Chapter Text
The worst thing about dying by Alastor's hand, was the sheer indifference of it.
That fact crystallized with brutal clarity the moment his shadow tendril wrapped around Vox's ankle.
When Alastor tore into him, it wasn't slow. He didn't make it last. He didn't savor it. There was nothing to savor. The Radio Demon dispatched him with the same mechanical efficiency one might apply to washing dishes or sweeping floors - a chore to be completed, nothing more.
The tendril yanked.
Vox's trajectory took him through the plate glass window of Hellfire Aquatics. One of those obscenely priced exotic fish boutiques that catered to Overlords with more souls than sense. Water exploded outward.
Vox shoved himself up on his elbows, his body and suit waterlogged, sparks already dancing across him like warning flares. His wires sputtered, shorted out, refused commands.
“FUCK–” He tried to stand. Failed. "You gotta be SHITTING me—”
“My my.” Alastor's voice was honey over razor wire."You do know what they say about electronics and water, don't you?”
His shadow was still wrapped around his ankle and it tightened over him mockingly even as Vox yanked on it.
“Let me go, you obsolete fuck—”
“As you wish!”
Not down. Up.
Alastor hurled him through the building's upper floors like a fucking ragdoll. Vox punched through drywall, support beams, and slammed into what his barely-functional sensors identified as an electrical substation on the third floor.
Specifically, into a junction box plastered with approximately seventeen variations of “DO NOT TOUCH OR YOU WILL DIE.”
“No no no no—” And Vox, soaking wet, made of living circuitry, a walking conductor's wet dream—lit up like the Las Vegas strip having a seizure.
Thousands of volts tore through him. Far more than his systems could regulate. His screen flared white-hot, glowing brighter and brighter and brighter, all while his body burned. He never quite figured out how much he was flesh and bones and how much of a machine. Where his blood ended and coolant began, where veins turned to wires. But in that moment, all of him, flesh or otherwise, was burning.
The water in his suit flash boiled, rising off him in hissing clouds that smelled like frying wiring and cooked meat.
"҉S҉҉T҉҉O҉҉P҉—҉M҉҉A҉҉K҉҉E҉ ҉I҉҉T҉ ҉S҉҉T҉҉O҉҉P҉— it came from his sizzling speakers. "҉I҉҉T҉ ҉B҉҉U҉҉R҉҉N҉҉S҉—҉I҉҉T҉—"
And his frying mind, helpfully, provided him with an old memory.
A picture of decades ago, back when Vox had followed Alastor through those streets like a fucking duckling, hanging on every word from that perpetually-grinning mouth worse than a dead man at his own execution.
The bar was some hole-in-the-wall joint, all cracked leather and sticky floors. Neon signs buzzed weakly through cigarette haze, casting sickly colors across the scratched wood of their booth. Shadows danced in the corners, drawn to Alastor's presence, while the occasional spark of electricity jumped between Vox's fingers and the metal table edge.
Alastor, as always, was holding court at the bar, spinning stories about his latest broadcast.
“—and then the poor fool actually believed I'd help him!” Alastor's laugh crackled like his radio static. “Demons. They're all the same, really. Always so desperate to matter to someone.”
Vox laughed along, too loud and too eager. His second whiskey sat untouched. He was too busy watching Alastor's profile.
“Your show's getting good ratings,” Vox offered, like Alastor didn't already know..
“Mhm. Yes.” Alastor took a sip of his rye, barely acknowledging the comment. “People do love their suffering. Vicarious or otherwise.”
“So… have you caught any of my recent broadcasts? I've been experimenting with some new formats that I think you'd find-”
“I don't do that.” Alastor's voice was light, pleasant even, as he swirled the whiskey in his glass. The ice clinked softly, a counterpoint to the tinny jazz playing from somewhere behind the bar.
“Oh.” Vox's screen flickered briefly. “Well, I mean I've been watching yours. If you'd just give mine a chance and see what i’m doing I really think-”
“Oh I see plenty." Alastor's smile never wavered as he met Vox's gaze. “I'm simply not interested.”
Vox must've looked like a kicked bitch, because Alastor was laughing again.
“Oh, why the long face?” Alastor's grin widened as he straightened his bow tie.”Don't take it personally, pal. It simply takes more than someone like you to capture my attention.”
And now, Vox watched as Alastor casually dusted off his coat. Even now, burning bright like a fucking disco ball, he didn’t have Alastors attention.
His screen cracked. Then shattered, exploding in a spray of coolant, blood, and sparks.
And then he was falling.
Head-first. Gravity had always been a vindictive bitch.
The fall lasted long enough for Vox to catalog every mistake he'd made.
Then the ground rose up to meet him and broke whatever remained unbroken.