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The Cannibal Exception

Okay so, I've been following @elsa-fogen 's Incompatible Frequencies comic, because I am an absolute sucker for Alastor whump. But part 12 reminded me that I am ALSO a sucker for protective mama Rosie. Thus I was consumed by the insatiable urge to create.

So I whipped up this fic to basically go to Rosie and say, "hey, aren't you tired of being nice? Don't you just wanna say "FUCK the rules!" and go APESHIT on the bastard hurting your baby boy?" Because despite my character-centered-sadism, I DO like good endings on occasion.

I did start writing the day part 12 posted, so after part 13 dropped, I made a few changes. It's full of a bunch of my own headcanons too, particularly Rosie and her powers. Also Al's shadow, her name is Lombraj (meaning 'shade' in Kouri-Vini (Louisiana Creole))

TW: references to past sexual assault, Vox being an entitled asshole and playing the victim, eldritch horror imagery, threats of cannibalism

Overlord politics held several unspoken rules. Little expectations of etiquette meant to keep a semblance of order between them. No poaching each other's Soul Contracts. No violence at their meetings. And of course no getting involved in a deal that wasn't yours.

Basic good manners.

But with each passing second in her parlor, coffee spilled over the carpet, her favorite Soul breaking down in her arms, Rosie finds herself caring less and less for that last one.

Tonight is becoming an intense lesson in the emotions of sorrow and despair.

Sorrow grips her being, a suffocating hold, as Alastor buries himself into the folds of her dress. Distressed laughter breaking into helpless sobs. Clinging to her as if he'll be torn apart if she let him go. Only her hands stopping him from ripping out chunks of his hair and clawing at his skin. A terrified child crying, begging, for a mother he'll never see again.

The despair shoots piercing needles into her heart. The knowledge she cannot sooth his panic. Dry his tears. Prevent the agony he is doomed to tonight. Politics do not allow her.

Allow.

The tears flowing free from her own eyes burn. A fire building within dark voids. Something new churns deep in her core. Something hot and roaring. A searing heat that boils the black blood that gives her true life in this realm of humanity's death.

No. No Rosie will not let this happen. Not to him. Not again.

This is Alastor. He is her boy.

She can't, won't bare to see him like this anymore.

To Hell with what she is or isn't allowed to do.

(She will not lose another son.)

(There will be no undoing the damage from the nightmare awaiting him if she stands idle.)

From within the crook of her neck, Alastor lifts his head. Just enough to meet her eyes. A hint of confusion mark his own, momentarily overpowering the dread. Did he notice the shift in her demeanor? The drop in the room's temperature as Rosie gave into rage?

"R-Rosie?"

She breaths deep, reigning in her emotions. There's a task to be done. With much reluctance, she gently removes the deer demon's claws from her shoulders, clasping them in her hands as she rubs circles over his knuckles. Her next words come calm, fueled with resolve.

"Ally darling, please stay here. Don't leave yet, I will return shortly." Not a command, but a request. A promise.

He blinks, caught of guard, but his trembling lessens. "Y-you….where-?" The small, stuttering voice should not belong to him.

She won't hide her intentions. Won't leave him to suffer in uncertainty all alone. "I will handle this myself." Pulling a handkerchief from her pocket, she dabs at his tear-streaked face. "I will not let him hurt you again."

"You…you can't get involved." He doesn't move from where he sits on the floor. Lombraj curls around him, the shadow's own expression crestfallen as she attempts to comfort her host.

She nods. He isn't wrong. "No. But I am anyway. I'll deal with any potential consequences later." With a wave, the shattered cup pieces itself back together, refilling with warm black coffee. She returns it to his hands. "Within the next half hour, I will make Vox break this deal. You have my word."

Over a year ago, Alastor would've balked at the idea of needing help. The sheer notion an insult, as bad as calling him weak.

It's a testament to his desperation that he makes no further attempt to stop her.

-

Every demon born under Gluttony, from Hellhound to Swarm, possesses a powerful sense of smell.

Each drop of blood is a signature. Residue of magic a beacon. Even emotions produced unique scents to one keen enough to tell.

To Rosie, fear smells sweet. A saccharine confection. Addictive and mouth watering. Hell guarantees no shortage of it. Ever since her ascension to Sovereign Overlord status, the scent veiled nearly every Sinner that crossed her path. Even fellow Hellborne knew well to remain wary.

The sugary, decadent panic overtaking her parlor, however? Unbearable. A drowning flood. A sickening miasma. So wrong. Rosie cannot stand it.

The same scent alerted her after the first time this happened, one year ago. A crack in Alastor's mask. A flag foretelling an atrocity. A betrayal that cut him open and left no one but her to treat his wounds.

Vox. Her suspicion that his pursuit of her boy hid a salacious, possessive obsession turned out correct. Why did it have to be correct?

(His charm almost fooled her too, in the beginning. Back when Alastor first introduced them. He'd been polite, slightly awkward but still a picture of a gentleman. But then again, that's the act of countless self-entitled men who later reveal they cannot take no for an answer.)

Rosie observed secondhand as the two grew closer over the years. Lingering ozone. Late night dances with alcohol. It didn't take long for her to become familiar with the TV demon's signature. That day Alastor showed up in her parlor, cloaked in a suffocating cloud of sweet terror as she made him admit to being raped, the ozone was missing. An unusual absence. Like he burned it from his clothing and scrubbed it from his skin.

Her familiarity with their scents — that ozone, the acrid earthy swamp — means that in the gore-splattered, puke-stained streets of Pentagram City, Rosie locates their apartment with ease.

An old-fashioned facade, very Alastor.

Rosie's visited a few times, making deliveries, a couple Sinsmas gatherings. A spacious two-bedroom abode with two clashing styles. The decor matched the respective designer. On one side, nice wood floors, a vintage piano, a kitchen with cabinet handles worn with use that always smelled of the echoes of homecooked meals. On the other, sleek tiles, modern electronics, floor to ceiling windows overlooking the spectacle of sin below.

(Alastor mentioned once he styled his half after his mother's family home. Would it still be someplace he could be safe after the pain Vox has invited in?)

This entire endeavor is a smear against etiquette, so Rosie sees little need to pretend. In a puff of pink smoke, she teleports into the kitchen. Psychedelic neon hues stream in through massive panes of glass, but the only lights she concerns herself with are those coming from underneath the door to Vox's bedroom. The only nearby sounds she can hear accompany them.

Silence heralds her approach. A door opens, the creaks of its hinges the only tell of her arrival.

Her quarry's back faces her. "Oh, Al! You're early!" He calls, still not turning yet. It appears he's wrapping a gift. "No looking, I've got a little surprise for you." Cheerful. Excited. Like the person he's waiting for wasn't pleading to be spared this fate. "You eager for tonight? I know you are, why else would you-?"

The second Vox's eyes fall upon her, a flash of bright blue outshines his face. With a startled squawk, he scrambles back, knocking some items across the rug. While he recovers quickly, the smile he plasters onto his screen is a poor mask. "Rosie! Uh…hi! S-sorry I uh… thought that was Al coming it." Jumping back upright, he smooths out his shirt. "He's not home yet, but how can I help you?"

It's easy to try on one of Alastor's signature grins. He's not going to like the answer to that question. "Good evening, Vox. Oh I hope I didn't give you too much of a fright."

"Me? Pfft, never."

"Do pardon the surprise stop-in, but I wanted to catch you before the end of the day." From where she stands in the doorway, the entire room lies within view. "There's something important I'd like to discuss with you." Unless Vox chose to duck underneath the bed, he will not leave her field of vision.

Excellent.

Rosie sets her Sights upon him. Tiny hooks of magic that lock in on the Sinner's body while he is none the wiser. A hunter's net. A necessary precaution. She's witnessed his own teleportation ability, the flash of lightning as he zaps around the city. She can't have him escaping her tonight.

Everyone knows your only hope is to pray once a Glutton has picked you for their next meal.

"Oh, you're…here for me?" To be offered business with an Overlord as powerful as she; alliance or a threat? One could interpret it either way. "Well how could I refuse such a request? Any friend of Alastor is a friend of mine." (She stops herself from chuckling at the bold-faced lie.) "Though forgive my rudeness, but I do have plans with him tonight for the new year, so I must ask that this be quick."

She nods. "So I've heard. You're little yearly dalliance."

His screen flickers in surprise. "Wait, he told you?"

"He did."

(She had to force him, but he did. Regret clings to her conscious, but some part fears what could've happened had she kept quiet. Would Alastor have ever told her by himself? Or would he have suffered in silence all year long without someone to confide in? To tell him he was right to be angry. To feel hurt.)

(He thought she hated him. How could she ever hate him when he reminded her so much of-?)

"Oh, uh… alright then. What can I do for you?"

The hooks dig in. The net set and ready.

"This deal you have with Alastor. I want you to break it."

For five seconds the TV demon does nothing but stare. Reading into her words and body language. Then he bursts into laughter. Disbelief and condescension laced over the surface, but underneath, Rosie can smell his nervousness. "You- haha- you can't be serious?!" He continues after taking a breath. "Come now, Rosie. You've been an Overlord far longer than I've been alive and dead. You're an intelligent woman, surely you're aware our deal isn't any of your business?"

There's a hint of bitterness over those last few words. Resentment. Poorly hidden jealousy Vox holds for her. Her close relations with Alastor.

She takes one step forward. Without looking, her magic shuts the door behind her. "It is now."

A fascinating play he performs. Acting like he holds all the chips while stuck in a cage with a monster. "Oh? And why is that?"

If Rosie plays her cards right, then nothing that occurs in this room tonight will leap from his tongue. So she shows her hand just a little. "Alastor is a close ally of mine, as you know. I do hate seeing him in a position so detrimental."

"Detrimental?! He's the one ruining my life, ordering me to do all sorts of gross, humiliating shit! What? Did he go bitching to you about how he tried to trick me out of it? He's got it easy! After all I've fucking been through, one night of pounding his ass is the least I deser-!"

A tendril of rose gold light shoots out, planting a finger over Vox's mouth.

Alastor's scream echoes through her mind, more haunting than the wailing Sirens of Greed's oceans. Snapdragons bloom around her feet. Her smile bares teeth. "I do not recall asking for your input."

('Ally thought you could be his friend. He thought he could trust you.')

There's an almost obsessive nature to the way Vox fidgets with his clothing. Brushing away wrinkles that aren't there. Adjusting a bowtie that's already straight. A puzzle of his own composure where the final piece refuses to fit. "Respectfully, I must decline. I'm perfectly happy with our arrangement. And despite what he may have told you, Alastor will come to enjoy it eventually." The conviction smells sour. A lie he's deceived himself into thinking he can make true. "What could you possibly offer me that would be more valuable than a taste of his love?"

('That is not love, you spiteful idiot.')

"A simple deal is all I ask. You release Alastor from this obligation and I will see fit to abstain from snatching your Soul and severing the connection myself."

The declaration settles, a swarm of killer bees. A nudge at the precarious tower of lies Vox has built to recline at its zenith. Only now becoming aware of a siege.

"You- you know you need a Contract to take my Soul. You can't have it without my agreement."

(Telling how he only values consent when it's his own.)

Normally he would be correct. Soul Contracts only become valid through the signed accord of both parties. A system dating back thousands of years. As integral to the functionings of Pride's nine circles as commerce and governance.

However…

"Tell me Vox, do you want to know why I am considered the most dangerous Overlord on my side of the Pentagram?"

He opens his mouth to answer, but whatever he planned to say dies on his lips. The glowing tendrils ensnare, latching onto his limbs, his torso, his neck. Holding fast. A fly in a web. "WHAT THE FU-?!" is all he's able to shout before the vines wrap tight over his speakers.

Rosie walks further into the room, and with each step, her body begins to expand. Skin hardening into a pink and black exoskeleton. "It's common knowledge that the machinations of Hell punish Sinners like you with immortality. Bodies that regenerate from injuries that kill. Doomed to eternal life alongside the most heinous of your kind." The ceiling is just high enough to accommodate a reduced, scaled-down version of her true demonic transformation. "A fascinating thing that this realm does to those Souls of yours. Did you know they can persist even without a vessel?"

Antennae sprout from her head. The skirt of her dress splits into four spiny legs. Her hands grow into long, razor-sharp, chitinous blades. "You may be thinking, 'well how can a Soul be without a vessel if our bodies always regenerate?' but what you should understand about Hell is that fairness is a scarcity. Even that rule can't cover a couple…exceptions. How can a body regenerate if there's nothing left of it? Say for instance —,"

Then Rosie's head dwarfs Vox's body, pitch black eyes reflecting back dozens of mirrored images of his restrained form, and the bottom half of her jaw splits open like a blooming flower.

"— you get devoured whole by a cannibal?"

Ah. This is the fear she craves. This scent oozing from the Sinner's thrashing body, screams of protest muffled as her vines draw him up, smells divine. Crimson blood drips down from where thorns pierce. Cyan sparks fly as he attempts to teleport away, but her Sights holds him trapped in her unblinking stare. Wires lash out, wielding electric rage, but her claws slice them into useless fragments of copper and rubber.

"A little secret I'll indulge you with, little picture box. Of the millions of Souls in my collection, only a fraction are those that are Contracted."

Pixelated eyes blow bug-wide (Haha, Alastor would appreciate that pun.) as the revelation strikes. A fact very few people know anything about. The very reason every Hellborne Cannibal is residing under the protection of her domain. The very secret she taught to her most powerful Soul, who serenades Pride with the death throes of devoured Overlords, conducted through radiowaves like a concert of death.

"So with that in mind, perhaps you'd like to hear out my offer."

He can't refuse.

"For my deal I will ask of you these conditions. 1. The next time you are in Alastor's presence, you will immediately initiate the process to nullify the deal between you that demands he has sex with you once a year in exchange for your obedience." Specifics were key. Name an exact time, giving no chance to wait until Vox got what he wanted before breaking it. Name the exact deal, so Vox can't try to redirect this onto some unimportant other agreement they may have.

"2. You will not directly or indirectly retaliate against Alastor or his belongings in anyway shape or form. Likewise for myself." Now to run some preventive measures against possible revenge. Including belongings so Vox can't direct his tantrums into vandalism against this apartment or Alastor's radio tower. Here is the moment to be vague. 'Anyway shape or form' encompasses physical, verbal, and even social methods, among others. It means he can't reveal details about the rape, nor blackmail Alastor with threats to do so. Her boy had been particularly paranoid about that.

"3. You will not communicate to anyone or anything the events that transpired between you and I tonight." There. That clause should hopefully shield herself from this breach of conduct, plus the truth of her power getting out. At least for now. 'Communicate' covers more than just speech. And adding 'anything' further prevents Vox from writing or typing the details down somewhere in the hope someone would find it by coincidence.

"For these requests, in exchange I will promise to spare your body and Soul. You will not need to fear being eaten by me or the other residents of Cannibal Town." The residents. Not 'her Cannibals'. Alastor is among the latter. Rosie will not deny him the ability to enact his own revenge if he so wished for it.

Given the hatred burning in his eyes, Rosie holds no doubt Vox is setting her on fire within his mind. But his bindings pull him closer to her teeth, and in the tug-of-war between fear and anger, fear is winning.

"So do we have a deal? I'll give you five seconds to decide." The vines release his mouth. "5."

Yelling commences. "You FUCKING HAG!! Like HELL will I agree to-!"

"4."

"The FUCK did you do to my magic! This is BULLSHIT! WHY CAN'T I-?!"

"3."

"FUCK! WAIT, JUST WAIT A DAMN MINUTE! THIS IS UNFAIR!!"

"2."

Rosie opens her mouths. Each and every one. Rows and rows of teeth glistening in the light emanating from Vox's screen. The sight strikes her prey silent. Frozen. Sweet, delicious terror.

(A deer in headlights.)

"1."

The vines yank.

"WAITWAAAITOKAYALRIGHTFINEIT'SADEAL!!!!"

Rosie doesn't allow him the chance to change his mind.

The end of a vine warps into a wispy hand that clasps his own. Power erupts. Illuminating all around them. Blue drowned in gold as shining silhouettes of rose petals burst forth between them. Framing her. Encasing him. Links of chain fasten them together. On Rosie's end, bright cyan. The color of Earth's sky from a chance trip centuries ago after borrowing a friend's Asmodean Crystal. On Vox's end, gleaming rose gold. Perhaps a tad reminiscent of the magic of the Heavenly realms above.

She speaks through each one of her mouths. "Pleasure doing business with you."

-

A faint nudge at his collar alerts Alastor to her incoming return. A moment to collect himself. To prepare.

When Rosie appears in her parlor, her boy is waiting. Mid-stride through pacing across the room. Shoulders tensed. Hands clutching his staff snug to his chest. All the food left out on the coffee table is gone.

His gaze snaps right to the Sinner tied at her feet.

Alastor's tells are difficult to spot, especially to someone unfamiliar. He's crafted his mask since childhood. A remarkable guise molded to mislead. Rosie will admit, she finds herself mimicking said mannerisms when situations call for it. Taking his advice. Learning from him just as he's learned from her.

But his Soul is still human, and perfection does not exist. The emotions surrounding this experience are a crushing, overwhelming vice. Relentless. All consuming. Biting all the way to bone marrow. Not even he can hide everything when under such an attack. The tiny, minuscule movements as the deer demon fights to stop his own instinctual panic — twitching ears, fidgeting fingers — don't escape her notice. Peering over from the floor, Lombraj hisses.

Vox kneels below her, arms and legs still bound by her magic. His form still shaking under the shock of all that just transpired.

But he locks eyes with Alastor and his face flickers into fury. "You-"

Whatever incoming accusation gets lost to the air, for a shining chain flashes. Vox cannot resist the compulsion as the first clause of his and Rosie's deal triggers. His right hand reaches out, as far as it can with the upper portion of his arm tied to his torso. Another chain materializes, one Rosie has not seen yet, but is clearly familiar to Alastor by the way he flinches as a blue shackle appears around his wrist.

"A-Alastor," the TV demon begins, words yanked from his throat through gritted teeth, "I… a-agree to… nullify our d-deal." If circumstances were different, Rosie would've found it cute how much he tried to fight.

Alastor's ears perk straight up, breath hitching in his throat as genuine surprise overtakes him. What had been running through his mind as he waited? Did the learned helplessness whisper doubts to him, extinguishing any semblance of hope? Saying he'd never escape? That peace did not come to people like him?

Is it saying anything right now? That this is too good to be true?

His eyes dart up to her. Rosie answers the unspoken plea with a firm nod.

Then he closes the distance with practiced control and grabs Vox's hand. Red claws digging in hard enough to make the kneeling man wince. "Then consider it null."

The tether between them flashes once, then shatters. Neon green and cyan particles dissolving into the ether.

Alastor pulls his hand back the second it's gone, taking one single step away. Vox doubles over, the puppet strings directing him going loose.

"Damn it!" he snaps. "DAMN IT!" Whirling around, he fixes a glare on the demon responsible. "You f-!" A mute symbol the color of Rosie's magic silences whatever ineffectual insult that would've been. "What the hell? Why did-?"

"Surely you haven't forgotten already, have you, little picture box?" she chastises, all honey and sugar, all stinging like insect bites. She's really only reminding him so that Alastor has some context. "The second clause of our deal?"

He clenches his fists. "This… this is so fucking unfair!" His ire zeroes in on Alastor again. "You seriously sicced your Cannibal sugar mommy on me cause you couldn't-?" Muted again.

Wow, rude. Somehow Rosie can feel herself and her boy become mutually offended on each other's behalf.

"I did not make her do anything."

"I came to this decision myself. Tonight is the New Year. It was the only option left."

"You- you two were conspiring against me this whole time?!"

"You sound surprised." Alastor turns his back on the other Sinner, retreating further into the parlor. "I made it blatantly obvious all year, since that first night in fact, my wish to end this." Trembling hands grip his staff. He no longer stops his ears from pinning back. "You noticed. You ignored me. You only cared about having my body as your personal toy."

"No! I care about you!" Pixelated lines fall from Vox's eyes. Tears perhaps? Rosie can only be curious how that works with his technological biology. "Damn it, Al! Why can't- why can't you see that I did this because I love you?!"

She does not interrupt. This is their conversation. But that sourness of his own myth he created leaves a vile taste in her mouth.

It only hits worse for Alastor. "I gave you a chance, Vox. Many chances to fix this and restore any good will I used to have for you." Poison tastes less bitter than the tone he speaks. "You don't love me. You never did. You're obsessed with a fantastical doppelganger that you made up in your depraved little head. I warned you I'd never be that and you refused to listen."

"Al just- fuck! Just look at me! Please let me explain!"

"Leave, Vox." The Radio Demon does not turn around. "If I ever lay eyes on you again, your Soul will be ripped apart and all of Pride will listen to your screams."

"Al-"

"GET OUT!"

Vox reels as shrieking radio feedback grates at his sensors, the muscles that still remember being human reaching to cover ears his television head doesn't possess. Lombraj rises onto the ceiling, her antlers branching from wall to wall, jagged mouth twisting into a vicious snarl. A click click click of radio dials fills the space.

It's Rosie's cue to act now. Wispy tendrils shove the TV demon towards the exit, the restraints finally releasing. He tumbles over with an indignant yelp.

The Cannibal Overlord plants herself between them. "I do believe it's safe to say that you've overstayed your welcome."

Peeling himself off the floor, all he can wield against her is muted vitriol. A barrage of silenced hatred. Frivolous. Otiose. A wasp with no stinger. A shark with no teeth.

The second clause doesn't let him slam the door shut. It doesn't let him kick up the flowers outside the Emporium nor punch holes in the walls, as Rosie watches him go. It doesn't let him damage anything as a surge of electricity bursts from his body. Not a single scorch mark on the stones beneath him. Not a single strand of hair out of place on the Cannibals witnessing his tantrum. They are all hers by technicality.

A sharp thud sounds as Alastor's knees hit the floor. A clatter as his staff falls from his grasp.

"It's over?" he breathes, voice airy and small again. Mask dropped. He stares at his wrist, where the bindings of a torture sentence no longer reside. "Truly over?"

Rosie is before him in an instant, awaiting permission to touch, to draw him into her lap and be whatever grounding structure he needs. "It's over, Ally. He's gone. Nothing more will happen. Never again." He crumbles into her embrace. "You're safe, my dear. You're safe."

"Safe," he repeats, muffled by the fabric of her dress. "Safe." He says it over and over, a little mantra.

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