Archive of Our Own

“Is Vox not joining us?” Valentino asked as Kitty placed a steaming plate of roasted fish in front of him.

Velvette lifted her gaze from her phone. “He’s in his studio. Watching you-know-who.”

The moth demon let out a loud snort. “Again. Does he hope to get some intel on his plans?”

In truth, they both knew that wasn’t the case, in fact Velvette merely shrugged. 

The two Vees had been served, but, pretending to be busy with their electronic devices, they stalled. They weren’t good at expressing their feelings, not even with each other despite their closeness, yet they were eaten up by worry for their friend and business partner: ever since Alastor’s official return to Pentagram City, Vox hadn’t been the same.

He spent hours and hours of his day spying on his every move at the Hazbin Hotel, using the excuse that he needed to make sure Alastor wasn’t planning anything against the Vees. But Valentino and Velvette knew there was something more to it. Something Vox had never told them – perhaps because he couldn’t admit it or even explain it to himself.

After all, Vox was the oldest of the trio: he had arrived in Hell twenty years before Valentino and fifty before Velvette. No one in Hell liked reminiscing, and the three Vees had a tacit agreement not to question each other about their pasts – neither their earthly lives nor the years spent in Hell before they met.

Whatever had existed between Vox and Alastor was the source of much whispering and speculation in Pentagram City; even Valentino and Velvette had sometimes found themselves gossiping about it. But the deeper truth was known only to two.

***

Alastor had winked at him.

The bastard knew perfectly well he was being watched, and he enjoyed it. He loved being the center of attention, and no one satisfied that need of his more than Vox. And yet, the television demon simply couldn’t help himself to do it.

He’d had a brief respite after the battle with the angels, before Alastor reappeared in all his cocky glory despite having been disgracefully kicked in the ass by Adam. For Vox, it was like a drug: he had to watch Alastor, had to see what he was doing and with whom.

He told Velvette and Valentino – even told himself – that he only wanted to make sure Alastor wasn’t plotting anything against them. After all, he had made his threat quite clear during their confrontation a few months earlier.

But there was much more beneath the surface.

***

Unlike many other demons, Vox still remembered perfectly well his arrival in Hell. He had landed rather undignifiedly on his back, dazed; for a few seconds, he even thought that, incredibly, the impact with the car that had mowed him down while he was trying to cross the street outside the crosswalk hadn’t caused him much pain. Then he noticed that the sky had a blazing red hue. And that his own body felt foreign.

He brought a hand to his head, and that’s when he realized that something was definitely wrong: his hand was bluish, with strange claws instead of fingers, and, when he touched his face, he felt something hard and smooth instead of his usual skin.

He stood up, staggering, trying to make sense of what he was seeing, wondering why his head felt so heavy – so heavy that he struggled to stand upright; he was, to say the least, shocked by the place he had ended up in and by the people who inhabited it.

In life, he hadn’t been particularly religious, and he certainly hadn’t planned on meeting the Supreme Being before even turning forty, so he had never really worried about his less-than-exemplary behavior. And now, because of one stupid mistake, he had earned himself a one-way ticket to the worst possible afterlife.

Adapting had been anything but easy: it wasn’t as if every sinner was assigned a welcome committee. Vox found himself wandering aimlessly, trying to avoid the disgusting sludge coating the ground, having to stop every now and then to lean against a wall and catch his breath, since his new head was damnably heavy.

After searching for so long, he finally found a shop window, and he nearly fell over when he jumped back: staring back at him was a monstrous being with a television for a head and enormous red eyes.

A television. Are you fucking kidding me?!

And it seemed that, even by Hell’s standards, his appearance was unusual: demons kept pointing and snickering at him, sometimes even giving him a shove to make him lose balance on purpose.

He had vainly hoped that no one would come any closer – after all, it wasn’t like he had anything worth stealing – but after a while, he found himself surrounded by a group of wolf-like demons.

“Have you guys seen this thing?”
“What the fuck does he have for a head? A box?”

Vox tried to answer boldly, hiding his fear. “Gentlemen! I’m afraid I have nothing that could interest you, I’ve only just arrived, I don't even know where I am. Would you kindly let me through?”

They hadn't. They'd decided to see if, by cracking his skull, wires and cables or brains would come out. It was ridiculous that Vox had been in Hell for something like fifteen minutes after dying and already had to worry about being killed again, but he had no intention of finding out whether demons could die for good, and a cracked head certainly didn’t sound pleasant.

One demon grabbed him by the shoulder; Vox, on instinct, seized the paw with his hand, hoping to drive his new claws into its flesh – and a sudden blue surge burst from his body, hurling the wolf demon several meters back.

Unfortunately, this didn’t discourage the other demons from jumping him; Vox, at that point, was practically a newborn demon, he didn’t even know the real extent of his powers, so he ended up overwhelmed, curling up on the ground and trying his best to protect his head with his arms.

That was when he arrived.

Suddenly the strikes stopped, followed by inhuman screams and the sickening sound of flesh being torn apart. Vox dared to cautiously lift his gaze, just in time to see enormous black tentacles tearing apart the demons who had attacked him.

“You think you’re so strong, don’t you?” a distorted voice asked. “You know, if there’s one thing I hate, it’s demons who gang up on newcomers. One would expect even the most indecent sinners to show a minimum of respect for those who have only just died, and yet… how distasteful."

Vox blinked and mechanically tried to wipe the blood that had splattered onto his face – his screen – struggling to process what he was witnessing.

“Some people really have no sense of decency, don’t you think?” the distorted voice asked brightly. A noise of footsteps with a strange echo – something like hooves on asphalt – stopped beside him. “I can imagine how you must feel, my friend.”

Vox shifted his gaze from the remains of his assailants to the voice; standing above him was a humanoid being (at least, he looked more human than the majority of the creatures Vox had encountered so far), with enormous red eyes – one of them hidden by a monocle – and an even more enormous, unnervingly wide grin full of sharp teeth. His haircut was bizarre, with two tufts sticking upward, he was dressed entirely in red and black, and he held a sort of staff with a microphone at the end.

Vox might have been frightened, but after everything he had just witnessed, he simply stared at him in what was probably a state of shock.

“Good heavens! You look like you’ve seen a ghost!” the red creature laughed, extending a hand. “Well, to be fair, you’re quite close – we’re all dead here.”

“Dead?” Vox managed to say. “So it’s true? We’re… I’m dead?”

“I’m afraid so. Welcome to Hell!” He politely gave Vox a moment to absorb the information. “Do you plan on sitting in this filthy street all day?”

Vox noticed that the hand the creature was offering him had red claws instead of fingers; then he remembered he now had them too, so he took it. Seeing how similar their hands were – and how perfectly they fit together, red claws against blue claws – gave him a sort of hysterical reassurance that he wasn’t the only one in such a bizarre state, despite his peculiar head.

“Uh… thanks for the rescue,” Vox felt obliged to say, hoping this being hadn’t spared him from the wolf-demons just to kill him personally.

“Oh, don’t mention it. You see, I sensed your strange frequency, it's the first time this has ever happened to me with another sinner”

Vox had calmed down enough to realize it was true: he too could sense a strange frequency coming from the demon in front of him, a sort of hum that resonated softly through his entire body, starting from his head.

“And” the other demon continued “I was intrigued by this strange contraption you have for a head…” the demon tapping the side of Vox’s head with his staff and producing a metallic sound. “What is it?”

“Well, it’s a television. You… know what that is? Don’t they have them in Hell?” If not, then this really is Hell, Vox had thought.

“Ah, I think I know. Those odd boxes with moving images, right? They’ve only just started catching on here in Hell.”

“Yes, same on Earth. I work in that field, you know? Or… worked, I suppose…”

“Then we can understand each other, you and I! I run a radio station, had one in life and brought it with me into death!”

“The dead listen to the radio?”

“Well, one has to pass eternity somehow – besides fornicating, killing, and torturing! But you look exhausted. Perhaps we should find somewhere more comfortable to continue talking. Without a doubt, you are the most interesting person to arrive in Hell since yours truly!”

Thinking back in the present, Vox realized that no, sinners usually weren’t given a welcome committee to help them adjust to Hell – but he had been given something far rarer: a friendly presence.

The flow of memories continued to crash over Vox before he could stop it.

***

Vox managed to find a modest residence to settle into and spent a considerable amount of time trying to come up with a life plan. Or rather, a death plan.

Things weren’t always easy. One day, Alastor found him drunk, teetering on the edge of a rooftop.

“It’s not worth it,” Vox proclaimed. “I’m going to end it for good. I’ve decided.”

Alastor shrugged, his ever-present smile unwavering. “If that’s what you want. Be my guest.”

Vox felt offended. Sure, they hadn’t known each other long, but he had hoped Alastor would show a bit more care, considering how he had helped him since his arrival in Hell. He turned to insult him, but in doing so, he lost his balance. Again, he expected Alastor to summon one of his shadowy tentacles to grab him, but nothing happened.

Vox felt the air whistling past him, saw the ledge receding farther and farther; he only had time to let out a brief scream, and everything went black.

The next thing he sensed was immense pain, as if his entire body had shattered and reassembled itself. After what felt like hours, he managed to open his eyes and met Alastor’s amused smile above him.

“Welcome back among the dead.”

“Ngk,” Vox muttered. And, once his trachea was intact again: “Fuck. That hurts.”

“Yes… I’m afraid to disappoint you, but it’s not that easy to off yourself. We’re essentially immortal, unless we’re torn apart and devoured, or pierced by some angelic weapon – which, I’m afraid, is extremely hard to come by.”

“And you couldn’t have told me that before?!”

“And lose your current expression? Absolutely not!”

Vox sat up. His clothes were sticky and soaked in red, and beneath him, he found a dark stain and fragments of hard plastic and glass. A groan escaped him. “How long until the next massacre?”

“Long enough for me to convince you to change your mind. It would be an enormous waste, believe me.”

Indeed, the thought of a definitive suicide faded from Vox’s mind. He discovered that managing television media in Hell was rough, to say the least, in the hands of incompetent fools. By speaking with the right people and making use of a few loans, Vox quickly became the head of a small company he named VoxTek, after his new infernal identity.

Yes, because like the vast majority of sinners, Vox – following Alastor’s advice – had chosen to sever ties with his earthly identity. Names, in Hell, were something powerful: almost everyone chose to keep their real one to themselves and adopt a new alias by which to be known.

When Vox had become the owner of several dozen souls, Alastor proposed a toast in his apartment.

“You’re making your way, pal! Keep it up, and you’ll become an Overlord!”

Vox smiled at the idea. “One step at a time, Alastor. How long did it take you?”

“Oh, not much. I just had to wipe out the competition.”

Vox fidgeted a little. He had noticed that Alastor was particularly feared among demons, even by Hell’s standards: whenever they went out together, almost all sinners fled in terror. People were apparently too scared even to talk about it: Vox had only managed to gather vague information about some Overlords who had mysteriously disappeared. Despite their closeness, Alastor was often evasive about many things, and Vox had learned not to press him for answers.

But, that time, curiosity got the better of him, so he asked his friend: “If I may ask, what exactly do you mean? How did you manage it?”

Alastor drained his glass of whiskey before answering slowly: “When I arrived here, everything was already as clear as day. I had no need to adapt. Apparently, some sinful souls are endowed with a raw innate power that can manifest in Hell, and that was the case for me. Just like yours – I sensed it the moment you landed here.”

“Mine?” Vox could hardly believe it. He was still trying to learn to control his new powers and gauge their limits. Most of the time, he had accidentally fried unlucky demons, and, on one memorable occasion, while trying to teleport from one television to another, he somehow got stuck inside the screen (it took him half an hour to get free, not helped by the fact that Alastor had stood in front of him laughing hysterically the entire time).

“But you said you had no trouble adapting down here.”

“What can I say, I’m a natural talent,” Alastor replied with a shrug. Vox noticed that he lowered his gaze in a strange way, but he pretended not to.

Vox rolled his eyes. “Really though… who did you kill?”

Alastor’s expression turned serious. Despite the constant smile on the Radio Demon’s face, Vox had by now become adept at reading his true emotions without even realizing it: he could sense them from the movement of his ears, the expression in his eyes, the tone of his voice, and his body language.

“I… clean up. There are Overlords who hold their power for so long that they become extraordinarily arrogant, thinking themselves on par with Lucifer.” Alastor stood and walked toward the radio on the cabinet, stroking it almost affectionately. “Hell doesn’t need tyrannical individuals like that. I give them a little lesson in humility, and in return, they kindly contribute to my radio program. Want to listen?”

Vox, feeling both intimidated and excited, nodded. Alastor turned on the radio and twisted the knob…

Inhuman screams filled the room, so loud that if Vox still had hair, it probably would have stood on end. That was exactly the kind of background one would expect in Hell.

Alastor drummed his claws on the radio, blissful expression on his face. “One cannot say they will be forgotten, at least. And so the people of Hell will always know it’s unwise to cross me.”

Vox swallowed. He wasn’t nearly as scared as – rationally speaking – he probably should have been, but he still felt a slight unease. “Would… you ever do something like that to me?”

Alastor looked at him, surprised, as if the thought had never crossed his mind. “And why would I? As long as we’re pals, I have no reason to. Right?”

Vox managed a smile and took a sip of whiskey. “Right.”

Time passed. Vox’s power grew, as did his influence, yet it caused no friction with Alastor; on the contrary, the two were closer than ever. Alastor had other acquaintances, but with Vox, he seemed to have a special connection. Thanks also to their frequencies: allowed them to communicate in an exclusive way, like a secret language that belonged to them and no one else. On a few memorable occasions, they even ended up saving each other from various threats; despite their reputation, there was always some fool willing to take the risk.

They often met and talked, sometimes walking, sometimes in their respective apartments, or in some bar. Despite his refined appearance, Alastor could consume an impressive amount of alcohol without ever faltering on his feet; Vox had tried a few times to keep up, only to end up vomiting his soul (in the form of an absurd Technicolor rainbow mush) into an alley, with his friend patting his back affectionately despite the lack of hair to hold back. With anyone else, Vox would have felt humiliated, but somehow, with Alastor, he could always laugh it off. 

Their favorite place was a clearing on a hill outside the city, overlooking all of Pentagram City. It was a charming little place, but sinners tended to avoid it, as it was the perfect spot for many former serial killers in life to lie in wait for some prey. Once, one of those idiots emerged from the bushes and lunged at Alastor and Vox, yelling something about how disgusted he was by “gay people” (though the term he used was far more offensive); needless to say, that day, Alastor accompanied his conversation with Vox with a snack of fresh meat.

One evening, the two of them were there, chatting and sharing a bottle of extremely strong liquor. Vox’s influence had brought renewed popularity to television in Pentagram City, something the sinner was more than thrilled about: new shows were being produced, sales were skyrocketing, and viewership was through the roof. Vox wasn’t sure if it was just his imagination, but he felt his power growing inside him. He had mentioned it to Alastor, who just gave him a conspiratorial glance with more meaning than a thousand words.

Alastor told Vox about the various illegal ways he had learned to obtain alcohol in New Orleans during Prohibition; Vox had been just a child at the time, so he listened with deep interest to Alastor’s stories. Looking back, it seemed absurd to him that he and his friend could have such an age difference, considering that, in Hell, they were practically peers. In the afterlife, age didn’t matter much, but it was generally measured in terms of the biological years each individual had at the time of death.

“One evening, some shady-looking guys came into my favorite local – they served excellent jambalaya, second only to my mother’s. It was obvious they were plainclothes agents; probably the word about the illegal distillery behind the place had spread too much and reached the wrong ears. So my friend Mimzy came to me and asked me to sing something to distract the cops while they hid everything in the back. How could I refuse? So I got on stage and performed one of my favorite pieces, Dream a Little Dream of Me by Fabian Andre and Wilbur Schwandt. You know it, right?” The two shared many musical tastes, but Vox had to admit he didn’t know that particular song. “Oh, what a shame. I have the vinyl at home; I’ll play it for you later.”

Without thinking, Vox said, “Why don’t you try singing it now?” He immediately regretted asking, stammering, “I-I mean, if you want, of course. It’s not like-”

“Of course I want to!”

Right, Vox should have expected that, given how much Alastor loved to show off.

The Radio Demon brought the microphone at the end of his cane to his mouth; a relaxed melody started to play in the air, and after a moment of silence, Alastor began singing.

And then it happened for the first time.

Vox was watching his friend sing, completely absorbed, when suddenly his heart started racing, and he felt his face growing hotter and hotter.

He froze, unsure of how to react. Alastor’s voice – melodic, despite the radio distortion that should have ruined it – seemed to have a physical effect on him, as if it were wrapping him in a vise.

Absurd thoughts flooded his mind: moving his body closer to Alastor’s until their knees brushed, taking his hand, and-

The song ended, and Vox snapped back to reality. Alastor was watching him, waiting.

“Well? What do you think?”

“Uh. Um. Gah.” Vox took a deep breath to regain his voice. “Hypnotic, without a doubt.”

“I agree.” Alastor studied him intently and furrowed his brow. “Are you feeling alright, my friend? Your screen is emitting a strange light.”

Judging by the reflection on Alastor’s face, Vox realized that the grey of his screen had probably turned blue.

“Y-yeah! I’m fine, I’m just… uh… warm,” he laughed nervously, tugging at the collar of his sweater.

“You should change clothes, I’ve told you countless times.”

“Says the guy who’s worn the same outfit for forty years,” Vox muttered.

“Anyway, the song worked perfectly: those men were so stupefied that they forgot about the illegal distillery for several minutes, and by the time they started looking, everything had already been dismantled and cleaned up.”

“What?” Vox had completely forgotten the Prohibition story. “Oh! Right. Sorry, I’m a bit tired, must have zoned out…”

Half an hour later, back in his apartment, Vox immediately began trying to figure out what had happened to him on the hill.

He wasn’t entirely unfamiliar with that feeling; he had experienced it a couple of times in life, though less intensely… and with women.

What the hell did it mean? It couldn’t be what he thought.

Could it?

In the end, he made what seemed at the moment the best decision: simply ignore it.

It worked halfway: other times, during outings with Alastor, that burning sensation returned to Vox, which he tried to suppress at all costs, refusing to investigate it further. He would never admit it, but he was scared of what he might realize, as if it were a nasty wound covered by a bandage that he dared not peek under for fear of seeing it was worse than he imagined.

Years passed. One morning like any other, Vox woke up and discovered that the television that served as his head had changed: it now had a slightly different shape and buttons on one side.

For the first time, he managed to catch Alastor off guard, who widened his eyes upon seeing him. "New look?"

"It wasn’t exactly my choice," Vox replied, already developing the habit of fiddling with the small knob on the left side of his face. "Apparently, technology moves forward. And I move forward with it."

Alastor made a displeased face. "I don’t see the point. You were perfect as you were."

For some reason, the comment hit Vox particularly hard. After the initial surprise of Alastor, the two friends resumed their usual behavior as if nothing had happened, but that offhand remark from the Radio Demon had rooted itself in Vox’s mind, like an indelible and painful mark.

A decade later, a new sinner arrived in Pentagram City. He called himself Valentino, and quickly climbed the ranks of power by making a series of investments aimed at expanding the pornography industry.

Apparently, this was a significant omission in Hell: many sinners loved sexual depravity, regardless of the historical period in which they had lived. Yet paradoxically, despite being the main figures in the infernal entertainment industry, neither Alastor nor Vox were fans of porn: one day, out of curiosity, they decided to go to a new adult cinema, mostly to scope out the competition. Alastor left ten minutes into the film; Vox lasted a few minutes longer, but eventually followed him because, though not prudish, he had a certain tolerance for the number of viewers in full orgasm he was willing to endure.

For this reason, some time later, Vox somewhat embarrassingly told Alastor that he wanted to meet Valentino to propose a potential partnership.

As expected, the Radio Demon looked at him as if he had gone mad. "You want to strike a deal with that subspecies of sex-crazed, porn-addicted insect?!"

"Think about it, Al," Vox tried to explain gently. "He’s achieving immense success in Pentagram City! People love his enterprise-"

"His disgusting enterprise."

"It doesn’t matter how we perceive it. What matters is that it brings power and money. If he keeps going like this, Valentino could become a future adversary."

"Then we’ll just have to take him out. You and I together are far more powerful than that freak of nature."

"But why take him out when we could exploit him to gain even more control?"

"We don’t need him to have control. We’re already powerful and influential enough as we are."

"Alastor," Vox tried to find the kindest words possible. "The world is changing, and so is Hell. Technology and the entertainment industry are developing at an unprecedented rate. If we want to maintain control, we have to adapt."

Alastor narrowed his eyes. "What are you trying to say?"

Vox sighed. "Don’t you see? We risk becoming outdated. And being outdated for us means falling, re-starting from scratch. Carmilla Carmine, Zestial, Rosie… they don’t have this problem. But we do."

"My dear, you worry too much! Perhaps the work has been too stressful for you lately?"

"Yes," Vox retorted. "Because – as I’m trying to tell you – I have to keep up with the world above, even though I’ve been dead for twenty years! Is it possible that you don’t-"

"Vox," Alastor interrupted. "The radio will never die, I assure you. I will not betray myself by polluting my art with some new, disgusting perversion. If you want to do it, go ahead. I won’t stop you."

"Al, come on…"

Alastor dissolved into his own shadow, vanishing and leaving Vox alone.

Shortly after, the Television Demon headed to his appointment with Valentino, continuing to mull over Alastor’s words. Was it true? Was he about to ruin his beloved industry in the name of profit and power? But without profit and power, there is no survival, he thought bitterly. Compared to the past, it had become much easier to gain a dominant position in Hell: with Alastor, Vox, and now Valentino, three new Overlords had emerged in the past fifty years. This was evidently due in part to the massacre carried out by Alastor against the older Overlords, leaving a huge power vacuum. 

But this also made them extremely vulnerable: many sinners began to gain power, got a big head, and in the blink of an eye, found themselves back on the ground, stripped of everything, perhaps under someone else’s yoke.

Vox absolutely did not intend to meet that fate; he would cling to his position with his claws. Yet part of him also worried for Alastor: from what he understood, radio on Earth was gradually losing popularity. Consequently, the same would happen in Hell; was it possible that Alastor didn’t care? Vox knew his friend could take care of himself perfectly well, but he could not help worrying about him. And yet Alastor firmly rejected any technology that had arrived after his death, and Vox had no idea how to convince him to change his mind.

The Television Demon met Valentino in a bar and was impressed: there was something about him that radiated sensuality and charm. He had a smooth voice, aided by his Hispanic accent, and Vox immediately understood how he had managed to gain so many souls in such a short time.

They talked at length, and at the moment of parting, Valentino agreed to Vox’s proposal of a trial period during which they would cooperate, after which they would decide whether to formalize the agreement or go their separate ways.

Vox feared that his new business relationship with Valentino might cause problems with Alastor, but the latter seemed to decide to ignore it. Vox and Alastor continued to see each other as usual, and Vox quickly learned to carefully avoid any mention of the moth demon, so as not to endure Alastor’s now well-known look of disapproval.

Several more years passed; the agreement between Vox and Valentino was consolidated, and their industries became even more prosperous. Alastor also managed to hold his ground – the success of his radio show somehow never faltered. Everything was going wonderfully.

For Vox, it wasn’t exactly easy to juggle two people as different as Alastor and Valentino, but by now he had found his own balance. While Alastor didn’t even try to hide his contempt for Valentino, the latter would often throw sly jabs at Alastor, never failing to call him Vox’s “novio”, meaning his boyfriend. Vox denied it firmly, but at the same time he felt his face burn, just like it had happened before; and unfortunately, Valentino noticed, giving him a conspiratorial grin as he took a drag from his cigarette.

One day, Vox went to the studio where Valentino was shooting his new movie to talk to him about an issue concerning the number of souls recently acquired. He walked toward his rooms and, without thinking twice – out of habit – opened the door without knocking. He found Valentino in the middle of changing; he was wearing a pair of fishnet stockings and his chest was bare.

“Oh, fuck!” Vox covered his eyes with an arm. “Sorry, I’ll come back later…”

Valentino smiled at him lasciviously, not even attempting to hide his nudity. “Don’t worry, come on in.”

“What? But you’re-”

“Vox, we know each other well by now. Come in, close the door, and tell me what you need.”

Vox would’ve liked to refuse and step out so they could talk in more respectable conditions, since this was business. But then his gaze fell on Valentino’s incredibly sculpted chest, and his mouth went dry. He closed the door and stayed in the room, even though his brain was screaming at him, asking what the hell he thought he was doing.

“That’s better, Vox. So, what did you want to tell me?”

“It’s about the number of souls you collected over the past month.”

“Mhm. Go on.”

Vox had all the data right there in his head, but he was struggling to focus. Maybe also because Valentino showed no sign of getting dressed. “Well… there’s been a spike compared to the rest of the year so far. So I was thinking of mapping the specific places where you managed to gather new souls recently – maybe they’re fertile ground for staff recruitment…”

“Smart, Voxxy.”

“Sorry, what did you just-”

“Why don’t you come here? And we have a little fun, you and me?” Valentino tapped the large pink bed behind him, a predatory smile fixed on his face.

Vox almost stepped back. “Uh, no, you must have misunderstood. I-I’m not interested in men that way…”

Valentino lowered his gaze. “Are you sure?”

Judging by the discomfort he felt in the crotch of his pants, Vox had just been disproven. He panicked. “N-no. That’s not- I don’t know what’s happening to me, you’re doing something to me, aren’t you? You are doing something to me!”

He wanted to run away, but at the same time he felt nailed to the spot. His head was starting to glitch – something that happened rarely, when he was extremely agitated; and in sync with the beat of his heart, all the lights in the building began flickering on and off, though Vox didn’t even notice.

He would probably have fallen into standby mode, but – astonishingly – it was Valentino who stopped him: he stretched out two of his long arms and spoke to him in a soothing tone, “Baby, don’t think about it. You’ll see, I’ll make you forget everything. Just let go…”

Vox tried to take a deep breath and shook his head, but he still couldn’t move. Valentino came closer and took his hand, pulling him with him toward the bed.

And Vox let him.

Forty-five minutes later, Vox was pacing back and forth across the room, restless. Valentino was stretched out on the bed where they had just had sex, smoking calmly.

“No,” Vox said, shaking his head frenetically. “No. This isn’t… what did I just do?”

“Well-”

“Shut up, that was a rhetorical question. I’m not like this, I- I like women!”

“One thing doesn’t rule out the other, babe. Have you really never felt attraction toward men?”

“No. Never.” Vox hesitated, then reluctantly admitted, “Once. It was one time, and I was twelve fucking years old. I was at the beach, and there was this bodybuilder who-” he stopped. “It doesn’t mean anything. I’m not like that, I know, I’m not…”

“Vox. I understand that your retro 1950s mindset might struggle to accept it, but there’s nothing wrong with being attracted to people of your own sex.”

“What…? I don’t have any trouble accepting that!”

“Then why are you digging a trench into the floor of my studio?”

Vox at least had the decency to stop. “I just… I feel disoriented. It’s like I don’t know myself.” He found the courage to ask, in a low voice, “What if I ended up in Hell because of this?”

Valentino looked at him skeptically. “Are you telling me that, when you were alive, you didn’t do anything worse than liking cock?”

“Well… I hired certain people to make someone disappear, so I could secure the expansion of my industry…”

“Right. So it was probably that that got you down here, or being attracted to men and women? ¡Guau, qué misterio tan enorme!.”

“You’re not funny!” Vox snapped. He grabbed his jacket and hurried out, with Valentino making no move to stop him.

The walk back to his apartment was awful; Vox felt the gaze of every demon he passed, as if they knew what he had done and were condemning him for it. It was ridiculous, especially because they were in Hell – for damn’s sake, literally everyone there had committed horrible crimes – yet Vox felt publicly shamed, filthy inside.

Valentino didn’t bother calling to comfort him, not that Vox expected him to. He brooded for a long time, until a memory resurfaced – one he had suppressed – about his encounter with the bodybuilder when he was a child: he hadn’t been alone then. He had been next to another boy and the boy’s mother. The three of them were watching the man work out on the shoreline from afar, surrounded by a group of admiring girls and jealous boys. Back then, Vox had thought he looked like a Greek god.

“Did you see those muscles?” the other boy had asked him. “I want mine to look like that too!”

“I’d like to be able to touch them,” Vox had sighed dreamily, not bothering to hide the tone. The boy stared at him. And so had his mother.

Thinking back on it, Vox realized he had felt exactly the same way he had just felt walking home from Valentino’s set. This explained a lot, after all.

It took him a few weeks to accept the truth, and a couple of years to do so with complete serenity and naturalness. But then another difficulty arose: the awareness that he would have to let Alastor know.

At first, Vox thought he could simply avoid telling him; after all, there was no real need, right? But as days passed, he felt increasingly burdened, as if he were hiding some terrible secret from Alastor.

Alastor was an old-fashioned demon, and he had lived even earlier than Vox: what if he had deeply negative opinions about Vox’s attraction to men? In Hell, every concept of right and wrong was thrown completely out the window; sinners felt no need to hide who they were attracted to. Considering what they had done in life, what they did daily, or the sheer variety of sexual perversions around, sexual attraction to men, women, or non-binary people was hardly considered noteworthy. Still, human prejudices died hard, and sinners carried them with them even after death.

Eventually, though, Vox couldn’t take it anymore and decided to take the risk: he wanted to be absolutely certain that Alastor accepted him for who he was, fully and completely.

Therefore, one morning he arranged to meet him at one of their usual cafés to talk. He felt incredibly nervous; at least they would have privacy, considering every sinner tended to run away at the sight of Alastor.

The two of them sat at a table and ordered coffee. Vox stalled as long as he could, waiting for their drinks to arrive before deciding that the moment had come.

“Al… I need to tell you something.”

Alastor looked at him, waiting. Vox gathered his courage. He had thought over and over about exactly what words to use, yet now he inexplicably came up short. So he blurted out:

“I… slept with Valentino.”

Alastor maintained his smile (of course), but visibly wrinkled his nose.

“Really.”

“Yes.”

“May I ask why?”

“Well… apparently, I like men. I mean, not only men, also women, but… well, that’s how it is.”

“And, with all of Hell at your disposal, you just had to pick that sexual predator insect?”

“He’s very attractive,” Vox replied defensively.

“He’s bald.”

“It’s not that bad. During sex, his wings spread out like-”

“Stop!” Alastor interrupted. “I don’t want to hear another word about that.”

“Because Valentino and I are both men?”

“What…?” Alastor looked at him, confused. “Because you’re my pal, and I find it repulsive to imagine you engaged in a sexual encounter with that horrible individual.”

“Oh.” Vox mentally let out a sigh of relief. “Alright. We won’t talk about it anymore.”

While they were on the topic, however, a question arose in his mind: “Have you ever had a relationship?” It was implied during life, as he doubted that Alastor, in the state in which he had been reborn in Hell, could have.

Alastor shook his head. “Oh, no. So far, no one has managed to steal my heart, as they say, neither up there nor down here. I’m not exactly waiting, though… who knows.”

Vox felt that burning sensation return in his chest and on his face.

“Yeah… who knows.”

***

For a while, Vox continued to have occasional encounters with Valentino. In life, he had had temporary relationships with some women, but with the moth demon, things were proving to be more lasting. Nevertheless, when he thought about it, Vox was unsure about fully calling them an actual couple. Being with Valentino was pleasant, sex with him was fantastic, yet something was missing.

One afternoon, Valentino urgently sent for Vox to show him something important. Vox went to his studio and found Valentino sitting on the couch in front of a coffee table, various papers scattered across it. But the moth demon was not alone.

Curled up against him was a sinner with the appearance of a spider, covered in white fur adorned with pink hearts, long legs, bicolored eyes, and wearing a skimpy little outfit. He exuded remarkable sexual energy, but Vox barely noticed at first, because he was too busy noticing how the spider was practically sitting on Valentino, who seemed quite pleased.

“Vox! Come, come, I want to introduce you to my new star!”

The spider demon winked seductively. “You can call me Angel Dust. It’s an immense honor to finally meet you, Mr. Vox… I can call you Vox? Val said I could.”

“I found dear Angel in a brothel,” Valentino said, grinning broadly. “He has a talent I’d dare call innate; he has the voice of a ruiseñor, dances incredibly, can act, and fucks divinely. You should try him, Vox!”

“Come on, Val, I can’t betray you like that!” Angel giggled, leaning in to kiss Valentino on the cheek. Evidently, that wasn’t enough for Valentino, who took Angel’s chin between two fingers and pressed their mouths together in a decidedly passionate kiss.

Vox froze, watching them, unsure of how he was supposed to feel or react. He had an unpleasant sensation stirring in his chest, but something told him he should feel much worse than he did.

Valentino pulled back, completely unconcerned with Vox’s state of mind. “I’ve struck gold, Vox, I assure you. Dear Angie has already signed a contract. Isn’t that right, amorcito?”

Angel nodded with a dazzling smile and lifted a document that seemed to glow on its own; in the lower right corner, the name “Anthony” was scribbled in pink, with a decorative heart. Vox had never seen a sinner so happy to have just sold their soul to someone. Perhaps he was high.

“Val. Can we speak in private?”

Valentino frowned but addressed Angel. “Sweetie, go wait outside. Help yourself to some heroin; you’ll find it in the usual place.”

As expected.

Angel didn’t need to be told twice: he gave Valentino one last peck, then stood and made his way to the exit, casting a seductive glance at Vox before the door closed behind him, leaving the two Overlords alone.

“What the hell was that?” Vox asked bluntly.

“My new star. I thought you’d like to meet him before his official debut in my next film. He’s even been here longer than you-”

“I’m not talking about that. I thought you and I were…” Vox trailed off, unsure how to continue.

Valentino raised an eyebrow. “That we were what?”

“Well- I don’t know, something! I mean, we have-”

“Yes. And? It was sex, Voxxy, we didn’t make a promise of eternal love.” Valentino scoffed disdainfully, clearly showing what he thought of that kind of thing.

Vox was disoriented. “You’re telling me you cheated on me?”

“To cheat on you, I’d first have to swear loyalty. We never did anything like that.”

“Well, no, but… I just assumed-”

Valentino smirked. “Oh, Voxxy. You’re so old-fashioned. Relax! We’re in Hell. Everything is owed to us, sex included. Why trap ourselves in a committed relationship when we can take advantage of everything this shithole has to offer?”

Vox didn’t know how to reply. He didn’t even know how he felt. “I… have to go.”

He left and walked down the corridor. He ran into Angel Dust, busy getting high on various drugs laid out on a shelf.

“Eyyyy, Voxxy!” the spider exclaimed as soon as he saw him. “I’ve never done it with a TV, but there’s always a first time. Maybe, since Val is okay with it, we could-” he made a suggestive gesture. Vox looked away and walked off without answering.

He canceled all his plans for the day and went to sit on his and Alastor’s favorite hill. He spent hours brooding. The initial pain from Valentino’s betrayal soon eased; yes, he was undoubtedly attached to the moth, and the sex with him was phenomenal, but the awareness that he slept with other people wasn’t that dramatic. But what did that mean for Vox?

“Damn, Vox, what’s running through that box-shaped head of yours?”

Vox nearly fell off the fence he was sitting on, straight into the cliff below. “Al! Fuck, do you have to appear out of nowhere like that?!”

Alastor looked genuinely perplexed. “Did I?”

In truth, over time, Vox had gotten used to sensing his friend’s arrival even before he appeared, thanks also to their shared frequencies; therefore, Alastor had developed the habit of appearing behind Vox without ever really surprising him. Vox must have been really lost in his own world not to notice.

“No, never mind,” Vox sighed, settling back. Alastor sat down beside him. “Were you looking for me?”

“Well, we were supposed to meet at the park. Before thinking something happened to you, I assumed it was more plausible that you had missed the appointment for a specific reason. And having learned from your assistant that you had canceled all your commitments today, I guessed that your mood might be unsettled. And you always come here when you want to clear your head.”

Vox was impressed but, above all, he felt guilty. He smacked his forehead with a clawed hand. “Shit, I forgot our appointment!”

“Oh, it doesn’t matter. Can I know what happened?”

Vox hesitated. “You’d think I’m an idiot.”

“That’s for me to judge, don’t you think? What did you do?”

“Valentino sees other people besides me.” Alastor stared at him. “I mean… in that way.” Alastor kept staring. “He sleeps with other people, okay?!”

The Radio Demon made a disgusted expression. “I didn’t need that image, thank you.”

“And I’m fine with it, come to think of it. I mean, I don’t really feel betrayed, I’m fine sleeping with him knowing he does it with others.” Alastor seemed to regret having started that conversation, but now Vox wanted to finish. “But… what does that mean? Do I actually care about him? I think so. As a friend, maybe. But I’m fine going to bed with him. It’s all so confusing…”

“I don’t understand, what’s bothering you?”

“I can’t figure out the extent of the feelings I have for him.”

“Do you really care? We’re in Hell. Feelings are dangerous, they cause more harm than anything else.”

“I know, but… how do you give up feelings? Look, I’m not a hypocrite, we’ve all done horrible things here, we’re horrible people. And there are definitely sociopathic maniacs incapable of feeling emotions or attachment to anyone. But I’m not like that. At least… I don’t feel willing to give up every bond.”

“What are you looking for, Vox?” Alastor’s voice was strange; for the first time since Vox had known him, he spoke without his radio filter.

“I don’t know,” Vox admitted. “But it’s something Valentino can only give me in part.”

“And me?”

Vox froze. “And you…”

“I can help you look for it.”

“W-what?”

“What you’re looking for. But you need to be more specific.”

“Oh. Well. As I told you, I don’t know.”

Alastor’s expression grew serious. “My pal, I know your position gives you security, but you need to be careful.”

“I know. I always am.”

“Then why do you want to look for something that will do nothing but make you as big a target as a house?”

“It’s not… it’s not that simple.” Vox sighed. “It’s hard to explain. You don’t bond with people the way I do, right?”

Alastor hummed. “I have friends. Rosie, Mimzy, you. That’s enough for me.”

“Have you ever wanted anything more… serious?” Vox tore his gaze from the horizon to look at his friend and felt that burning sensation spread through his whole body again.

Alastor seemed unaware of anything, but he hesitated before answering “I don’t need it. As I said, it would only be a target, a weakness. But far be it from me to tell you what to do, Vox. If you need a hand, I’d be more than happy to offer it!”

Vox had trouble breathing. “No, thanks. I don’t think I need it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Well then, I have some business to take care of in town. Coming with me?”

“Sorry, but… I need another moment alone. See you tomorrow?”

“That’s perfectly fine. Shall we take a walk in Cannibal Town?”

“Alright. See you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow!”

Alastor gave Vox an encouraging pat on the shoulder and dissolved into the shadows, leaving the Television Demon alone.

Vox stayed there for a long time. He didn’t need to search for anything, because he had finally understood that what he wanted had been beside him ever since he’d arrived in Hell.

And yet it still seemed impossible to reach.

***

Vox would never have thought he could keep seeing Alastor as if nothing had happened after such a realization; but, in the end, he managed. Somehow, he locked his feelings away somewhere inside himself and kept them there, hidden from everyone but himself. Despite his privileged position as an Overlord, he was still in Hell: suffering was standard practice.

He didn’t talk about it with anyone, though at times he had the impression that some of the more perceptive demons sensed something. Rosie certainly did, judging by the tender way she looked at him every time he and Alastor stopped by to greet her, but Vox never brought the subject up with her, and the Overlord of cannibals, in turn, had the discretion to do the same. Valentino often made snide remarks about Vox and his “boyfriend,” but it wasn’t clear whether he did it because he knew the truth or just to tease Vox.

Speaking of Valentino, it seemed he had been right about Angel Dust: in a short time, the spider demon became an incredible source of profit, both for Valentino and for Vox. The latter preferred to keep a relative distance from his partner’s and his star’s sexual business; he quickly noticed a much more unpleasant side of Valentino’s personality emerging, one that usually took its toll on his subordinates. Vox preferred to let him be, stepping in to calm him down when he risked going too far: after all, they had an image to maintain.

“I still don’t understand why you insist on staying with that brute,” Alastor told him more than once, not even trying to hide his annoyance. “He’s nothing but a sex- and money-starved thug. You’re better than that.”

“We’re in Hell, Al,” Vox replied tiredly. “One way or another, we’re all pieces of shit. Even the two of us.”

As the decades passed, the relationship between Alastor and Vox grew ever more complicated. As Vox had predicted, technology progressed at an almost unsustainable speed, and he struggled to keep up with it, much as he loved it. His head underwent a succession of model changes over the years, so many that he eventually got used to it.

Despite radio becoming increasingly obsolete on Earth, Alastor kept himself afloat thanks to the blend of past cultures that persisted in Hell, always finding new souls to add to his collection. He probably reached peak success when he managed to acquire the soul of Husk, the Overlord of gambling, who lost his status and retired to drink and get drunk in seedy bars.

But Alastor continued to refuse to accept technological progress and, within a few years, communication with Vox became frustrating to say the least: the two went from being on the same wavelength of thought, understanding each other perfectly as if they shared a single mind, to speaking two different languages. Vox had the impression that Alastor didn’t even want to try to understand him or meet him halfway, as if the Television Demon were the only one in the pair who wanted to save their friendship. As if Alastor didn’t really care.

Everything changed with the arrival of a new sinner in Pentagram City. She called herself Velvette; in a surprisingly short time, she established herself as a new prominent Overlord, thanks to cellphone technology and social media.

As with Valentino, Vox immediately saw an opportunity and managed to arrange a meeting with her to talk business. He was pleasantly surprised to discover that he and Velvette had a great deal in common; for the first time in years, he was finally in complete sync with someone.

They talked at length, then Vox introduced Velvette to Valentino, and together they began planning a partnership unlike anything Hell had ever seen. Everything was going smoothly… yet Vox still wasn’t satisfied. Something was missing. And one day, he decided to resolve it once and for all.

He arranged to meet Alastor on their hill, to ensure complete discretion. As he waited for him, Vox felt nervous and didn’t even know exactly why.

At last, his friend materialized from the shadows a few steps away. “Vox! To what do I owe the pleasure of this meeting?”

“I need to talk to you.”

“I had gathered as much. About what?”

“Have you met Velvette, the new Overlord?”

“I had the displeasure during the last Overlords’ meeting. But I’ve heard you and she have struck some kind of deal. Is that so?”

“More or less. It’s a work in progress that involves Valentino as well. And I know what you think, but hear me out.” Alastor motioned for him to continue. “Alright. The three of us are planning to form a stable group to better control Hell’s population: Velvette has social media, I have TV, Valentino has porn cinema. If we join forces, we’ll be unstoppable.”

Alastor raised an eyebrow. “Oh? So you want to share your power with someone else? With two other Overlords?”

“It would be a union meant to strengthen us, Al, why can’t you understand that?”

“Because I don’t understand your need to rely on two individuals like them.”

“They’re my friends!” Vox snapped. “We understand each other. I want to trust them, at least as much as it’s possible to trust anyone in Hell.”

“Oh, so you’re getting sentimental now? Since when did you get soft, Vox?”

“What…” Vox was speechless. “What are you talking about? This is what friends do! I’ve done it with you, and you’ve done it with me!”

“Oh please, that’s different. Do you really want to put me on their level?” Alastor made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “Because I would find that extremely offensive.”

“I… I don’t…” Vox shook his head hard and finally said the reason he’d asked Alastor to meet: “Join us!”

Alastor froze. “What?”

“Join us! Join me!”  Since Alastor didn’t reply, Vox kept going.  “How long have we been friends? Almost sixty years! You and I, together with Valentino and Velvette, we could exert unified control over Pentagram City like never before! Not even Lucifer and Lilith have ever achieved something like that!”

Alastor burst out laughing. “And this is your great idea? Please, Vox. I’ll never team up with those two loose cannons.”

“And with me, then?!” Vox nearly shouted. His body began sparking involuntarily. “After everything we’ve been through… you really don’t trust me? You’re really willing to reject my proposal so quickly? Tell me why!”

Alastor stopped laughing; his expression turned icy. “You’ve changed, Vox. You’ve betrayed your values, the values you brought here to Hell.”

“What?! But that’s not-”

“I was willing to tolerate it. But now you’re asking me to do the same, and it’s not the first time. And I absolutely refuse to sell out my principles by working with that idiotic moth. Not even if you’re the one asking.”

To Vox, it felt like he was standing in front of a stranger. Or maybe not?

You were perfect the way you were.

Perhaps Alastor had lost respect for him decades ago and had kept their friendship going out of mere inertia?

“Al, how can you say something like that? I’ve never betrayed my principles, and I’d never ask you to betray yours. It’s just… the nature of things! Everything changes, everything evolves. Entertainment too.”

“And yet I’m still here, am I not? Didn’t you claim once that I would become obsolete and fall into disgrace?”

“That was a concern, I’m glad it didn’t-”

“Because I would still be perfectly capable of reducing you into tiny little pieces, if I wanted.”

Vox had to restrain himself from stepping back. His heart was pounding harder and harder. “What are you trying to say?”

“That, despite what you say, I’ve stayed true to my values. I’ve kept them intact since I arrived here, and I’m still at the top of the food chain. Unlike you.”

“Alastor, stop it!”  The sense of betrayal fanned Vox’s anger. “You know what? Fuck you. You’re just a selfish bastard. We could accomplish so much together, you and I, can’t you see that?!”

Alastor looked at him. His expression was so disdainful that Vox’s fury faltered, crushed by a painful sense of disbelief.  “I have no intention of tying my power to anyone else’s. Frankly, I find it pathetic that you need other Overlords to assert your strength. It’s nothing but a sign of weakness.”

Vox no longer knew what to say. Everything was falling apart, years and years of friendship crumbling between his fingers like wet sand. The long-suppressed feeling he had always harbored for Alastor had turned into a burning iron pressed against his esophagus, making it hard to breathe. For the first time since long before he had died, he felt his eyes burn. Wait, could he cry? He had a damn TV for a head, yet could he cry?! He wasn’t going to find out.

Vox pointed a finger at him, trying to find the words to resume the argument; he realized too late how emotionally unstable he was.

Without meaning to (at least not consciously), a blue electric bolt shot from the tip of his finger and streaked past Alastor, grazing the edge of his coat and hitting the tree behind him, which disintegrated into a heap of ash.

For a moment, absolute silence reigned. Alastor’s eyes turned completely black. Vox went pale and lowered his hand.  “Shit! Al, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“I warned you, Vox,” Alastor’s voice was horribly distorted. “I wouldn’t have harmed you as long as you didn’t give me a good reason to do so.”

“I swear I didn’t-!”

Thick black tentacles emerged from the surrounding shadows as Alastor began to grow in size. Vox couldn’t believe that such a stupid misunderstanding had been enough to make Alastor snap, but he suspected there was something more underneath. Maybe his friend had repressed something for so long that he just couldn’t hold it back anymore.

Vox hesitated, static electricity coursing through his veins, sparks flying everywhere; what was he supposed to do? Fight? 

I can’t do it.

He would run. Sure, he’d look like a coward, but he didn’t care. He wouldn’t fight Alastor.

He turned into pure electricity and teleported away. He would have to make quite a leap before finding a technological source to latch onto to get home, it would drain a huge amount of energy, but years of training had made him proficient. He would give Alastor time to cool off, then contact him and give him an earful about what the hell had gotten into hi-

Something grabbed him.

Before Vox could understand what was happening, he was forced back into solid form and slammed to the ground. The impact was so strong it left him dazed for a few seconds; when he came to, he realized he was pinned down. A deafening pain throbbed in his abdomen. He managed to lift his head with difficulty and saw that his body was wrapped in Alastor’s black shadow-tentacles. And then there was that terrible pain, and his clothes were getting hotter and wetter…

He tried to wiggle free and felt something move inside him.

The tip of the tentacle was embedded in his stomach.

Oh, shit.

Vox tried to turn into electricity again to slip out of the hold, but it was useless. He then tried to fire a lightning-level electric blast at the tentacle: same result. Maybe the tentacle, being made of shadow, didn’t react to it.

Alastor loomed above him, held aloft by shadowy tendrils. His mouth had stretched monstrously wide; his eyes had become two bottomless black pits.

“Al-” Vox tried to speak, but the tentacle squeezed painfully around his torso, forcing the air out of his lungs. “A-Alastor…”

Alastor’s voice no longer had anything human in it. “You knew it, Vox. Stand against me and there will be consequences.”

Vox could no longer speak or move; the pain was consuming him. Something was happening, the tentacle inside him was doing something.

At first Vox thought he was simply about to pass out, whether from the pain or the blood soaking his clothes; he felt himself slipping away, only the pain, rather than fading with unconsciousness, seemed to intensify.

And then he understood.

He wants to rip out my soul. He wants to tear my soul from my body and broadcast my screams forever on his radio show.

Vox couldn’t let that happen, not under any circumstances. He kicked weakly, painfully aware of how ridiculous he must have looked, like a trapped little animal struggling uselessly with its last scraps of energy.

With what little breath he had left, he managed to say: “Alastor.”

For a moment, he thought he saw something in Alastor’s expression. Pain? Was that possible? His vision was blurring. He was fighting with everything he had, but he was losing. He would lose.

And yet he refused to surrender. He clenched his teeth, shut his eyes, and strained with all his might to resist the horrible sensation crushing him. Was it possible to hold onto one’s own soul? He had to try.

I’m going to die. I’ll die for good. Worse: my soul will be torn out and condemned to eternal torture. And the one doing this to me is my best friend of over half a century.

An intrusive thought broke into Vox’s battered mind before he could stop it:

The man I love is killing me.

There it was. The unspoken secret he had carried for years. He had rarely even dared think it; because they were in Hell, damn it, and in Hell certain concepts were unspoken taboos. Lust, sex, that was fine. But love? Loving someone? Vox hadn’t been familiar with that term even when he was alive, let alone now. He had suppressed that feeling for decades without telling anyone, refusing to admit it even to himself. Yet in that moment, on the verge of ending his existence at the hands of the one who had stolen his heart, the truth was laid bare in his soul. And this time, he couldn’t hide it.

Then, suddenly, the torture stopped.

The shadowy tentacle dissolved, and Vox found himself lying on his back on the ground, injured but free, coughing violently as he tried to catch his breath.

Alastor was standing over him in his usual form, with the expression of a deer caught in headlights. Even in his dazed state, Vox was lucid enough to wonder what was stopping his (former) friend from finishing the job: he was utterly helpless, completely at his mercy. Why was he hesitating?

He took a deep breath, despite the excruciating pain in his torso. He realized his screen was wet. His uncontrollable display of emotions had always been his greatest weakness, both in life and in death.  “Al… please…”

And suddenly, Alastor was gone: he melted into the shadows and vanished, leaving Vox lying on the ground in a steadily growing pool of his own blood.

***

Thinking back to those harrowing moments, Vox couldn’t suppress a grimace. He would never forget the hours he spent on that hill, slowly healing from Alastor’s wounds, consumed by pain, fear, and anger.

The Television Demon reflexively ran a hand over the left side of his stomach, where, among the various scars, a noticeable blue one marked his dark-blue skin. He was convinced that even his soul had not been the same since that clash. He couldn’t explain it for certain and had never had the chance to compare notes with anyone about it; without bragging, he was fairly sure he was the only sinner in Hell who could claim to have survived such an experience.

From then on, it had been a steady descent: over time, Vox’s pain had turned into anger and then into hatred, a burning hatred that had never let him rest again. He wanted Alastor to suffer the way Alastor had made him suffer. The fact that the Radio Demon didn’t seem remotely affected by their fallout made everything worse for Vox, as if all the decades of friendship between them had meant nothing.

And yet, there was one thing Vox couldn’t get out of his head: Alastor had spared him. He had spared him, for fuck’s sake. He could have killed Vox that day, so many years ago, but he hadn’t, he had walked away and never returned to finish the job, even though it had taken Vox hours before he recovered enough strength to return to Pentagram City.

Why? Why did he do it?

Vox was pulled out of his thoughts by an incoming call flashing across his screen. He projected the call onto one of the monitors in front of him, and Velvette’s irritated face appeared in close-up.

“Well? Move your ass and get over here, dinner was served half an hour ago. Your deer-boyfriend won’t disappear for another seven years.”

In the background, Valentino muttered something in Spanish.

Vox had never told the two of them the exact nature of his relationship with the Radio Demon, although the other Vees had most likely figured it out on their own: they knew Vox and Alastor had been friends, until something happened that drove them apart. Surely, they had also pieced together what lay beneath Vox’s obsession with Alastor. But Vox had never explained the whole story to them, nor the depth of his feelings for the Radio Demon. Valentino and Velvette probably assumed Alastor had “refused to give it to him,” and that alone had been enough to infuriate him. How could Vox ever tell them the truth? Would they laugh at him? Pity him? Think he was exaggerating?

“I’m coming,” Vox said. “I just need to do one last thing.”

Velvette rolled her eyes, but merely replied, “Hurry up,” before hanging up.

Vox had made a decision. He needed answers, at any cost. And there was only one person who could give them to him.

He examined the Hazbin Hotel’s security footage again and chose a camera that overlooked the lobby, which was empty at the moment. He gathered his courage and teleported there through the electrical current.

Straight into the wolf’s den.

The instant his feet touched the carpet, shadows immediately began to gather and loom threateningly around him, so Vox hurriedly said out loud: “I’m not here to fight. Meet me in two hours on the hill outside town, at what used to be our overlook. I just want to talk. I’ll be alone.”

The shadows hesitated, and Vox immediately returned to his base, gasping for breath from fear. He had taken an enormous risk, and it still wasn’t nearly as big as the one he would face in two hours if Alastor decided to comply. Was he insane? Had he decided to end it all?

After steadying himself enough, Vox finally went upstairs to join his partners for dinner. More than once he was tempted to tell Valentino and Velvette what he had planned, knowing full well they would start yelling at him and try to dissuade him, or convince him rationally to prepare a trap for the Radio Demon. But in the end, he remained silent.

So masochistic.

At last, the hour arrived. Vox told Valentino and Velvette that he needed to return to his studio, and the two asked no questions, as it wasn’t unusual for Vox to work at odd hours. Before leaving, Vox couldn’t help lingering to look at his companions, wondering if this would be the last time he ever saw them. He almost said a parting word, stopping himself only because he knew they would immediately grow suspicious.

Vox travelled quickly through the electrical lines, but walked the rest of the way up the hill on foot, one of the few places in the Pride Ring still untouched by VoxTek technology. The closer he got, the harder his heart pounded in his chest at the memory of what had happened the last time he’d been there; the scar on his abdomen throbbed with a phantom pain that reached far deeper than flesh, piercing straight through to his essence.

Every instinct in Vox screamed that this was a terrible idea, that he should turn on his heels and go back to the tower right now. At worst, Alastor would show up, wait in vain, and then mock him on his radio program by calling him a coward. Vox could easily fire back; it wouldn’t have been a problem. It simply wasn’t worth the risk.

And yet, Vox couldn’t stop walking forward.

Finally, he reached the spot. He was surprised to see it wasn’t deserted: a pair of Imps – judging by their features, a male and a female – were sitting on a bench, very busy kissing. Or wrestling with their tongues, depending on perspective. Vox had forgotten that the place didn’t belong exclusively to him and Alastor.

He approached the edge of the overlook to get a better view of the scenery, noticing how little it had changed since last time. He was still very nervous, but the noises coming from the two Imps at least distracted him a little. Apparently, the couple was so absorbed in their makeout session that they hadn’t even noticed the arrival of one of Pentagram City’s most powerful Overlords, or they simply didn’t care.

At some point, the shadow of a nearby tree seemed to solidify, and Alastor emerged, immaculate as always, his dazzling smile unchanged.

Vox’s heart skipped a beat.

He actually came.

For a few moments, they simply looked at each other in silence. Vox’s mouth had gone dry; Alastor seemed to be waiting for the Television Demon to say something. It was the first time they had met in seven years.

“OH, MOXXIE!”

Both Overlords jolted. They had forgotten they weren’t alone.

Vox shot the two Imps a murderous look and cleared his throat loudly. “Ahem. Do you mind? We need to have a private conversation.”

The couple pulled apart to glare at them. “And you had to come to a public place?! Also, we were here first-”

“Millie, leave it, they’re Overlords…”

“So what? This isn’t their property!”

“They probably need to resolve some relationship stuff-”

“They could be normal people and go to therapy-”

Vox and Alastor’s distorted voices spoke in unison: “Leave!”

Grumbling, the two Imps got off the bench and headed down the path, continuing to complain about Vox and Alastor all the way.

At last, the two of them were alone.

“So. Is there a specific reason you asked to meet at such an ungodly hour? And here, of all places!”

“I needed to talk to you.”

Alastor raised an eyebrow. “Without insulting me. Quite the improvement.”

Vox scoffed. “You know I had every right to.”

“Don’t provoke me, pal. Last time that happened, it didn’t end well for you.”

Vox suppressed a flinch, forcing himself to stay composed. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Alastor gestured for him to continue. “Since I’m here, I’m listening.”

“Years ago, when we fought here…”

“You mean when I almost killed you here?”

Vox was shocked by how casually Alastor spoke. “You didn’t.”

“Yes, I did.”

“No, you didn’t. Let’s be honest: you had me in the palm of your hand, and yet you didn’t kill me. You let me live. Why?”

Alastor hesitated, then quickly regained his composure. “A moment of weakness. I felt pity for you, let you go, and immediately regretted it, but by then it was too late. Regardless, I tried to make up for it in our later clashes.”

Vox shook his head firmly. “No. I stayed there for hours. I was too injured to move or call for help, you could have easily come back to finish the job, yet you didn’t. That day wasn’t a moment of weakness. You deliberately let me live, and I want to know why.”

“And why, pray tell? It’s been years, and you want to know now?”

“Yes!” Vox felt anger surge inside him. “You owe me that, bastard! You owe me that after everything you put me through!”

“Oh, grow up, Vox! It’s not my fault you were childish enough to get so worked up over my refusal to join your little team of misfits!”

“That’s not why I’m angry with you, you idiot! I’m angry because we were friends, and you betrayed me! You tried to kill me!” Vox’s eyes burned, they were hot, but he didn’t notice. “You tried to kill me!”

“Oh, please, genius. We’re in Hell!”

“That’s not a good excuse! Decades of friendship, and you threw them away in a matter of minutes! I cared about you, you asshole, and you never gave a damn about me!”

“You’re too emotional. You’re not thinking clearly,” Alastor replied coldly, apparently unfazed by Vox’s outburst.

“Fuck you. Fuck you. Now you’re going to tell me why the hell you chose to spare me that day, or I swear I’ll give everything I have to destroy you, I don’t care if I bring down Hell and Heaven in the process. I want to know why you spared me.”

Alastor fell silent and turned his back on him.

“Don’t you dare run away, you coward-”

“It was because of what I felt.”

Vox froze. “W-what?”

“Yes, I would have killed you. As far as I’m concerned, it was you who betrayed me, and yourself, throwing all your values away for that… garbage you Vees dare to call entertainment. So yes, that day I was so furious with you that I didn’t just want to kill you, I wanted to rip out your soul. Perhaps I would have stopped before doing that final act, perhaps I would have had a flicker of compassion for you and spared you from having your screams broadcast forever on my radio station, but make no mistake, I definitely wanted to kill you.”

“And why didn’t you?”

“Because of what I felt.”

“I don’t understand.”

“When I rip souls from sinners, during the act I perceive what they feel, emotional and physical sensations. Usually there’s only pain and fear, maybe anger. But with you… I felt something else. A collection of feelings directed at me. Of such… intensity that I had never experienced before. I admit, I was caught off guard.”

It took Vox a few moments before he could whisper, “What kind of… feelings did you sense?”

Alastor’s shoulders stiffened. “Love.” He pronounced the word slowly, with difficulty, as if it were a foreign language. “I felt love.”

Vox couldn’t find the words. Hot tears rolled down the screen, and he did nothing to wipe them away. Alastor knew. Alastor knew what he had felt for him all these years. And he had run away, leaving him bleeding on the ground, without offering aid, only to fight him for years without ever hinting at it.

“Was there ever even a chance that you could have returned those feelings?” he asked.

He expected Alastor to laugh in his face or reply sarcastically. Instead, still facing away, Alastor answered cautiously, “Maybe. In the past. Before everything went to hell.”

Vox reached out a hand toward him, then hesitated. “Maybe it’s not too late. We could… fix things.”

Alastor spun around sharply. “No,” he said immediately. “We can’t.”

There was an emotion on his face that was hard to read. Fear, perhaps?

“Why do you have to be like this?!” Vox burst out, desperate. “Why do you keep pushing me away? We can go back to how things were! Look, I don’t care if you don’t… love me,” he said with great difficulty. “I can live with that. I have for years. But why can’t we at least be friends again? Why can’t we stop fighting? Is it because of that stupid hotel?”

“There’s something bigger at play, Vox. Believe me when I say you’d be better off staying away from me.”

“Tell me why. Is it because of how I feel about you?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Oh, come on-”

“No, Vox. You don’t understand,” Alastor replied, enunciating each word. “I can’t tell you.”

Vox, furious, was about to argue when he suddenly understood. His anger evaporated instantly, replaced by disbelief. “You… made a deal with someone?”

Alastor lowered his gaze; his ears twitched nervously.

“With who? Can you tell me? About what? It’s not your-”

“Stop,” Alastor interrupted. “Don’t. Leave it. Listen. I agreed to meet you, now let’s end it here. You stay out of me and the hotel, and I’ll make sure no one in the hotel interferes with the Vees’ business.”

“But Alastor-”

“Vox.” Alastor’s voice hardened. “Stay out of it. Leave it alone. It’s none of your business, understand? I know it’s in your nature to meddle, but, for the sake of our old friendship, don’t.”

“Why? Would I get you into trouble?”

Alastor hesitated. “It would be dangerous.”

“Dangerous for you?” Vox suddenly realized. “Or for me?”

Alastor turned his back on him again, abruptly. “I don’t care about your safety at all. I just don’t want you meddling in my affairs, period. Or you’ll face the consequences.”

Before Vox could protest, Alastor melted into the shadows of the surrounding trees and disappeared from sight, leaving him alone once more. Just like years ago.

Vox walked slowly to the rickety fence that was supposed to prevent falls down the hill. He stood there for a long time, alone with his thoughts, staring out over Pentagram City. He reflected on his entire history with Alastor, the growth of his feelings for him, their contradictions: affection, anger, fear, hatred. Love. He couldn’t fathom how so many different emotions could be felt for the same person.

He was still uncertain about what he truly felt for his rival: he was deeply angry at him for what he had done, yet he still loved him. He wondered if one feeling would ever definitively outweigh the other.

But one thing was certain: he wouldn’t give up. He would find out who or what had bound Alastor, and if that was what had caused their separation. Maybe he wanted to help the Radio Demon. Maybe he wanted to kill him himself. 

But, in any case, he would uncover the truth.