warmth.

Not the oppressive heat of Hell, nor the sharp sting of pain that had consumed your body before everything went black. This warmth was... comfortable. Soft blankets cocooned you, the mattress beneath you was impossibly plush, and for the first time in what felt like forever, your body wasn't screaming in protest every time you breathed.

Something heavy shifted against your side. A deep, rumbling vibration followed.

Prrrrrrrr...

Your brow furrowed. "...What?"

Your vision gradually came into focus as you blinked away the lingering haze. The ceiling above you was unfamiliar, sleek and modern with recessed blue lighting running along its edges. You slowly turned your head toward the source of the noise.

Then immediately sat bolt upright. "...WHAT THE—"

Pain immediately shot through your ribs. "...Ow..."

Curled up beside you, occupying nearly half the enormous bed, was Shok.wav. The colossal biomechanical shark had somehow managed to wedge himself comfortably against the mattress, his massive cybernetic head resting beside your pillow. 

Only then did you finally glance around the room. You were in Vox’s room, twice now.  Your life choices were becoming increasingly questionable.

Shok.wav bumped his enormous head gently against your shoulder, drawing your attention back to him. The mechanical shark let out another surprisingly affectionate purr, his five eyes watching you expectantly.

"Oh, alright." Carefully ignoring the protests from your battered body, you lifted a hand and rested it atop his enormous cybernetic head.

The effect was immediate. The shark positively melted beneath your touch.

You couldn't help but chuckle, indulging him for another few moments before finally looking down at yourself. Your amusement faded.

Your torso was wrapped almost completely in clean white bandages, layered tightly around your ribs and abdomen. Fresh dressings covered your arms, shoulder, and thigh, while smaller strips crossed countless cuts that had already begun healing. Even your hands had been carefully wrapped where the skin had split during the fight.

The bedroom doors slid open with a quiet hiss.

You instinctively looked up.

Vox stepped inside, impeccably dressed as always. His bowtie sat perfectly straight, his screen displaying its usual composed expression. Following closely behind him was one of VoxTek's service robots, its mechanical arms balancing a silver tray laden with food, water, and several bottles of medicine.

Without a word, the robot rolled to your bedside, carefully placed the tray on the table beside you, then turned and quietly left the room. The doors sealed shut behind it, leaving the two of you alone.

Your voice came out colder than you intended. "Why? What do you want?"

For the first time since entering the room, genuine confusion flickered across his features. "...What do I want?" He repeated the question almost absently, as though he hadn't considered it himself.

Ignoring the sharp protest from your healing ribs, you pushed yourself upright against the headboard. The movement sent pain lancing through your side, but you refused to show it.

"Yes," you replied. "People don't throw themselves into someone else's fight for nothing. You saved me." Your eyes searched his face, looking for the catch. "So tell me. What do you want from me?"

Vox didn't answer immediately.

Instead, he studied you in silence. His gaze lingered on the bandages wrapped carefully around your torso before drifting back to your face. After what felt like an eternity, he simply shrugged.

"I was annoyed and pissed that day." His tone remained infuriatingly matter-of-fact, as though this were the most obvious explanation in the world. "The idiots attacking your district didn't exactly improve my mood." He slipped his hands into his pockets. "So, I eradicated the insects."

For several long seconds, you simply looked at him. "...That's it? That's your explanation?" Your eyebrows shot upward. "You were pissed?"

You slowly looked up toward the ceiling, your eyes lingering there for a long, silent moment as though hoping some higher power would descend and explain the man standing in front of you. Letting out a long sigh, you dropped your gaze back to Vox. "And... why am I here?" you asked, gesturing vaguely around the lavish bedroom. "You could've just... dropped me off at my place."

Vox's expression remained unreadable. He leaned casually against the wall, though there was an odd stiffness to his posture now. "You were bleeding heavily," he replied after a brief pause. "I wasn't exactly thinking straight."

Whatever was going on inside Vox's head, he clearly wasn't willing—or perhaps wasn't able—to explain it.

"Fine," you muttered, reaching for your coat where it had been neatly folded nearby. "I'll leave now."

You had barely managed to stand before Vox let out an amused snort. "Sure." His arms folded across his chest. "If you want to get yourself killed. The Extermination is about to begin."

You froze.

For a heartbeat, the words refused to register.

Then your eyes widened. "Shit."

the next update will be on 20th july!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

next>>>

taglist: @xystia @bobbi-tankthrust @lucifers-guitar-solo @radioappleshipper2002 @hsjdhehsjssj @minoka28 @beautyqueenforbes @cantbecreative @pawfuldayz00 @drpepperdemon

@ch3rrypea @bumblingblockbee @g0d0fcha0s @melody13579 @petaltheory @jazztato @eavenreach @the-mysterious-detective @addison-proud @missniya

@consecratedvampire91 @true-fairyy @digital1shark @n311a-c @fall-myriad @viperkins @x-filthyghoul-x @gayarsefcker @eviepoyo @m4r3tu-f4nn

Slowly, almost absentmindedly, his claw-like fingers drifted through your hair, separating the soft strands before letting them slip between his fingertips. He gathered a loose lock, idly twisting it around one finger as though the repetitive motion might quiet the thoughts racing through his head.

You hadn't stirred once.

Your breathing remained slow and even, your face far softer than the one you wore during meetings or negotiations. Vox frowned.

This was ridiculous.

The bed was comfortable. That was all. That had to be the reason he hadn't moved yet. Satisfied with that thoroughly believable explanation, Vox glanced toward the clock on the nightstand.

His screen immediately dimmed.

Shit.

He had meetings. Two investor calls. A product review.

Roughly two hundred emails that would somehow multiply into four hundred if he ignored them much longer.

He was the CEO of VoxTek. He could not spend his mornings lying in bed.

A quiet sigh escaped him.

Reluctantly, Vox slipped his hand from your hair, careful not to wake you as he eased himself toward the edge of the mattress. Even then, he paused for a moment, as though waiting to see if you'd stir.

You didn't.

Good.

That was... good.

He stood, stretching the stiffness from his shoulders before collecting the clothes scattered across the floor. Piece by piece, he dressed himself with his wires in practiced silence, straightening his coat, adjusting his tie, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from the expensive fabric.

The familiar routine helped. It reminded him who he was.

Once he was fully dressed, he reached for the bedroom door. His hand settled on the handle. He should leave.

Instead...

He looked back. Just once. Vox lingered for only a heartbeat. Then he clicked his tongue quietly. "...Trouble."

Whether he meant you...

Or himself...

Even he wasn't entirely sure. With that, he slipped out of the room, closing the door behind him as softly as he could.

The warmth on the other side of the bed had already faded by the time you woke.

You blinked blearily at the empty space beside you, your mind still sluggish from sleep. A quiet huff escaped your lips. Of course he'd left.

What had you expected? A good morning? A sticky note saying: Had to run the company. See you later?

You buried your face back into the pillow for a moment, letting out a long, muffled groan.

Then you forced yourself upright. The room spun slightly before settling as you swung your legs over the edge of the bed. You gathered your clothes from the floor and dressed in silence, your mind slowly catching up with reality.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. You squeezed your eyes shut. "Why the fuck did I sleep with Vox?"

Of all the terrible decisions you could have made...Vox?!

You dragged both hands down your face with a groan. "This is so stupid."

It wasn't as though you were desperate. If you wanted company, you had options. Plenty of them. A single phone call, one message, and there'd be no shortage of demons eager to spend the night with you. Casual flings had never been difficult to find in Hell.

You paced the room, trying to think.

No. Don't panic. Panicking never solved anything.

You took a deep breath. Let's be rational. It wasn't that big of a deal.

It wasn't as though the two of you had suddenly become...fuck buddies. The very phrase made you cringe.

There was no reason it had to happen again. In fact, considering the two of you spent more time arguing than agreeing on literally anything, the odds of repeating it were practically nonexistent.

You nodded to yourself.

Yes. Exactly. It had been one night. An isolated incident.

You were both adults. You'd go back to insulting each other.

He'd annoy you. You'd threaten him. Everything would return to normal. Easy.

Something moved in your peripheral vision. You frowned and slowly turned around. Only then did you properly notice the enormous aquarium built into the far wall of Vox's bedroom.

You vaguely remembered seeing it last night.

The tank stretched almost from floor to ceiling, easily spanning the entire width of the wall. Crystal-clear water shimmered beneath concealed lighting, casting wavering blue reflections across the polished floor.

You found yourself stepping closer. "...What the hell?"

Something enormous emerged from the depths of the aquarium.

Your breath caught. A shark.

No—

Not just a shark. It resembled an ancient megalodon, its massive body covered in dark grey scales that faded into deep navy blue along its back. Every movement was unnervingly smooth, its powerful tail sending ripples through the water with effortless strokes.

The shark tilted its head, like a curious dog. Its central lens whirred softly, zooming in on your face before retracting again.

Then the enormous beast gently bumped its head against the glass.

Thunk.

You blinked. The shark did it again.

Thunk.

"..."

Another bump. Softer this time. It wasn't trying to attack. It was...asking for attention?

You cautiously stepped closer again. The creature remained perfectly still, watching you.

Slowly, you lifted a hand and rested your palm against the glass. Its tail swished happily through the water.

You couldn't stop the small smile that tugged at your lips.

The gentle thunk against the aquarium glass lingered in the room just as another sound reached your ears.

A polite knock. It was followed by a familiar voice from the other side of the bedroom door. "Miss? My apologies for the interruption."

You paused, trying to place the voice before it clicked.

Ethan. Vox's assistant. The poor man had probably suffered through months of scheduling meetings between you and Vox, only to watch every single one devolve into an argument.

"You may come in," you called.

The door opened carefully, and Ethan stepped inside with the same composed professionalism you'd come to expect from him. His eyes flickered around the room for only a second before settling respectfully on you.

"Good morning," he greeted with a courteous nod. "Mr. Vox asked me to let you know that transportation has been prepared whenever you wish to leave."

You gave a small nod. "Thank you."

It wasn't as though there was much reason to stay.

Another thunk interrupted the conversation. Rows of dark cyan teeth gleamed beneath the aquarium lights as the great beast continued staring expectantly at you.

You laughed softly. "I think he wants something."

Ethan checked the time on his tablet. "I imagine he's simply hungry."

"Hungry?"

"Yes." He nodded matter-of-factly. "It's nearly feeding time. Shok.wav becomes... rather impatient if his meals are delayed."

Another person came in. A woman strode out with the confidence of someone who believed she owned the floor.

She was... difficult to miss.

Bright orange hair swept dramatically behind her in enormous fin-like shapes that looked almost liquid as they bounced with each step.

You tilted your head. ...Is she supposed to be a goldfish?

She didn't spare you so much as a glance as she marched straight toward Ethan, planting one hand dramatically on her hip. "Ethan," she sighed theatrically, "Valentino is throwing another tantrum. He says if Vox doesn't come down in the next five minutes, he's going to start ripping apart Studio Three.”

Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'll inform Mr. Vox."

The sinner pouted before leaning forward conspiratorially, lowering her voice just enough that it was obvious she wanted everyone to hear. "You know..." She twirled a strand of her orange hair around one claw. "Maybe if I'm the one who delivers the message, I'll finally get lucky."

Ethan blinked once.

She grinned. "Who knows? Maybe Vox'll finally decide to fuck me."

Ethan somehow managed to remain professionally blank. "I wouldn't count on it."

She huffed dramatically. "Worth a shot."

Only then did she finally notice you. Her lips curled immediately. "...Who's this new bitch?"

Ethan opened his mouth. "Miss, perhaps—"

She ignored him entirely. Her attention remained fixed on you, looking you up and down with open disdain. "Oh, I get it. Listen up, whore."

Ethan visibly winced.

"Whatever little game you've got going with Vox..." She waved a dismissive hand in your direction. "...don't get your hopes up."

You stared at her. She mistook your silence for uncertainty.

"Cute girls come and go all the time. But you're not his type. He likes—"

She never finished the sentence.

Your hand shot forward, your fingers closed around her throat with crushing precision. Ethan remained rooted to the spot, watching in stunned silence.

You tossed her inside. She hit the water with a terrified scream, splashing wildly as she surfaced. Panic overtook whatever survival instincts she possessed as she thrashed toward the edge of the enclosure.

She never made it. The water behind her exploded.

Shok.wav surged forward with terrifying speed, propelled by a single sweep of his colossal tail. His massive jaws opened impossibly wide.

The sinner barely had time to turn. One enormous bite. The surface erupted into white foam. The rippling water settled almost immediately.

Shok.wav drifted lazily through the tank once more, apparently satisfied with his unexpectedly early breakfast.

A small smile tugged at your lips. "Bon appétit."

Shok.wav’s tail gave an almost pleased swish through the water.

As you left, behind the glass, Shok.wav had stopped swimming.

TARGET IDENTIFIED

DESIGNATION: Stranger.that.daddy.likes

Letters scrambled across the screen before being rapidly overwritten.

RELATIONSHIP STATUS UPDATE DETECTED

RECALCULATING...

DIRECTIVE UPDATE COMPLETE

DESIGNATION: Mommy

The drive across Pentagram City gave you far too much time to think. Your thoughts kept wandering back to the television-headed idiot himself.

You scowled at the passing city outside your window.

Stupid kiss.

Stupid one-night stand.

Stupid... surprisingly decent cuddler.

You physically shook your head.

The driver glanced nervously into the rear-view mirror before deciding he wanted absolutely no part in whatever conversation you were having with yourself.

As the Hazbin Hotel came into view atop its hill, you stepped from the car and adjusted your coat.

Almost immediately—

BOOM!

A deafening green explosion ripped through the front of the hotel. The shockwave rolled across the grounds, rattling windows and sending loose bricks tumbling from the already-questionable architecture.

A figure shot through the smoke. The unfortunate snake sinner sailed high into the air like a cannonball, limbs flailing wildly as he disappeared over the hotel's roof.

You watched his trajectory. "...That's going to hurt."

You winced. "He must've annoyed Alastor."

By the time you reached the hotel's entrance, the dust had begun settling. The front wall now sported a rather impressive hole, chunks of masonry littering the ground beneath it.

Standing proudly in the middle of the destruction was Alastor himself. Despite the blast, he looked as impeccably dressed as ever.

His ears perked up the moment he spotted you approaching. "My dear!" His grin somehow widened even further. "Wonderful timing!"

He dusted an imaginary speck from his shoulder before examining the tear in his coat. "Well, it looks as though I require another visit to the tailor. Best of luck, chums!"

Behind him, Vaggie looked absolutely horrified. "Wait, you're leaving?" she shouted, throwing both hands into the air. "Alastor! We need your help! We need you to do your job!"

Angel Dust leaned casually against what remained of the doorway, gesturing toward the gaping hole in the hotel's exterior. "We need a wall."

Alastor looked genuinely thoughtful for a moment. He snapped his fingers. "Of course," His cane tapped lightly against the ground. "Can't have my newest project falling into disrepair already." He chuckled to himself. "What would the papers say?"

The shadows at his feet rippled. Black ink spilled across the ground in impossible shapes before rising into dozens of small, grinning demons.

He offered you his arm with theatrical flourish, and you accepted it.

Together, the two of you strolled away from the chaos behind you, leaving Vaggie barking orders, Angel Dust offering deeply unhelpful commentary, and a small army of ink demons rebuilding the hotel as though catastrophic explosions were simply another item on their daily schedule.

Vox was having a remarkably pleasant day.

The quarterly reports sat open across his desk, every graph climbing steadily upward in satisfying shades of green. The collaboration with your company had exceeded every projection his analysts had dared to make. Player numbers were exploding, merchandise was selling faster than factories could produce it, and VoxTek's stock value had climbed high enough that several investors had nearly kissed his feet that morning.

By every measurable metric...

It was a fantastic day.

Yet, oddly enough, that wasn't what had him smiling.

His fingers absentmindedly drummed against the polished surface of his desk as he leaned back in his chair, the corners of his screen curled into a grin that had lasted nearly the entire morning.

The day was again ruined by Velvette’s call. He had to go calm down Valentino YET AGAIN.

As Valentino launched into another tirade, Vox nodded automatically at all the appropriate moments. "Mhm.”

Almost unconsciously, his hand slipped into his pocket. His phone appeared in his palm.

No missed calls. No new messages. Nothing. His thumb hovered over your contact for a second longer than necessary.

Before Vox could get another word in, Valentino let out an enraged snarl and hurled his phone across the suite. It struck the wall with a deafening crack, exploding into glittering shards that rained across the expensive carpet. Vox’s expression flattened completely, the pleasant mood he'd carried all morning evaporating in an instant.

As Vox managed him, Val took a long drag of his cigarette. "Y'know..." he drawled lazily, smoke curling from between his lips. "Angel isn't the only one spendin' time at that ratty hotel with the devil's princesa."

Vox, who had been busy straightening the papers Valentino had so graciously sent flying, barely looked up. "Oh?" he replied absentmindedly. "Who else is there? Someone who owes you money?”

Valentino chuckled. "No." His grin widened. "Someone who owes us a lot more than money."

The pause lingered deliberately. "The Radio Demon is there."

Everything stopped. The lights throughout the room flickered violently as electricity crackled across Vox's monitor. His claws dug instinctively into the polished desk beneath him, gouging deep grooves through the expensive wood with a harsh screech. Static hissed through the room, the surrounding monitors distorting as blue sparks danced across his screen.

A low laugh escaped him. Small and ominous, completely devoid of humor.

Valentino watched with mild amusement.

Slowly, painfully slowly, Vox turned his head toward him. “W̷̧̊h̵͍̑a̶̳̔t̶̼̊ ̴͉͗d̸͇̑i̴͎͂ḑ̶̏ ̵͕̾y̵̰͑ȯ̷̝u̷̙͂ ̶̡̀j̷̧͋ṵ̷̕s̶͛ͅt̵̝̅ ̶̢̚s̶̟̽a̵̮̍ỵ̶̈?"

"You heard me.”

Vox crossed the room in an instant. "Alastor..."

His screen glitched. "...came back..."

Another step. "...and he's with Lucifer's..."

The words fractured beneath heavy static. "...daughter…”

He seized Valentino by the collar, just enough to wrinkle his expensive coat. "...AND THAT WASN'T THE FIRST FUCKING THING YOU TOLD ME?!”

Valentino merely rolled his eyes. "Hey. Killing Alastor's your kink.”

Valentino brushed invisible dust from his jacket before casually strolling toward the largest monitor in the room. Far above Pentagram City, one of VoxTek's surveillance drones streamed live footage from the sky.

The camera focused on the Hazbin Hotel. Sir Pentious's ridiculous zeppelin drifted overhead.

Dark tendrils exploded upward.

Alastor laughed. The sound carried even through the recording as his eldritch magic ripped through the air, tearing into the airship while Sir Pentious screamed somewhere inside.

The camera tracked Alastor's movements as he dismantled the zeppelin with theatrical delight.

Then...Someone entered the frame.

You.

Vox's eyes narrowed almost immediately. You walked casually toward Alastor, entirely unbothered by the destruction surrounding him. The Radio Demon turned toward you with that ever-present smile of his, and the two of you fell into step beside one another as though this were the most natural thing in the world.

His claws tightened against the edge of the desk.

What the hell were you doing with that outdated freak? The thought came sharp and immediate, irritating him far more than he cared to admit. His eyes remained fixed on the footage, studying the way the two of you carried yourselves.

His jaw clenched.

You didn't belong beside that outdated relic. You were brilliant. Ambitious. You built worlds from nothing, constantly chasing the next innovation, the next impossible idea. Alastor glorified a dead era, like the world had never moved forward.

You matched with...

His thoughts faltered.

...Me.

The realization slipped in before he could stop it.

Your brands complemented each other. You argued with him, infuriated him, refused to flatter him... and somehow still chose to spend hours sitting beside him playing the most ridiculous thing he had ever seen.

He hated the feeling crawling through him.

The tailor's shop was tucked away in one of the quieter streets, its polished windows displaying rows upon rows of elegant garments from another era. Rich velvets, lace collars, fitted coats, and sweeping dresses filled every corner of the boutique, each piece looking as though it had been plucked straight from the early twentieth century.

Alastor looked entirely at home.

You, on the other hand, stood awkwardly near the entrance while the tailor fussed over a tiny tear of Alastor's crimson coat.

While the two chatted pleasantly, your attention wandered around the shop. You rarely bought clothing from boutiques like this. Most of your wardrobe was custom-made, tailored specifically for your combat style and the public image of your company.

You had every intention of waiting quietly near the entrance. Unfortunately...

"My dear!" Alastor called from across the boutique. "Since I've dragged you all this way, you simply must indulge yourself."

"...Al."

"Nonsense." He was already steering you toward a collection of dresses displayed beneath warm golden lights. "No respectable outing with the ladies concludes without a little shopping."

You sighed, already knowing there was little point arguing.

While Alastor chatted cheerfully with the tailor about lapel stitching and proper cuffs, you wandered between the clothing racks more out of politeness than genuine interest.

Most of the dresses weren't your style. Too formal. Too vintage.

Then something caught your eye.

Nestled among the darker fabrics was a striking dress in deep navy and silver, accented with subtle embroidery that traced elegant patterns across the bodice.

You stopped. "...No way." You reached out, running your fingers over the fabric. It looked...ridiculously familiar. One of your company's most popular RPG heroines wore an outfit astonishingly similar to this.

Not identical. Different enough to avoid legal trouble. Despite yourself, you took the dress into the fitting room.

A few minutes later, you stepped back out. The dress fit almost perfectly. You instinctively reached for your wallet.

Another hand beat you to it.

You looked toward Alastor with an exasperated sigh. "...Al. I can pay for my own clothes."

"I have no doubt that you can." He smiled pleasantly as he handed the tailor the money. "That isn't the point."

"You are impossible."

"I've heard that before."

Shaking your head with an amused laugh, the two of you stepped back outside into Pentagram City's bustling streets. Alastor slipped effortlessly back into his freshly repaired crimson coat, straightening the lapels with obvious satisfaction before resuming his leisurely pace beside you.

Eventually, Alastor glanced toward you. "So..." His voice remained light. "How was your day, my dear?"

You smiled to yourself. Anyone else would've thought he was making casual conversation. You knew better.

Alastor rarely asked meaningless questions. Whenever he asked about your day, what he truly wanted was information—which Overlords you'd spoken with, who was making moves, whose influence was growing, whose alliances were shifting. Information was currency, and Alastor loved collecting it.

You opened your mouth. "Oh, I was with V—"

Before you could finish, every television displayed in the surrounding shop windows flickered simultaneously.

The bright blue glow washed over the street. Pedestrians slowed. Vox's face filled every screen. He leaned confidently toward the camera, flashing his trademark showman's grin.

♫ "While he hid in radio..." ♫

Behind him, dazzling graphics exploded across the display.

♫ "We pivoted to video!" ♫

With exaggerated flourish, Vox reached into an oven caked with dried blood and triumphantly pulled out an uncooked, bloodied deer head.

♫ "Now his medium is getting bloody rare!" ♫

You instinctively turned toward Alastor. Behind that impossibly cheerful smile...You could almost hear the gears turning. And judging by the dangerous gleam hidden behind Alastor's crimson eyes...Whatever he was planning next was going to be spectacular.

As you watched the two of them wage a ragebaiting war, Pentagram City paying the price as lights flickered and entire districts plunged into blackout from Vox's latest tantrum, a horrible realization slowly settled over you.

Oh, fuck. You were completely and utterly screwed. On one side stood Alastor, the Radio Demon, one of the few Overlords whose company you genuinely enjoyed. On the other stood Vox—the insufferable television-headed CEO you'd somehow ended up sleeping with.

The problem wasn't simply that they disliked each other. No, dislike was far too gentle a word. They hated each other with every fiber of their being, each taking every opportunity to publicly humiliate the other. And somehow, through a spectacular series of terrible decisions, you had managed to wedge yourself directly between them. If either one discovered just how entangled you'd become with the other... Hell itself would probably seem peaceful by comparison.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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The next update will be on 13th July!

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