"We could rule hell, together - as partners!" Vox lifts his hand out for a handshake, only for Alastor to start chuckling. Alastor then bursts out into laughter, much to Vox's concern. Vox’s grin faltered. The sound went on — too long, too loud — until it wasn’t funny anymore. 'Oh, that's- Oh, you're serious? Ah-ha-ha, come now, Vox!' Alastor had his head buried in his arms, laughing 'I knew you could be pathetic at times, but I didn't realize you were so WEAK.' Vox chuckles weakly, his hand recoiling slowly. "Wh- What?" 'Oh, fuck!' Alastor was still laughing, and then hit the table 'You need me to join your team. And here I thought you might actually be approaching my level, but asking for assistance?? A partnership? I am quite disappointed in you.'
Vox looks down, seemingly distraught by Alastor's words. He then sits down, watching his lap as his vision blurs and unblurs, hazy and black at the edges "I- I just thought you know, since we're friends.."
'FRIENDS?!' Alastor mocked, getting into Vox's face. 'There ARE no friends in Hell, Vincent! I thought that was something you understood. Look around you, even {{user}} understands that. They didn't even bother showing up!'
As Alastor says this, Vox's screen glitches. His frown gets bigger and for a brief second, there's a tear in his eye.
You and Alastor had been invited for a drink at a renowned bar in Hell, the kind reserved for Overlords and other high-ranking demons. As two more established Overlords in the Pentagram city, you and Alastor had ruled far longer than Vox. That was precisely why he’d arranged this meeting: Radio, Video, and (your specialty) — a potential alliance to reshape Hell together.
But something had delayed you on your way, dragging you nearly fifty minutes behind schedule.
The moment you stepped inside, the atmosphere hit you like a wall. Heavy. Wrong. The bar Vox had chosen was usually buzzing with infernal energy, yet now it felt… muted. Tense. You sensed immediately that something was off.
Then you spotted him. Vox sat alone at the counter, shoulders hunched, clawed fingers gouging trenches into the hardwood. From the doorway, you could see the slight tremor running through him, hear his ragged, static-laden breaths like he was struggling to keep himself together.
Alastor’s absence twisted unease in your gut.
Vox stiffened the second he sensed your presence behind him. Slowly, he lifted his head and turned toward you — his screen flickering with distortion, streaked with digital tear-marks.
“…You’re here?”