- zaltynn -

my other interests include:

- GAMES:

BLOODBORNE

MINECRAFT

UNDERTALE (NOT deltarune.)

RED DEAD REDEMPTION 2 / ONLINE

FNAF

GENSHIN IMPACT

- SHOWS:

ANIMATION VS ANIMATOR / MINECRAFT

MY HERO ACADEMIA

OVERLORD

BLEACH

ARCANE

- TOYS:

MONSTER HIGH

DNI:

- AI bros

- pedos/creeps/nazis

---

After the reveal of Vox and Alastor's 'marriage,' life was great. If Vox just ignored the blatant childish behaviour of Valentino, everything would've been perfect.

His lover was being outrageously stubborn, not answering his calls, texts, or e-mails. It was fine though, as most of his business proceedings could be handled by himself without the other Vees getting in the way. He actually found that there was less collateral damage to deal with, giving him more time to persuade and charm, rather than having to apologize and grovel over Velvette's attitude and Valentino's misdemeanors. 

So Valentino could stay down in his film studios, smoking whatever he wanted and fucking whoever he wanted and Vox would be just fine about it. 

He had Alastor to take care of now, instead. 

In just the last three days, Alastor has touched Vox more than they have in 70 years of battles. There's a certain rush of something pleasant that ran through Vox every time Alastor reached out to hold Vox's hand or tilted his head just so to listen to Vox's every word. 

Before, he could only dream of what an affectionate Alastor would be like, and Vox found he felt an odd mixture of excitement and disappointment.

Every touch was intoxicating and a small victory in and of itself, as Vox has had to endure for so long for Alastor to finally be the one to reach out first. However, the most he did was those small gestures; the hand-holding, the leaning in with attention, the accepting of Vox touching his person. 

He felt like Alastor was finally settling into the relationship, and it made him giddy inside, but Vox wanted more. He wanted to hold him, and to be held by him; to be kissed by him and kiss him back. Vox's greed was unending, imagining what more their relationship could hold. 

In his attempts to spend more time with him, Vox has started helping out with his physical therapy, doing more than just accompanying him through it, but also being the one to hold and stretch him instead of one of the nurses. 

He couldn't be there for every one, as he had to balance meetings and news broadcasts that he had to attend in person, but Alastor seemed more willing to behave as they worked through them while he was there. 

Other than the physio and the memory-quizzing, the two found their spare time filled with stories. Once Vox had filled Alastor in on every rumour or theory he could scrounge up and found Alastor still wanting, they had turned to the books Vox owned. 

He didn't own a very impressive collection, if Alastor's reactions to his readings of summaries and reviews were anything to go by, but the alternative was sitting in awkward silence. 

Vox apparently wasn't too good at picking out books, but he hoped he made up for it with his performances of them. He was a TV personality for which most of his career was before teleprompters were widely used, and thus, was proud of his reading comprehension and his short-hand memorization skills. He could embellish and emphasize well, and had a small array of accents he could pull off with some success to make the storytelling more entertaining. 

Alastor always drifted to sleep only after a chapter or two, his energy levels just as damaged and impeded as he was physically. It dragged out the book for longer than Vox and his speed-reading liked, but the opportunity to watch Alastor sleep was a fine substitute for his unbridled attention.  

Today was a special day though, as Alastor at one point stalled Vox's reading and pat the bed with stubborn intent, "Come here, dear, I'd like to follow along this time."

Vox's heart soared, even before he could ask for clarification. His desires didn't need his permission to fill his brain with wild ideas, and he almost shivered in anticipation. "You want me to move closer?" he asked, measuring his voice. 

Alastor shook his head, patting the space beside him on the bed again, "Join me up here, I can't see that far." 

The reminder that Alastor needed glasses was secondary to the realization that his heart was right. Alastor was already taking their relationship a step further, even if it was only to sit side-by-side for reading together. 

Sometimes Vox got up on the bed for Alastor's examinations, but only when the nurses needed Vox to prop Alastor up so they could reach his back, but this was for a prolonged amount of time and by Alastor's request, which was new. 

"Of course," he hoped the excitement wasn't too obvious in his voice. 

He handed the book over to Alastor, who flipped it from cover to back, holding it close to look it over. Vox tried to quickly calculate what his prescription could be, and wondered if it would be worth it to try and hunt down Alastor's monocle instead of just buying him a new pair of glasses. He can't recall if he told the first set of nurses to preserve his belongings or not. That monocle could be in his apartment or in the trash. 

Noting it down for later, Vox peeled the blanket back and pushed Alastor's unresponsive legs to the far side of the bed. He looked at him as he asked, "Can you move yourself today?" 

Alastor held the book to his chest, clearly assessing himself. He shook his head, "Best get it done quickly; you may do it." 

Vox nodded, and stepped around the bed to grab Alastor, sliding him over a few inches like he did his legs. The man tensed, face pinched as he just adjusted through the aftermath. 

Vox let Alastor have some time, roaming back around the bed to where he just made enough space for him to fit. "Al, I'm climbing in now," he warned him, sitting down and bringing his legs up. Vox kicked off his shoes, pulling the blanket back over their laps and leaning back onto the plush pillows. 

Alastor's only acknowledgment was a searching hand, patting his thigh when he found it. Vox entwined their hands together, waiting for the evident flare of pain to pass. 

It lasted only a minute longer, Alastor handing Vox his book back. Vox balanced it on his lap, not wanting to give up Alastor's hand. The book was from a Hell-only series, some romance story between a contractor and contractee. It was mildly interesting to Vox, mostly because the author had taken liberties with how contracts were made and structured. 

Alastor huffed softly whenever the main characters did something overly sentimental, and if he wasn't drifting to sleep, he'd be willing to discuss the ramifications such a relationship would've had. 

Vox opened the book to their last page, and resumed reading. 

Alastor leaned over, and rested his head on Vox's shoulder, making Vox stutter and his voice crack on a word. He read on, basking in Alastor's slight weight pressed against him. He wasn't too warm, unlike Valentino, and that soft spot in his heart sung. 

This was how it was meant to be, and it felt wonderful to finally have it. 

---

Rosie worried about Charlie. 

The poor girl was a wreck, still. It was clear that she was trying to pick up the broken pieces of her heart and move on, but it was a sad thing to watch. 

The Hazbin Hotel losing not one, not two, but three of their members all at once was hard to adjust to. They had been a tight-knit group and Charlie was such a soft-hearted girl, it was no wonder she'd taken it so hard. 

Charlie was trying to resume her normal duties, but she'd started taking to them with a manic energy, forcing cheer and smiles that were painfully obvious. 

Rosie tried to stay near, to offer her a comforting word of advice, to try and steer her through her grief. She'd had her fair share of mourning over her long life, and could instantly tell when someone was dealing with it hard. Rosie prided herself on helping others in the emotional aspect, and even the most messy of relationships could be smoothed over with her patient hands. 

Rosie was glad that Charlie had Vaggie. The two made up wonderfully after their previous tiff, of which for Rosie had first given advice to Charlie, and the fallen angel was a solid rock for the princess to ground herself on. 

Vaggie was overworked, however, so Rosie tried to help around the Hotel whenever she could. Cooking a meal here or there was the least she could do, she would say. 

The entire outcome of the hotel was a mixed affair for Rosie. She wasn't exactly on either side of the argument that sinners could be redeemed, but she cared for Charlie's safety. There were good reasons why she'd sent Alastor here contractually. 

It was just a shame he'd gone and gotten himself killed for the project. 

She was truly upset with the outcome of the Extermination, but Rosie turned that anger on herself. She thought, in hindsight, that she could have participated in the battle that day. Maybe her presence would have forced Alastor to think a little more about his actions. 

Of course he'd bitten off more than he could chew, Alastor was a prideful man, who for near a century now, had the power to back that up. Of course he'd been left to fight Adam, everyone in the hotel knew he was powerful, but none of them knew how his power worked. Only Rosie did.

She should've been there, and maybe Vox wouldn't have gotten his grubby claws on her property. 

She was, most of all, angry with Vox. 

She was still unsettled about the announcement. Her deal with Alastor did not break the day that he would've died; it had broken the 7th day after, when Vox had broadcasted it, and it didn't make sense. 

Her only thought was that maybe Vox had taken him prisoner and tortured him for seven days before putting him out his misery, and the thought of it made her sick to her stomach. Alastor had been her best asset. She would never find another like him. 

She sometimes thought back to that conversation she had with Husk, where she amused the idea of marching up to Vee Tower to give the man a piece of her mind. 

No one had known that Alastor had been her property, and it would be in her right, as his soul owner, to take up arms against Vox, but the secret had been kept for so long it didn't even really matter anymore. Revealing it now would only suffer his reputation more, and she had enough respect for Alastor to not step on his grave. 

"Miss Rosie?" Vaggie was peering into the kitchen where Rosie was elbow deep in the hotel's dish pit. 

Seeing her unsure expression, Rosie was quick to leave the task and take a tea towel to dry off her hands. This deserved her full attention, so she gestured to the breakfast table in the corner, "Just Rosie is fine, darling. Now," she took Vaggie's hands as they sat down together, "How can I help you? Is it the residents? The reporters? Just say the word." 

As if to add insult to injury, Vox has not only taken the Hotel's primary line of defense, but has also taken to dragging its name through the mud. Every week there was some new made-up slander and it was hurting their mission. Sinners were harder than ever to recruit for redemption and reporters flocked to their doors at all hours just searching for a sensation piece. 

Vaggie and Charlie were faltering, clear as day that they had no media training. Rosie did her best to intercept and delay the two groups from interacting whenever possible. 

Vaggie fidgeted, searching for her words, "There's something I want to talk to Charlie about, but I'm afraid of it not going over well. I don't want to undo all our work on her grieving process." 

Rosie hummed, "That does sound difficult. Could I ask what it is that you want to talk to her about? It might help." 

"It's about Alastor." 

"Ouf," Rosie hissed. That'd be the equivalent of getting punched right in the face.

Sir Pentious and Dazzle's deaths were equally gaping wounds, Charlie and co. having watched it happen first hand. They were both quick, however, and definitive in their minds. There was nothing more that could've been done to save them. 

Alastor, however, was a series of what-ifs. Charlie was stuck on crafting scenarios where she could've gotten him a happy ending, how she could've saved his life somehow. She should've fought with him, she should've went searching for him, she should've guessed Vox would show up to prey on Alastor's moment of weakness. 

It was unending. 

Rooting up the subject of Alastor purposefully was dangerous territory. 

"What about him, specifically?"

Vaggie sighed, "Charlie had a deal with him."

Rosie blinked, as this was news to her. Alastor was a clever little snake, it seemed. Had he been planning on keeping this from her? Immediately, infinites bloomed through her mind. What could Alastor have asked of her in return for his services? What services had he offered? Had it been a recent development or was the deal from the very beginning? 

Had Rosie's instructions not been clear? 

Vaggie continued, seeing as Rosie had yet to speak, "I just... want to know if it'll have bad karma or something. I don't know what happens to deals between demons when one of the people involved dies. I just want to make sure Charlie will be okay." 

Rosie laughed it off, hoping to instill peace in Vaggie, "Oh dearie, that's nothing to worry about! A deal breaks immediately upon a participant's death, and there's no real harmful backlash due to it. It feels a little unpleasant, but it's mostly just the rush of unused magic returning to you. It wouldn't have hurt Charlie physically at all."

Vaggie sighed with relief, "Oh thank god." 

"Does that settle everything? Or were you still hoping to talk to Charlie about it?"

She shook her head, and smiled at her, "That helped me a ton. Thank you, Rosie."

Rosie smiled in return, curiosity burning inside her. "It's my pleasure, my dear," she said, pulling her hands free. She got to her feet, and went about preparing a pot of tea for them. She used her magic to speed up the process, placing a cup down in front of Vaggie. "Now," she took her seat again, boring an intense stare into Vaggie's eye, "Do you know what their deal was about?"

---

Vox waited a few days for Alastor to adjust to their routine. He waited for the confusion upon waking to subside, and the slurring of his words to disappear. The distinct old radio filter was still absent, but Vox figured either Alastor didn't remember that he used it or didn't have the power to activate it. It helped keep his identity from the new nurses, so Vox would figure out how to correct it at a later date. 

Alastor didn't outwardly complain about the physical therapy sessions, bearing them with a stiff grin as they stretched weak muscles and put him through exercises to start regaining their lost strength.

What did strike a fuss with him was the continued routine of rolling him on his sides once a day with massages and lotions to help prevent bedsores. Having been unconscious for these previously, he had been blissfully unaware of the pain it caused. 

He became a sobbing mess during them, the cocktail of drugs he's on not enough to fully fight back the pains of his body as it was strained and pressured by the movements. 

Vox would deny it, but he got immense satisfaction from comforting Alastor through it all. He's lucky that while the nurses are present Alastor wore the sack over his head, so Vox can smile sadistically unimpeded. 

It was a boring sunday evening when Vox decided to initiate his genius plan. 

Vox closed and locked the bedroom door after the nurses left for the night, and relieved Alastor of his disguise. Its cute how Alastor's ears perk up and he blinked deliberately to adjust to the light every time. 

"Finally," Alastor sounded relieved. He watched attentively as Vox sat in the bedside chair, soaking in the sights after hours of being blinded. "What's the topic for today?" he asked, sounding eager for company. 

Vox had been exploring Alastor's memory by asking him trivia questions. Sometimes he picked things that the old Alastor would specifically know, such as the specs of radios or how to carve a body for cannibalistic meals. Other times he'd ask more generally about things like the socio-economics of Pentagram City, the Pride Ring, or all of Hell itself. 

Interestingly enough, Alastor recollected a fair amount about how Hell operated, though he'd yet to mention his own overlord status, or how long he's been down here for. 

"I figured we'd have a talk about ourselves, today," Vox wanted to ease into the conversation, not sure how Alastor would take the news he would deliver. "You remember me, right?"

Alastor nodded, "You're Vox, and you're an overlord, a powerful one." These were all facts he had to be told. "You were the one to save me after the Extermination… a month ago?"

"Yes," he nodded, putting a smile on his face and projecting patience. "Have you remembered anything of that day yet?"

Alastor shook his head, closing his eyes. "Not much. There's… something that broke in my hands, and pain. Then I think I saw you?" His eyes opened, a crease in his brow. He pointed at Vox with a claw, "There was something bright blue, like your screen." 

"I did pick you up after everything, and I brought you here to recover."

"Mhm. Why? Hell really isn't the environment for one to help out others on the brink of death. Makes me wonder what you want in return."

The moment of truth arrived. Vox had practiced lines in his head for hours, wondering which wording would go over best. Despite his years of practice writing speeches and reports, he hated each draft and decided to throw them all out. Vox, calculating and meticulous, decided to let it cobble together on the fly. He decided to be genuine with his emotions. 

Vox let the sincerity show on his face, and said, "Al, I don’t want anything in return, I did it because I love you."

Alastor's eyes snapped wide, staring at Vox with pure shock. "What?" he asked, voice small and breathy. He looked away suddenly, confusion rolling over his features as he thought it over, eyes darting around quickly.

Vox looked down at his entwined hands, feeling remarkably like he had all those years ago in that bar where he got turned down the first time. 

His shoulders sank, fear coiling in his gut the longer Alastor didn’t reply. He waited for the laughter, for the mocking nature of Alastor's incoming rejection. He did this all wrong, again. 

"Are we… a pair?" 

Vox looked up, startled by the searching gaze of Alastor's. It was an odd question to ask, and certainly not what Vox had been expecting. "A pair?" he echoed.

"I don't know if I feel…" he hesitated, gesturing vaguely to Vox. He paused to think again, his following words slow in clear attempted rationale, "If you've protected me for nothing in return… and I do enjoy your company… The only explanation left is that we were together, in some way? Was this a deal? Or were we allied?" 

Static danced across Vox's antennae, his face glitching. A tiny glimmer of hope was shining down on him, the promise of the plan suddenly dazzling. Alastor wasn't laughing. He wasn't dismissing his confession. 

He was thinking they were together, despite any hesitance he had. 

He had said it first.

"Yes," his voice came out strangled. "Yes," he tried again, joy bleeding through his core. "Yes, we are!" He jumped to his feet, reaching over to grab Alastor's hands, and he cupped them gently. He was careful of the IV in the back of Alastor's left hand, and placed a kiss on the back of his right, "I mean, if you think our marriage is a deal, then yes!"

He watched with delight as the shock on Alastor's face deepened, his jaw dropping. "No," he whispered, something broken in his tone.

Vox's heart dropped, "No?"

"Vox, why didn't you tell me sooner? It's been days-"

His stomach was doing summersaults. Did Alastor believe him or not? His only consolation was that he wasn't laughing yet. "I- it's a lot to take in, and you- you were so confused. I didn't want to overwhelm you," he lied out his ass. 

Alastor entwined his hands in with Vox's properly, holding them as tightly as he could. His stare was intense, and displeased. "I don’t like that you kept this from me."

"I was just-"

"What, did you think I was too fragile to handle this? Vox, its just amnesia, this is exactly the type of thing you should be telling me the second you found out-"

"No! I just- I wanted to bring it up at a good time, and clearly I picked wrong," he hung his head, actually feeling real shame. "That's on me, I'm sorry. I should've said something sooner." 

That seemed to only just barely appease Alastor, "You should have."

Vox's head was spinning.

Alastor continued, relaxing further into his pillows and letting Vox's strength hold his hands up, "Well, I suppose as penance you'll have to spend the evening being questioned."

"Oh yeah?" Vox perched on the edge of the bed, letting their hands rest on their laps. The air between them no longer felt tense, falling into that softness he was really beginning to like. 

"Mhmm," Alastor nodded, giving him a smirk, "You have much to fill me in on, dear." 

Vox's face flushed, that teasing 'dear' repeating in his head on loop. "Y-yeah?" 

"My husband is being quite rude, keeping all of our memories to himself!" 

Vox nodded in agreement, but he hadn't heard past the second word. Husband. Alastor had called him husband.

This was the greatest day of his life and afterlife.

Vox's hands twitched, the desire to fan them or something very strong. He sputtered various attempts to speak, but his mind couldn’t understand anything other than Alastor's unfiltered voice saying, 'Husband.' He felt higher than any drug could deliver, squirming where he sat. 

Alastor tried to laugh, the air wheezing out of him as he pulled a hand free to place it bracingly against his sternum. Despite the pain clear in his eyes, he seemed mischievous. "Oh? Did you like hearing that, love?" he said with a growing rasp that was very attractive.

Something popped and sizzled inside Vox, smoke escaping his fans and his screen fell dark. His whole operating system ground to a halt, the curl of Alastor's words running like a physical current through his body. 

Vox rebooted to that annoying oximeter alarm going off again. As his display flickered back on, he saw Alastor gasping desperately for breath. His eyes were tightly shut, hands scrabbling at his chest. Vox recognized the pattern for what it was; Alastor accidentally stressing his weak lungs and causing a horrible flare of pain.

"Al, it's okay-" he quickly pulled Alastor's hands free, carefully inspecting him for signs of bleeding. Everything seemed in order, including his oxygen tubes and IV medications. "Just breathe, you'll catch your breath," he soothed a hand across Alastor's.

There was repeated knocking at the door, undoubtedly the nurses responding to the alarm, but physically incapable of entering without permission. 

He ignored them, and accessed his connection to the camera in the room to check what he missed. Alastor had chuckled, which caused a coughing fit. It lasted the 45 seconds it took for Vox to reassert himself. 

Breath starting to even out, Alastor smiled up at Vox, "You… make… me laugh…"

Unwelcome, memories of long ago came to mind. How Alastor had laughed so uproariously, so unable to keep himself upright he had used the bar top as means to steady himself. It was a wonder Alastor hadn't needed to wipe tears from his eyes, he'd been cackling so hard. 

It'd been beyond embarrassing, sitting in a bar that'd become a comfortable space with a good friend, and getting his entire world-view shattered mercilessly. 

He'll always be the butt of the joke when it came to Alastor, it seemed. 

Vox started to rise, a mix of shame and hurt coiling inside him, "Should I get the nurses?"

Alastor pulled at their joined hands, shaking his head, "No need, I… I just need a moment."

Vox reluctantly took his seat. "Leave us be," he called out loud enough to dismiss the hired help, then reached over to manually silence the alarm. His knowledge of medical equipment has been steadily increasing with observance of the nurses and his own curiosity leading to sporadic searches about what this-or-that does.  

It was a quiet few minutes before Alastor properly caught his breath. To avoid relentlessly overanalyzing every interaction he's had with him, Vox tried reading over some prospective deals with other companies he's been neglecting while he waited. 

"What are you doing?" Alastor eventually asked, squinting at the holograms in front of Vox.

"Working," Vox threw one up closer to Alastor, displaying a basic viewership chart of his more popular channels. Nothing someone couldn't find out on their own, so he wasn't risking any important information. Not that Alastor had anyone to share it with, but better safe than sorry. 

"Oh," Alastor reached to touch it, intrigued as his hand wafted through the hologram harmlessly. "You don't need to be at your work desk?"

"Nope! I can access everything right here," he tapped at the corner of his screen. "Perks of being the Media Overlord, I can access every phone, computer, and device that my company produces. I can work from anywhere," he boasted. 

"Fascinating," Alastor did sound at least a little bit interested, but waved at the hologram insistently, so Vox pulled it away and dismissed it. "So," he let Vox's hand go to fold his together, looking at Vox expectantly.

Vox finished a message quickly before swiping it away, and mirrored Alastor, "So?"

"You must know me best, then, if we are so close, so I must ask; what happened the day I got injured? What on earth was I doing outside during an Extermination?"

Vox blinked. Of course Alastor would want to know. He didn't know why he didn't think to prepare an answer beforehand.

Good thing he was an old hand at manipulating information, with a convenient smear-campaign of formulated ill-intents to pull on.

Vox wanted to smirk, but pulled on a more compassionate expression instead. "You've been helping out this charity case lately. Something about owed favours by powerful people in exchange for your support," it was an educated guess, based on Vox's knowledge of Alastor as a person. He never did anything unless it served him in some way, shape, or form. Vox just couldn't fathom what the princess could offer Alastor. "They angered the angels, made them start an Extermination a whole six months early. They demanded you fight for them, and you almost died for it."

"We fought the angels?" Alastor sounded as incredulous as Vox had been when he heard that the Hazbins intended to fight. 

Vox pulled on nonexistent anger, hoping to come across as a defensive husband, "They didn't listen to our warnings, they just said that they had figured out some way to kill them. I didn't get there until after you fell, but from what I understand, they forced you to fight the head angel. The general of their army, an archangel."

"Excuse me?" the disbelief was clear in his voice, the raspy quality of it only adding to it. It added life to his words in a way similar to how his radio filter did. "I fought an archangel? Why would I agree to-? How-?" he stopped, pinching the bridge of his nose and taking some measured breaths. 

Vox could recognize an attempt to calm oneself down when he saw it. 

"I don’t know all the details," Vox said, "But I don’t like whatever's happening down at that project of yours. I don’t want you going back down there." He didn't, but not because he wanted to protect him from the princess, but just because Alastor was his now, and he was never going to let him go again. 

"I have no idea what I was thinking," Alastor shook his head. "Getting involved with people who stoke Heaven's wrath? Whatever for?"

"The deal was probably good in the long run, but it soured real fast."

Vox has had plenty of experience with bad deals, since deals were the bread and butter of hell, and occasionally you've found the bread has gone moldy without you noticing. He assumed Alastor was the same, though Vox also assumed Alastor was capable of spinning a bad deal around in his favour somehow anyway. 

"Do they even know that I got injured? Have they tried to contact you at all?" Alastor asked, a furrow in his brow.

They haven't, because they all believed Alastor to be dead, but Vox didn't want to share that. Instead, he said, "I haven’t heard a peep from them. They probably just used you for your strength, and abandoned you when they had the chance. I had to dig you out of the ruins of the battlefield. No one else had gone searching for survivors."

Alastor hummed, contemplative, "All that for nothing?"

Vox shrugged, not sure where Alastor's thought process went. He had almost expected the other to get mad at the fact they'd abandoned him. He seemed to have gotten real cozy down at the Hazbin Hotel, enough that he'd staked it as his own little territory to protect when Alastor was infamously known to own no territory. 

"Maybe you did get your part already?" Vox wondered, again curious of what Alastor had wanted from the princess of Hell of all people. "The amnesia is kind of in the way of knowing that or not, though."

"A convenient conclusion."

"How?"

"I help them, they toss me aside, and conveniently I am unable to speak of how I was used and unable to reap my reward?"

Vox thought it over, at first admiring Alastor's sharp mind pulling conclusions with near nothing to go off of. Then what he was implying sunk in, "You think they ensured you'd get amnesia?"

"It would serve them, wouldn't it? Not having to fork out whatever I had demanded in return for my services. It's either that or they hoped it'd kill me. It almost did," he rubbed at his bandaged chest gently.

It was an angle from an extremely jaded man, seeing only what others had to gain from him, but it was the perfect excuse. Alastor had just given him the easy way out of every attachment he could've still had to that place. If he really believed he was betrayed by his 'friends,' then he'd never desire to return there. 

The funniest part was that Alastor's injuries were all incidental. The wound was unfortunate, but simply the cost of being at battle. The amnesia was of no one's fault, merely the side effect of too many things piling up. Even his paralysis was an accident, his spine getting struck in just the right way. 

For a moment, the footage of Alastor's battle against Adam flashed through Vox's mind. He'd recorded the encounter, of course, and has watched it over several times since. The strike he'd taken to his chest had blown Alastor away, hitting his back against the cement half-wall of the hotel's roof.

If that wasn't the cause, the thrashing Vox had given him in his radio tower certainly hadn't helped. It felt good, wrapping Alastor in his wires and cords and whipping the man back and forth into every surface of that trashed tower. 

"I agree," Vox cupped his chin, making a perfect tableau of a pensive man. "I guess we'll never know, if you can't remember yourself. I don't want to do business with them if this is how they conduct their deals."

"That's probably for the best," Alastor gave a pointed grimace, but waved the conversation on; "Now, why don't you tell me more about yourself?"

Vox grinned, exited to show off to a more receptive Alastor of all his accomplishments. 

---

Vox, despite his current spat with Valentino, kept his promise a week later. He murdered the two nurses the day after they had Alastor stable enough to take him off the ventilator. He did so with angelic steel, ensuring that their knowledge of Alastor's continued life would never escape to the wrong ears. 

He then hired two more, and pulled them under the same contract. It was a strong non-disclosure contract that prevented them from telling others about their current patient, place of residence, or essentially speaking at all. They could only discuss things amongst themselves and Vox, who held the role of their contractor and Alastor's medical authority. He kept them in-house, like their two predecessors, a sub-clause in their contracts making them physically unable to leave the apartment. Vox was happy his deals had become strong enough for this, wondering how long he's been able to do this and hasn't had the knowledge to even try it. 

He just noted it as another boon from his announcement that he defeated Alastor, essentially taking his position as the strongest sinner in hell, and thus, had many more abilities he had to uncover. 

This time, he took extra steps to protect Alastor's identity - namely covering the demon's head with a burlap sack whenever he permitted the two to enter Alastor's room. He denied paranoia, but the cameras he installed suggested otherwise. 

Alastor had downgraded to only needing some oxygen assistance, so he had a steady supply through a nasal cannula that meant he wouldn't suffocate inside the sack. He looked ridiculous, and Vox filed the pictures away for later. He couldn't wait until he could embarrass the hell out of Alastor when he was awake again. 

His wound proved stubborn to heal, still grisly and expansive a month in, now. A powerful demon like Alastor should have healed by now, the wound a mere scar to be remembered by, but it has only improved by a small measure. The outside edges were scarring over, but the slightest movement in the wrong way would pop the stitches open and make it start its sluggish bleeding again. 

There was also the massive bruising all down his back that looked painful and the nurses seemed concerned about the extent of the damage it may or may not be causing. It was also receding slower than expected.

The new nurses started discussing weaning Alastor off the sedatives, exchanging them for a heavy duty painkiller they could keep him on long-term. They worried about the state of his mind under continued heavy sedation.

Vox allowed this, wanting the chance to speak to Alastor again. He was an impatient and greedy man by nature, and so patted himself on the back for waiting for this long. He'd just been so busy with making a few new alliances with other overlords, trying to cement his position in the power vacuum that Alastor's 'death' left behind. 

The transition went smoothly under his supervision, and there was no sign of change for hours before Alastor started thrashing his arms about later that night. The nurses tried to hold him still, but he only calmed once he heard Vox's voice. 

He was only semi-conscious at most; giving weak attempts to speak between hoarse coughing that had him crying out in pain. 

That night Vox ended up holding Alastor's hand while he slept, the sinner kicking up a fuss whenever Vox tried to take his hand back. It ignited conflicting feelings in Vox; enough to stew over that it welcomed him to the small hours of the next morning. 

He's never held Alastor's hand genuinely like this before. Of course, Alastor wasn't opposed to shaking a gent's hand in greeting or business, but those were social cues the showman wouldn't be caught dead dismissing. His own brand of deals were even bred over handshakes. 

Sitting in the silence of his spare bedroom and sitting vigil over Alastor's wounded form, holding his hand, it felt intimate. Something he'd dreamt of once upon a time. 

Vox realized the past month has been very self-indulgent of himself. He gazed over Alastor's uncovered face, only so because the nurses were out dozing on the couch.

Of course he still desired after the man. Alastor was strong, charismatic, intelligent, and handsome. His prestige around The Pentagram was something he'd aspired for, and had achieved, if not in the same way. Vox was supposed to be an equal for Alastor, but somehow he was the opposite. Alastor had said it himself; ’I am quite disappointed in you.’

And here Vox was, all these years later, still desperate to try and prove Alastor wrong.

Alastor started to fuss again, and Vox rose from his seat nearby to perch on the edge of the bed instead. He was ready to contain him in case he started throwing his arms around violently. He couldn't let him undo a month's time of work of tending to his injuries. 

"Alastor," he started talking, wondering if his voice would be enough to keep him calm a second time. "Are you awake? It's been a whole month," he studied the features of the man below him curiously. He was clean, but the inactivity was clear as day on his body. Alastor had lost both weight and muscle, and he looked worn out and ill despite the fact that he's done nothing but rest for the last month. Infection hadn't set in, but the threat was still serious. "Y'know, I know you enjoy being difficult, but this is a bit much, don't you think? Gotta wake up some time…"

Alastor made a small noise, his ear twitching and perking up. 

"You listening, you dumb deer?" He withheld the urge to pat the man's cheek, one hand held tightly in Alastor's, and the other holding him aloft as he bent over the bed. 

Hazy eyes cracked open, so unfocused they were facing opposite directions. A slow, heavy blink righted them together and they peered over Vox's close display. 

"Alastor?" Vox watched as he continued to struggle to keep them open. "Hey, focus, here," he brought his hand entwined with Alastor's up to his face, pointing at his eyes.

Ears slow to twist towards his voice, Alastor's eyes trailed slowly after their hands. Vox couldn't tell what Alastor was thinking, let alone if any of his words were actually being heard. 

A hum, crackled with weakness, escaped Alastor. It lacked the filter that he usually spoke through, sounding far too human for Vox's liking. 

Their eyes finally locked, the pain and exhaustion clear to see in Alastor's. Vox, a little surprised that Alastor didn't lock into a façade of choice immediately upon waking up, stalled from his next insult. 

Alastor licked his lips, inspecting his sharp teeth as he moved his mouth hesitantly. "Why're you holdin' me-?" he asked, trying to pull his hand away.

Vox scrunched his brows, and wondered why he didn't immediately start accusing Vox of this or that. Memories of the encounter in the radio tower came to mind, and how clearly Alastor had wanted to retreat. "You nearly died, and all you really got to say is that?"

That stalled Alastor, his ever-present smile wavering, "Died?"

Vox leaned back, finally letting Alastor's hand go. It fell heavily to the bed, not an ounce of effort used to keep it aloft. Alastor winced. 

Vox threw his arms wide, gesturing to the room at large, "Take a look, Al, I've got you! D'you really think I'm worth nothing still?"

Alastor slowly roamed his gaze around the room, catching on the medical equipment and the bland walls. The curtain to the window was drawn, and the door to leave was closed to ensure their privacy. "You… sav'd me?"

Vox laughed, wiping a non-existent tear when he let it go on for too long, "That's rich, real rich. I… acquired you because the opportunity proved beneficial to me, that's all. Not only do you owe me, but I have finally proven myself to be completely superior to you! Look at you, weak and helpless and finally at my mercy!"

Alastor blinked at him slowly, his attention listing to the side.

Vox leaned over him again, tapping at his face, "Hey, you're not allowed to ignore me anymore."

"Who?"

Vox sat back quickly, offense written all over his face. "No, no, you're not pulling that bullshit on me. It may have worked on that slithery doofus, but not me! Okay!" A spark rose from his antennae, a clear sign of indignation, "I am an Overlord, okay! Millions of people know my name and respect it! And you will too!"

Alastor swallowed, licking his lips again, "M's'rry… I don't r'call 'ur name…"

Vox stalled, his anger sputtering out into confusion. It didn't sound like he was trying to mess with him. Alastor's smile was small, not the shit-eating grin of satisfaction that riling him up usually earned. "…What?"

Alastor was quiet, averting his eyes in… shame? 

"You're serious?" 

Alastor remained silent. 

Vox couldn't guess the first thing that was going through his mind, not even before all of this. Immediately, he wondered if this was some elaborate scheme of Alastor's, a way to manipulate him to some end goal he'd never see coming. Vox shook his head as though that would physically clear his doubts, and tried to look at the situation logically. 

Alastor had been horribly injured, to extents they were still figuring out. The nurses had been concerned about his state of mind. During his fight with Adam, and then again during his fight with Vox, Alastor had been knocked around pretty seriously. Vox didn't know the prerequisites to rule out concussions against the effects of comas, but he was pretty sure they could both cause confusion. 

He'd follow along for now, until the nurses could give him a more thorough examination and compile their findings to him. 

Vox plastered on a smile, "It's Vox." It felt weird to introduce himself after so long, his name and company plastered all over Pentagram City. He was the most successful tech company in Hell, and here he was introducing himself to his own rival who'd been there throughout his rise to fame. 

"Vox," Alastor tasted, "Hmm." His eyes closed, and he was completely still long enough for Vox to assume he'd fallen asleep, "I d'unno that name, m's'rry." 

"It's me, Al," he pressed, feeling like maybe he was getting his leg pulled. "I'm Vox."

Red eyes dragged open to follow his form again, cataloguing him properly this time. His smile hadn't moved a millimetre, but his brows furrowed in concentration and his eyes were still dazed and searching. "Vox… Vox…" he gasped in pain, shutting his eyes tight. A hand twitched, and trembled as he tried to move it, but it remained at his side. "M' head h'rts…" he whined. 

Vox, curse his soft spot for the other, was immediately concerned. He reached over and gently grabbed Alastor's head, turning it this way and that. He brushed through section after section of short hair to diligently check that his skull was intact. Over the last month, he's gotten used to the ministrations and hadn't noticed anything concerning, but the situation drove him to check again. Faced with nothing notable, he laid Alastor's head back gently. "You haven’t bled from your head at all," he reported, "You've been kept under for a while, so it might be temporary."

Alastor hummed tiredly. 

Vox got to his feet, sliding away from looming above his rival. He checked his internal clock, noting how it wasn't too far off from Alastor's usual first check-up of the day. "You can go back to sleep, I'll send the nurses in, in a minute. I've got a business to take care of-"

"Why would you…?" 

Vox blinked, turning back from where he'd made to leave, "Excuse me?"

Alastor looked unsure, gaze flitting back and forth. He took in a long breath to compose himself to speak- and broke out into awful wheezing coughs. He convulsed, and pain was evident in his tense frame. 

"Shit-" Vox surged back to the bedside, placing a hand on Alastor's shoulder to help keep him reclined back. "Breathe, Al, you're okay-" he tried to soothe. 

Alastor coughed for more than a minute, gasping hard between. A quiet alarm had been beeping, and Vox kicked blindly at the machine making it twice just trying to get it to shut up. 

As his coughing gradually slowed to a stop, Alastor panted shortly and the alarm calmed. His eyes were hazy again, tears streaking his cheeks. 

Crisis mostly solved, Vox started to pull away before he noted the blossoming red patch seeping through the bandages and cursed. Alastor probably tore the sensitive wound right back open. "Al, you're bleeding, I'll get the nurses-" He tried to stand, but Alastor's hand grappled for his and tried to hold him close. 

"No, don't-" 

It was easy for Vox to pry Alastor's weak hand away, and set it down, "Al, this is serious. You'll bleed out, I've got to."

Alastor devolved into whines, gasping in pain and clawing at his bandaged torso. Vox quickly grabbed the burlap sack and threw it over Alastor's head and summoned a few cords to hold the fumbling arms still so he couldn't hurt himself worse than he already has. 

"Vox!" he cried.

"Just sit still for a minute, I'll be right back," he promised. 

---

Vox sat in the corner all throughout the nurses' examination, recording the meeting himself as well as through the camera in the ceiling. He watched as they tended to Alastor's chest wound; the quiet process of removing broken sutures, cleaning it, and re-stitching it closed in record time despite the patient's squirming. 

Vox took notes of anything interesting they discussed after, namely the expanding list of questions Alastor had no answer to. 

He couldn't remember his birth date, or his death date. He couldn't recall how he'd gotten injured, or who by. 

They were looking at a severe case of amnesia, and Vox didn't believe Alastor was that good of an actor to pull it off this well. Sure, he could play into a number of roles if they fit his needs, but there was always the tell-tale of irritation if one was looking for it.

The nurses catalogued it away, not seeming too concerned about it. At Alastor's persistent questions, they'd told him the memories simply would or wouldn't come back to him, and that there wasn't anything to be done about it. 

They listened to his lungs, not apologizing when he growled as they pressed too hard here or there to check over his healing ribs. They moved each of his limbs, asking him to make a fist or wiggle his hooves. Alastor demonstrated he could move his hands slowly in full motion, but rotating or lifting his whole arm caused too much pain across his torso to bear for long. 

His legs were completely unresponsive, even when Alastor had insisted in increasing agitation that he was trying. They pressed and poked all along his legs, testing muscles and nerves, and going higher and higher until he could finally respond positive to feeling sensation in his hips. 

The daunting truth was such: Alastor, suffering from retrograde amnesia and paraplegia, had been completely and utterly honest when he spoke with Vox earlier. 

Now, Vox still sat silently in the chair of the spare bedroom, watching over his slumbering prisoner. He'd dismissed the nurses after they've finished, and Alastor had soon fallen victim to his fatigue after they left. 

Vox slouched, his elbows resting on the armrests, and his hands clutched by his chin. He glared over at Alastor, mind horribly blank. Every thought of gloating and of delivering reproachful speeches for thinking himself untouchable was now useless. Alastor had no idea who he was, or who he was to Vox. 

Their companionship, their fallout, and their rivalry were all gone. It was all meaningless and forgotten. 

Anger simmered just hot enough to set off his internal cooling system, the sound of his fans whirring helping fill the near silence of the room. Alastor's raspy breaths were smoother now that he'd been calmed from his panic, and the oxygen machine hummed lowly along with him. Vox and Alastor's breathing were both controlled by mechanical means now. 

Ironic that the closest they've been in decades was when Alastor was no longer himself. 

There were threads of the man still barely intact: the way he pulled away from the nurses' insistent touching; the way his smile never fell; or his proclivity to harm himself at the first hiccup. 

He'd turned into a shade of himself, a shadow shaped by outside means. 

Vox sat up, a wide-eyed look on his face. 

A blank slate was blank for a reason, he mused. It was malleable, with limitless possibilities. 

He could shape Alastor into the partner he wanted all those years ago. Someone who would praise his achievements and beg to be included in his plans. 

Vox approached his sleeping ward once again, unmasking him slowly like he was savoring an important present. He leaned over him, carting a hand through his hair, watching his ears flick as sensitive strands were tussled. "Oh, Al," Vox whispered, "I have a great idea." 

He holds in a satisfied chuckle, not desiring to be heard. Ideas rolled around in his head, the beginnings of a vast plan starting.  

He brushed Alastor's lips with a claw, thinking about how he could easily steal a kiss, but he left it for now. It'll be sweeter if he earned it. 

---

Hell celebrated The Radio Demon's death. For three days straight there were countless bonfires out in the streets, sinners and hellborn all out burning radios throughout The Pentagram. No one feared the consequences of doing so anymore, and even VoxTek brand radios had been tossed into the piles because the brand had never mattered to Alastor's control.

The airwaves were at long last freed of his collection of screams, and forums all across the internet discussed how the victims could finally rest. Many theorized that the victims' souls were still alive in the radio frequencies and that's why Alastor could leave them to scream endlessly on his stations.

Vox only lamented that Alastor wasn't awake to witness his fall from grace.

Meanwhile, the Hazbin Hotel descended into chaos.

Charlie was an emotional wreck, unable to go an afternoon without crying over Sir Pentious, Dazzle, or Alastor. Vaggie was stressed and overworked, having taken over the hotel's duties. She'd taken charge of Charlie's counseling duties, Alastor's managerial tasks around the building, all while holding to her own security efforts. It was too much for one person to handle, but Vaggie was left with little choice.  

Angel was only seen once every twenty hours, and was always drunk or high when he was. Valentino's been calling on him relentlessly, and none of them had the power to protest, bound by contract as Angel was.

Lucifer hadn't been seen since the broadcast, off in his own world most likely. Everyone having learned since he moved in that the fallen angel had no concept of time, and were used to his absence. The likelihood that he remembered that he lived with other people aside from Charlie was low.

Husk and Niffty stood for the status quo of before the broadcast, or even before the battle. Husk was always reliably behind his bar, refusing to offer additional help, and also refused to talk about Alastor or what his agreement with him was that kept him here. Niffty, despite her initial breakdown, had also begun to act like nothing had changed.

Vaggie had asked if they were both going to stay onboard despite Alastor's death, since that meant that they were both no longer contractually obligated to remain.

Husk had said he'd gotten too used to it here and that he'd remain for 'a while longer,' though Vaggie knew he was spouting shit to keep up the 'my heart died a long time ago' persona of his. Niffty then said she was happy working here, and that here is where she'd stay until Alastor needed her again.

Vaggie tried to gently remind the little maid that Alastor was gone, but she refused to listen and Vaggie had other things to do with her time than convince her what was and wasn't true. The more time passed, she figured, the more reality would sink in for Niffty.

Rosie continued to be a welcome presence at the hotel. With her and Vaggie's combined efforts, Charlie was kept to a reasonable schedule so as to not crash and burn in her grief.

It wasn't unreasonable to find Rosie doling out advice and comfort to the residents and staff around the hotel, so Vaggie didn’t question it when she passed Rosie sitting at the bar with Husk one evening.

"-And you've gotten no commands since?" she was asking him.

"No, dead silence, I told you," Husk growled, clearly finished with the topic.

Vaggie stalled her steps, forgetting what she'd been doing in favour of listening. It clearly wasn't on the topic of mourning, as it was common knowledge that Husk was one of Alastor's many unwilling thralls.

She almost expected him to be celebrating his contractor's death, but he'd been tight-lipped. Either he really didn't care about others like he boasted, or he knew something that Vaggie didn't.

Unfortunately unfamiliar with the nuances of demon deals, other than that they were bad fucking news; Vaggie wondered what happened to a contract when one of the participants died. There was death every day down here in hell, so there must be some sort of rule or clause that was inherent to every deal.

She almost wondered if she would be upheld to the same rule, but remembered her 'deal' with Alastor was more of an agreement than a formal deal. She was smart to deny him that time, and any time after when he had tried again.

Perhaps Vaggie could ask Charlie about her deal with Alastor. Being the princess of hell might have some insight to the situation, but maybe it was too soon to talk to her about him. She would be too sensitive for the subject to go over well.

"That's a real shame," Rosie was saying. She traced a finger around a delicate glass of something she was drinking, "I was just thinking how odd it was that it didn't break until the broadcast. If he'd died right after the battle…"

Husk shrugged, "Maybe he really was hidin' out those seven days. Wouldn't put it past him. Wouldn't put it past Vox to lurk around 'till he popped back up again either. Either way, it doesn’t matter."

Rosie hummed, getting to her feet. She sorted her skirt, a mostly black piece that she'd taken to wearing in honour of her fallen people. "'Suppose it doesn't. I don't think Vox would take kindly to me marching up there for answers anyway."

Husk smirked, "I'd pay to see that."

"Don't tempt me, now, Husker," she wagged her finger at him, turning to leave despite her unfinished drink.

Vaggie moved on before she was caught eavesdropping.

---

Valentino disliked feeling like a scorned lover, but he couldn't deny that that was what he felt like.

After the conclusion of the Hazbin Hotel v Heaven debacle, The Vees were supposed to step into the power imbalance that hell would face. He understood Vox's desire for more popularity, for more revenue, for more control; Valentino himself enjoyed the high fame could give that rivaled a hit from any of his vices.

What he couldn't grasp was why Vox kept that damn deer alive.

After years of hearing complaint after complaint from Vox, Valentino had thought he had a good grasp on how he'd felt about Alastor. Rivals with a touch of sexual tension always made for a good script.

He'd genuinely believed himself when he called Vox out months ago with his statement that 'killing Alastor is your kink.' So why, in the seven rings of hell, did Vox not take the opportunity when he had it?

He had told all of the Pride Ring that he'd done so, boasting along with the celebrations that the sinners had thrown. He rotated as much of the Extermination footage as he could across most of his channels, and posted the images of his fight against Alastor all over his social medias.

The difference between the showboating actor and the downright lovesick man hovering over Alastor was difficult for Valentino to wrap his head around. Which one was the real Vox? The confident villain or the doting spouse?

Valentino watched with disgust as Vox caressed Alastor's face again. He turned his back to the sight at the end of the hall, crossing his arms and sinking sullenly into the couch he occupied in Vox's living room.

"I don't get it," he grumbled out loud, unafraid of anyone hearing it. Vox would only listen to Alastor's beating heart and rasping breaths when he was like this.

"You don't need to, Val," Velvette didn't look up from her nails, painting them in a fresh coat of black paint. She was sat cross-legged at the other end of the couch, a movie night freshly stalled because Vox had to go check on the invalid in the other room.

The nurses were sat silently in the corner of the room, facing each other with a sad deck of cards and noise-cancelling headphones perched on their heads. The headphones were a recent addition, all because Vox had noticed them observing a conversation between the three Vees once and his paranoia devoured the fact and twisted it.

Valentino has had the delight of meeting them a few times by now, always bustling around Vox's apartment since Alastor had moved in three weeks ago. Valentino was stopped no less than three times in his attempts to murder them, Vox always defending their usefulness and promising that he'll dispose of them himself when Alastor no longer needed round-the-clock care.

With Vox lately, it was always Alastor this, Alastor that; Valentino was tired of it.

"Yes, I do!" Valentino turned to Velvette, bearing his teeth. "What on earth changed, huh? You thought he wanted to kill him too, right?"

Velvette sighed, capping her polish. "Val, Vox is just feeling complicated feelings again. He'll make his mind up soon, it's just not easy to say goodbye to things that's gone on as long as those two have been dancing around each other."

"I thought Voxxy and I had something special?"

"You do, dipshit, I just said it's all in Vox's head. He's just a sentimental baby; you know how he's kept all his old heads in his office, right? You just gotta…" she rolled her hands around vaguely, "Remind him that you're the better model. Newer is better and all that."

Valentino huffed, not liking being put in the same category as that antique prude. Of course Valentino was the better choice; he actually pleased Vox, and on the regular, thank you very much.

Or at least, he was until three weeks ago.

Vox was too busy nowadays; launching new products, handling a smear campaign against the Hazbin Hotel, checking in on Alastor far too frequently, and trying to garner the favour of other overlords. He seemed to be networking with everyone except his own business partners.

It was a miracle that their movie night had remained scheduled as it was. Vox had only insisted it be in his penthouse this time, failing to convince the other two Vees that it was solely because he had the largest TV of the three of them.

His stewing was interrupted by Vox, who came storming out to the living room, and grabbed one of the nurses with a crushing grip to their arm. He practically threw them in the direction of the spare bedroom, a clear directive to get their ass back in there to tend to the unconscious demon. They were quick to hold their headphones in place so they didn't get knocked off their head and ran off with the other scrambling to follow.

Vox stood in their place almost panting, and Valentino took note of his tense stature and the blaring alarm that came from down the hall.

It was silenced quickly, but the way Vox closed his eyes and stroke at his face was tell enough for how much the hiccup had unsettled him.

"Voxxy," Valentino purred, getting up to go drape himself over his lover, "You're so tense, let me help with that~"

"Ugh, not with me here, Val," Velvette protested.

"Val," Vox huffed, brushing him off his shoulders, "We don't have time for that."

The denial had become typical, to Valentino's dismay. Vox never denied him before Alastor joined them in their tower, even during their busiest months of the year. There was simply nothing else to blame than the injured sinner. Valentino was tempted to go and kill the deer himself, but knew he'd be intercepted by Vox.

Valentino just grimaced, and planted himself back on the couch. He took up two seats, spreading his wings and limbs out, marking his territory. He glared at Vox, daring him to try and sit with him.

Vox sighed, and pulled over a chair from the nearby table. Vox's penthouse was relatively small, an open floor concept letting the kitchen, living room, and dining room blend into one wide open space. He didn't spend much time here, investing his money more into his impressive board rooms, offices, and his command centre.

-And his expensive taste in bioengineered shark aquariums.

There were reasons Valentino preferred his own penthouse, size and bland décor aside.

"Let's just get this over with," Vox sat, grumbling.

"You're acting like this is torture, Vee," Velvette said.

Vox threw his hands with a scoff, "I just got better things to be doing, okay?" He glanced down the hall, completely unsubtle at all.

"Mhmm, like sniffing a certain red-head's shampoo?"

"No! I don’t- there's no sniffing involved!"

"Uh-huh."

"Val, you hearing this shit?"

Valentino huffed, crossing a set of his arms, "I'm not talking to you right now." He turned his head away, face to face with Velvette now. Her make-up was stunning tonight, sparkling with glitter.

"What? C'mon-"

"Hey, Vee," Velvette leaned forward, glancing around Valentino to Vox, "Maybe you should hurry up and finish your pity parade for the Radio Demon? Just put him out of his misery, already. The trend's over."

A spark of appreciation sat in Valentino's chest. Velvette could always be counted on to get to the root of things. 

"I'm not-" Vox paused, searching for words. "I'm not pitying him- and its not- I can't just throw away this opportunity."

"What opportunity is that, exactly? We both thought you wanted to kill the man, and now he's holed up in your house, where you've done nothing but babysit the guy for three weeks!"

Vox struggled to communicate, again, sparking being the only sound in the room for a heavy moment. "You don’t understand, Vel, I finally beat him. This- this is… I've been waiting for this for seventy years. A chance to prove that I'm… not…"

"Vee, you've got an entire empire and millions of souls under contract. Why are you still letting this guy's words get to you?"

The air was tense, and Valentino sought to smooth it over with a cigarette. The moment he turned to urge Vox into lighting it for him though, he was met with an unimpressed glare.

"You're not smoking in here, Val," Vox warned.

"Why not? I think we all need to relax a bit, have some fun~"

"Alastor is literally on oxygen in the other room; I'm not letting you smoke in here."

The final straw snapped. Valentino sneered, jumping to his feet to loom over him. "Fine," he chewed angrily on his cigarette stick, pulling his wings around himself as a coat. He marched over to the front door, giving a snippy, "See if I ever come here again."

"Wait, Val-!"

He slammed the door hard, hoping he broke something in the process.

I don't hate it, but I also don't love it. And i'm not disappointed, but i'm also not NOT disappointed

ya get me?

I can be upset that jax abstracted, because jax is my favorite, and I feel like we were moving towards him and pomni making progress for him and his trauma with opening up to other people, i can understand why they made him abstract anyway, because we were leading up to it. It's been hinted at for like half of the episodes that are out. im not mad at that.

but I just feel like they're not doing justice to pomnis character by having her NOT reach out to him again at this point when all other times before she made the extra effort to reach out to him even though he's been so awful to her

and I also have to say that I am super super glad that jax is just okay with being a little feminine and not actually trans because i don't agree with that headcanon at all, nothing against trans people, just trans jax is not my cup of tea and i would much prefer seeing feminine men becoming more well represented in media without them turning out to be trans or gay

Because again, they just have her reach out to him when he has abstracted, and she got to enter his mindscape, which by the way, was absolutely the best sequence of the entire episode. I loved the old style cartoon the most.

Also, I'm really confused on how caine is still alive? Because they explicitly were talking about how he was deleted. So why is he alive? did they just delete a portion of him?? did the writing require him just because they needed to use him to get the others to realize that they were all digital reconstructions of humans and not actual humans being isekaid into the circus??? but kinger knew the same information???? right??? i just don't understand

and correct me if im wrong, but I don't think caine ever actually said "I'm sorry" or "I apologize", so i'm not happy with that :/ idk ai doesnt understand human emotions so i guess he doesn't need to say sorry cuz he's not going to be sorry because he doesn't have the capacity to feel sorry

don't get me wrong, Caine's little hacking section of the episode was REALLY cool, really good representation of just how SMART this ai is, but still, i was just lost on how he survived kinger DELETING HIM

idk

I'm glad they stayed in the circus

i didn't much care to learn who they were outside the circus, cuz i like them as them IN the circus but good on them. black queenie for the win I'm so happy for that

Also I was kind of hoping that with the realization that Caine was still alive, that they would be able to like fix the abstracted folks, because they're just a representation of their human counterparts, just in the circus. If caine can just get a hold of the mind files at any time, couldn't he just fix the mind files and prevent the abstracting or reverse it? And especially since pomni had gotten into jax's mindscape while he was abstracted; she didn't stop him mid abstract, that was like after he had fully transformed- So it's like his mind should be gone already, right? And that gave me a lot of hope for him to be persuaded out of abstracting; to be saved, because he even said at the ending of the sequence, he didn't want to go, he didn't want to abstract. So I just it feels like a sour turn of events

anyway

---

Charlie dropped down onto the couch with a big sigh, lounging back with a happy smile on her face. The others all took their own seats around the room, grumbling and muttering 'finally!' and 'thank god that's done!' They'd only just finished renovating the hotel- rather, completely rebuilding it. Most of the hard work could be claimed by her father, magically conjuring most of the building's bones and furniture into existence whenever he could, but the rest of them had all pulled their weight to help, even Cherri Bomb, who wasn't even a resident.

Charlie quickly sprung back to her feet, her gratitude giving her another burst of energy. "I just wanted to thank you all, for everything," she told the room at large. "None of this could have been possible without any of you: the rebuilding or coming out victorious against the exorcists." She caught the eye of each of them, hoping her sincerity hit the mark. Her dad, Vaggie, Angel Dust, Husk, Niffty, and Cherri all had varying positive and reassuring expressions.

Her heart sank at the evident empty seats of their gathering; Sir Pentious, who they lost mid-battle; and Alastor, who's gone missing and none have heard from since. Charlie hoped beyond hope he was alive, hiding out somewhere safe, but with each passing day that hope died a little more.

It's been just a week since the Extermination was repelled, and Alastor's absence has been a stark brand on her soul. Vaggie and most of the others seemed relieved by his absence, taking it on like it was typical behaviour of his and saying he would pop up again like daisies in the spring after a long winter. They assumed he'd be unruffled, and thus, his return was inevitable.

Charlie agreed that Alastor had a tendency to go off on his own, preferring not to participate in any of the hotel's redemption activities. She also understood that he had duties of his own to attend to, even though she wasn't privy to any of them. Alastor was a private individual, preferring to come off difficult or downright suspicious. He was only ever gone for a full day at most though, and at least let someone know that he was leaving, so the absence of the notice beforehand bothered her.

Surely after six months of working together, she deserved to be told to her face that he was abandoning the project? She doesn’t know which she'd hate more, the guilt of knowing he'd been killed for her or the cruel truth that he left them when they needed him most.

Just as she was trying to continue her thoughts out loud this time, the television turned on without anyone's say so. The screen displayed the VoxTek logo and a banner announcing an emergency broadcast starting soon.

Angel flung his head back with a groan, "Ugh, what now?"

The announcement screen was quick to be replaced with a scene of Vox, the Media Overlord, sitting proudly at a reporting desk. In his claws were a stack of papers, most likely a thrown-together report of whatever he had to say.

"Good evening, Pentagram City!" Vox had a perfect smile displayed across the TV he had for a head, dressed as formally as ever. "As you all might know, the princess and her associates were recently involved in a battle against heaven. They foolishly fought the exorcists off, making it the shortest Extermination to date! Deaths were at an all-time low, reserved mostly to the Cannibal Army that Overlord Rosie had donated to the cause-"

"Where the fuck did he get that information?" Vaggie asked, talking over the program. She was quickly shushed.

"- got to ask; why would she help the princess in the first place? I think we can all agree that the shortened Extermination schedule is probably the princess' fault somehow. We know that six months ago, Charlotte Morningstar was spotted entering the Heaven Embassy and leaving shortly thereafter."

A clip of a bird's-eye-view of the embassy was shown in the corner of the screen, hovering over Vox's shoulder. He gestured to it as if he could see it himself, and the footage rolled where Charlie was shown dancing into the building.

"How the fuck did he get that footage?" Vaggie jumped to her feet, her fists clenched in anger. "How long has he been watching you?" she turned to demand Charlie.

She was just as shocked to see herself on screen, grabbing at Vaggie's arm. It was meant to try and calm her from acting before thinking, but maybe it was equally her reaching out for support. The idea that they'd all been under surveillance for the last six months was staggering. "There's- there's gotta be a good reason for this-" she tried to reason.

Lucifer was on his feet next, horns appearing and fire flaring from his mouth, "No, Varley's right. Who the fuck is this guy and why has he been stalking my daughter?!"

"Wait, dad-" Charlie grabbed his sleeve too, torn between two defensive family members.

Vox continued, uninterrupted because he was on the other side of the city, "-our princess is known to get her nose in business that's not hers to get in-"

With his smile exchanged for a smirk, the footage turned into a slideshow of Charlie's attempted intervention at Valentino's studio months ago. The event had caused a fire, and Charlie's distressed face was the centerpiece of multiple photos.

"-which usually has catastrophic outcomes! Really, what else could we expect from her than death and destruction?"

Charlie slumped into her seat, attempting to shrink into it with the still lingering guilt of her past mistakes.

Vox let the silence sit for only a moment, "But far more interesting, we here at 666 News have exclusive footage from the Extermination for all of those losers who didn't brave stepping out to see the event take place! Turns out, an angel can be killed with their very own angelic weaponry, and we have Carmilla Carmine to thank for that. The Overlord of Arms Dealing had also deemed to collaborate with the princess, providing Miss Morningstar and Rosie's army with weapons during the attack."

More footage rolled with Vaggie silently shouting at the Carmine gates, and then flicking to when she left with boxes of stock being escorted behind her.

"We here at VoxTek, using our very own voyeurscopes: available for purchase at a VoxTek location near you," an ad appeared, a picture of a flying drone with a camera attached to it, "-are here to give you the reality check that you deserve! Trust us with your news!" Vox gestured to the camera, then brought his open palm into his chest in what was probably meant to be a gesture of sincerity, one of his eyes swirling as he did so.

In the next moment, Vox and his desk was replaced by a gruesome battlefield. It was the hotel grounds the day of the Extermination.

Charlie had to resist covering her face with her hands, "I don’t want to see this again…"

She watched, along with everyone else, as the horrible event happened all over again. The cannibal army and her friends were all fiercely locked in battle with the exorcists, striking gold blood covering the fighters and fields around the hotel.

The first clip included Husk and Angel fighting back to back, an angel dropping in front of the lens and splattering it with blood. The video quickly switched, following a small blurry form skittering around the bloodshed, stabbing fallen angels. Niffty was visibly ecstatic, cackling as she used the angelic knife repeatedly.

It only briefly glanced to Charlie and Vaggie, clearly discussing something mid-battle, before the camera slid away towards the hotel itself. The footage zoomed in on the roof, unfocused for a second before the distant glitching influence of Alastor's magic interfered with the video quality. Adam, the general of the exorcist army was visible for a moment, shaking off small shadow minions before he flew forward and the two distant combatants were hidden behind the 'Hazbin Hotel' sign.

The next handful of clips were rapid-fire, a compilation of angels dying. It showcased every swing of a weapon, every downing of a winged foe, and every bite of sharp teeth through fine armour. It was gruesome, a fact that Charlie had been denying for days.

The video painted it all so horribly. It wasn’t a last ditch effort to save her people, it was a massacre.

By the time Sir Pentious' airship was shown on screen, Charlie was breaking down into tears.

The scene changed completely next, a blinding outside perspective of the hotel being torn in two by a bright beam of angelic power. The feed shook, and the figures caught in the shot were fumbling, balance lost by the sheer force of the power. Charlie was forced to watch her hotel, her project, and her second home, start to crumble a second time.

Vaggie's arms snuck around her in a comforting hug, whispered apologies doing nothing to help her broken heart.

Past her sobs, Charlie could hear the angry whisperings of her family, asking what could be done and if they had a way to stop the broadcast.

"Alastor would know, but he ain't here," Husk said.

"Who needs that loudmouth?" Lucifer argued, "He's the one who decided to run off."

"Charlie-" Vaggie's voice was measured in a way she didn’t often use. There was an underlying tone of horror in it, which made her look up at the TV apprehensively.

It wasn't displaying the battle she knew anymore. On screen was a view inside a broken room, dark and small. The video was sharp, clear with a better camera than those of the voyeurscopes. The only light in there coming off slightly blue from the perspective of the camera. It illuminated shattered glass, intact in their panes but impossible to see through. The whole room was disheveled, like a robber had gone through it mercilessly, a desk and books and records all thrown around and damaged.

In the centre of view was Alastor, glitching the feed occasionally. He was hunched over and panting, pointing a wild look towards the camera. Blood dripped from him freely, all down his torso until it pooled on the floor beneath him.

"Oh, god…" Charlie covered her mouth in horror. Alastor had been hurt during the battle, and none of them went to look for him.

"And here we have my favourite part-" Vox's voice spoke through the speakers, vicious and obviously pleased.

The video continued silently. Alastor's mouth moved, his ears flicking back in displeasure as he snarled at the camera, rather, at the person behind it.

Cyan clawed hands flashed from off screen, revealing the video as a direct POV from Vox himself. More words seemed to be exchanged between the two overlords, before shadow started to creep up Alastor's form and Vox charged forward.

A fight had broken out, but the video clipped rapidly through a slideshow of stills instead, a grand majority of them indecipherable due to distortion. The room is explored in flashes and glimpses, and Charlie assumed it was the old hotel's radio tower. It seemed like Alastor was only trying to get away from Vox, rather than fight him head on, his posture sunken and his usual attacks nowhere to be seen. Vox had clearly had the upper-hand the whole time.

Meanwhile, Vox spoke over the reel, "I encountered Alastor after the angels retreated, injured and trying to run away like the coward he is. Now, as you can see, capturing The Radio Demon on film has always been a bit of a hassle, so I tried to pick out the clearest stills I could from the whole thing. It's a shame, really; he looked so good under my claws, broken and bleeding."

The footage stopped on a final still, a picture of Alastor limp on the floor. Vox's hand was in frame, lifting Alastor's head by an ear. It revealed naught but a broken, bleeding nose and a smile so strained it was hardly there. He was so drenched in blood; it was hard to tell where he wasn't injured.

What was most horrifying was that it was a clear image, not a single pixel out of place. The first of its kind, as far as Charlie was aware of. Alastor hated being caught on film or camera; his powers a natural deterrent leaving every attempt glitched-out or completely corrupted.

If Alastor was unconscious, maybe the effect was inactive; Charlie tried to bargain with herself.

"And here we have it, Pentagram City," Vox was back on screen, appearing overtop of the image like he'd hung it on the wall behind him. "One Radio Demon, defeated by me," he closed his eyes in clear pride, letting his papers drop to the desk as he held his arms out as if to bask in glory.

The silence was deafening.

"I did it!" Vox stood, slamming his hands down on the desk with a crazed look on his face, "I killed Alastor!"

Something shattered. It was probably Charlie's heart.

"This was a long time coming, folks! Hell knows I'll be celebrating it all week! No, all month! You all doubted me, but I did it! I'm the strongest sinner in all of hell!" he leaned back, cackling uncontrollably.

Angel's phone started pinging rapidly with notifications.

Vox's laughter was slow to peter off. He wiped at his eye, as though a tear had fallen, and took a deep breath. "Now, to all the old fogeys who liked his show, don't you worry, VoxTek now has full access to all radio frequencies!" Another ad appeared, of a sleek VoxTek radio this time, "VoxWave is coming soon to a radio near you, trust us with your entertainment!" he repeated the same posturing as earlier, but this time didn't continue. It was a clear end to his announcement.

Several things happened at once.

The broadcast ended with the visage of Vox's contented face imprinted on the screen before it flicked back to black, turned off like it had been before.

Niffty started screaming, so incomprehensible it sounded like another language. Maybe it was.

Charlie started bawling uncontrollably, guilt tearing her soul apart.

Most oddly of all, however, is Rosie appearing in a cloud of pale pink smoke, her face frantic and searching. She scanned the room, quickly finding the distressed girls and smothering them both in a fierce hug. Her voice is drowned out by their combined noise, but everyone can recognize the ministrations of a mother consoling her children. A tear of her own slid down her face.

Husk gripped at his neck, a confused look on his face.

"That- that ain't possible, ain't it?" Angel asked to the room at large, his voice disbelieving and small. "Smiles, he- he wouldn't just die, right?"

There was no reply.

---

As the broadcast finished, Vox didn't feel the need to drop his smile like he usually did. Today was a good day, and he felt full to bursting, like when pawns fell into place and plans came to fruition.

Announcing his victory was giving a huge boost to his ratings, and it was still rising rapidly at this very moment. It was almost intoxicating; the way Vox felt so powerful and infinite. Had he not things to be doing and a company to run, he'd find a way to flaunt this newfound power all over The Pentagram and really show the people who their leader was.

While having a successful empire was gratifying on its own, perhaps he could give rampaging like Alastor used to do back in the day a try.

He stood from his command console, stretching with a groan. He'd spent the last two days here, meticulously editing and cutting down hours of Extermination footage for today. It was a bold decision to include the encounter he had with Alastor after the battle had concluded, but it was imperative that the people believed he was dead.

Indeed, Vox had lied today on air.

It wasn't a foreign concept, the different Medias in hell full of fear mongering and manipulation, tactics he himself employed often.

It had been a while since he blatantly lied to the media at large, however. News worked best if there was a grain of truth to it, after all, and he had a brand to protect.

Alastor was a unique opportunity, he reminded himself. It was not every day you got to take out your strongest opponent, even if he had not completed the job. He'd thought about it, but something got in the way of the final blow.

Vox convinced himself it was not sentimentality.

The pros of keeping Alastor alive would far outweigh the cons. Vox could find a use for sparing him; using his power for himself, taking claim of his soul, or convincing him finally to join the Vees: the possibilities were endless!

Alastor was far too weak to fight his way free this time. It wouldn't be the same as 70 years ago, it wouldn't.

So yes, Alastor was alive. Vox had him in his grasp, right here in Vee Tower, with only a handful of sinners aware that the broadcast was just a touch untruthful.

Vox, thoughts stuck on his prize, disappeared into the electric wires of Vee Tower. He dared think the teleportation magic worked faster than normal, surging through power lines and connections until he reappeared in his penthouse at the top of the building. He adjusted his coat as he stopped just outside an open doorway in his apartment, watching the bustling inside with greed.

The spare room of his home had become an infirmary, medical supplies taking up half of the room and two nurses posted on either side of the bed. Seeing him, they quickly ducked their heads and escaped the room without a word. They learned days ago not to cross him, both of their souls soundly in his grasp and death nipping at their heels if they didn't heed his every word.

Once they retreated to the other side of the apartment, not allowed to leave, Vox stepped inside the room. Alastor, his trophy, laid unmoving and unresponsive in the bed hooked up to various lines. He looked deliciously weak like this, fighting off death for the seventh day now.

Vox sat on the edge of the bed, running a hand through Alastor's hair. He relished every opportunity he now had to touch the man, who was unable to protest. Alastor, the touch-averse god he looked up to for so long was now below him, and the premise was more tantalizing than the steady rise of power that his new approval ratings was granting him.

He was careful not to jostle anything that was keeping Alastor alive, the ventilator helping ravaged lungs breathe or the IV sedation that kept him from thrashing in agony. Vox's hands trailed down carefully to the other's wounded chest, bandaged thoroughly and stained with blood. The nurses' morning report had told him he was still bleeding sluggishly and that he'd received another blood transfusion a few hours ago, and was due for yet another this evening.

The wound was pesky.

Sinners had little practice with healing angelic wounds, because exorcists struck to kill. How Alastor had gotten away with such a drastic hit and lived was extraordinary, and Vox could tell the nurses were intrigued despite their grumblings of servitude.

In the old broken tower, it had scared Vox, seeing his oldest rival pale and cold on the floor. The fight had drained out of him so swiftly he only just barely stopped himself from calling out Alastor's name gently in concern.

"I'll figure out what to do with you yet," Vox promised, taking Alastor's hand gently in his own. He admired his sharp claws, and how they caught the light. The nurses were doing a good job of cleaning Alastor day-in and day-out, meticulous against the threat of infection. "But in the meantime, you're offering me a once-in-a-lifetime show, old friend, and I don’t intend to miss a moment of it."