Chapter Text
Year 1961
♤
“Please, please tell me that is not who I think it is. Please tell me you did not just bring the fucking T.V demon in here.”
“...”
The heavy silence that took over the room spoke for itself, as a very, very stressed looking imp dug both of his hands into his hair. Looking as if he was about to start tearing clumps of it right out of his scalp.
“Wait, this ain't the guy boss wanted?”
“NO! Fuck no! Not even close!”
“Well ya ain’t tell us what the fucker looked like in the contract! All it said was ‘Grab the bitch that follows around the Radio Demon’.”
“Yes! The OTHER one!”
“The fuck do you mean the OTHER ONE? How many people willingly follow around the fucking Radio Demon?”
Before either of them could continue in their back and forth, the sound of a dry raspy laugh interrupted the tension building in the room. “Lot more than you'd think.” Vox snickers, mocking them from where he laid crumbled on the floor. Both of his arms were fastened tight behind his back, and his face… his face was barely functionable beneath all the lines splintering from every crack. Severe damage to the internal hardware of his head caused his voice to sound garbled and glitched, unable to piece together a full sentence without warbling his speech.
This level of damage was something he hasn’t had to deal with in… fuck, in awhile.
The burn of hot shame coursed through his body from the fact that his current immobilized state was caused by a group of incompetent hellhounds and imps. That all they’d needed to do was gather the right equipment to utilize against him. How a bunch of Hellbourne managed to get their hands on a droid popper was fucking beyond him, but despite the arguably faulty equipment, it still managed to knock him straight off his high horse and down into the dirt and grime. A place where he simply didn’t belong.
‘This is bullshit.’ He snarled, at no one but himself. ‘Absolute, fucking bullshit Vinny. Seriously,who the fuck gets ambushed on the way to their own fucking gala. Should have known switching out a goddamn tie wasn’t worth the trip.’
Okay so maybe, Vox had gotten a little too complacent in his ascension to power. Maybe, his head was a tad too big for his body, but in all honestly, could anyone really blame him? It’s been years since the last honest to god attempt on his life. He was far too used to being untouchable by now, thanks to his proximity to a notorious cannibalistic deer. For ever since he’d been taken under the Radio Demons metaphorical wing, everyone in pride knew that laying a hand on him was quite literally a death sentence. No one dared lay a finger on Vox without facing very dire consequences.
Which is something Vox would like to think he deserved after his hellish arrival.
Death had been a ruthless descent and it hadn’t gotten better from there. His first couple of years after being dropped into the bowels of Pride was nothing but pure unadulterated violence and misery. Vox was not breakable, by any means. He wasn’t easily cowed and had less self preservation instincts than a rabies infected dog. So of course hell was meant to drag him through the wringer.
Humble him, in a sense. Hilarious notion, truly.
-but then, to his at the time unknown delight, all it had taken was him making the right man laugh for him to reclaim that untouchability status he’d built while still topside. If Hell was meant to humble him then the damned place had most defintetly failed. Alastor however… that was where his Achilles heel violently co-existed with his beacon of inspiration. Where hell inevitably failed, Alastor had succeeded.
A bit humiliating if anyone from his previous life picked up on who he actually was down here, but necessary and more than welcomed.
More than.
Hell was a dog eat dog world and it only truly became a place of fun when you were able to obtain some crumb of influence or power.
There was an odd sense of pride in being Alastors. An exclusivity that was granted to such a miniscule number of individuals. It wasn't a crowd someone could simply slide into. With it, came an abundance of access to hells now shaky hierarchy. Resources and opportunity.
So he wore Alastor's mark like it was branded into his skin. The gold cufflinks, the red tie, the brass brooch clipped to his suit jacket, all custom designed with Alastor’s insignia in mind. He donned one of the three whenever he showed up as Alastors plus one to anything. Be it parties, events, meetings between bigger, more influential demons of the elite class or territory dispute settlements.
Shit, he even wore it when he was managing his own myriad of schemes. A reminder of sorts just who was behind the charming voice and smiling face. Everyone in their right mind knew better than to even think about putting their hands on him.
…but he’d gotten far too cocky.
Got too comfortable treating hell like it was his own personal playground.
Vox let his guard down and now, he was hand-cuffed in a dirty warehouse that must have been far outside of Pentagram City. Strategically placed out of reach from any radio towers nearby.
Not that he could port to them if he tried. Those EMP’s had his frequencies so scrambled that Vox could feel the garbled static bouncing around in his damaged head. The pain was both sharp and dull, grinding at his nerves to the point of nausea.
God he really didn’t wanna vomit in front of these guys. He really fucking didn’t.
This was such a mess.
He could scarcely believe that this is what the day had come too. After all that work he put in, getting the best of the best in Hell’s entertainment industry to make an appearance for his new media company. Buying out competitors, locking nearly every single one of his targets into contracts, setting up the perfect venue, pulling on spider web thin strings to get a handful of fat pocket donors to make an appearance, cashing in favor after favor to get this fucking company off the ground AND getting his new fancy tailored gun-metal black suit to look as crisp and expensive as it could possible be.
All of that just to show up late.
To his own fucking gala.
-and that’s if he even made it out of this dilemma at all.
Alastor was going to be pissed.
Oh, just absolutely fucking livid with him.
The demon had poured a handful of his own resources and connections into making this launch smoother for Vox despite his warnings on it being too early. However, Vox had been adamant in his enthusiasm. So ready to make a big splash for himself and reintroduce himself to Hell in the limelight he knew was meant for him.
He’d taken to the challenge of convincing Alastor of his readiness like a moth to a flame. There was plenty of fun in the endeavor of winning Alastors approval after he eventually learned to store his temper aside. It was addictive even, witnessing and relishing every little spark of intrigue and pride he managed to pull from the deer demons eyes whenever he delivered something heinously clever into his lap.
Alastor eventually gave in when the temptation was good enough. Vox could still remember the moment he finally caved for this grand venture of his. After months of being bogged down by pitch after pitch. Just the thought of it still made him smile despite his current circumstances.
Alastor let out an exasperated sigh, eyes rolling in amusement at how Vox was practically vibrating in his seat beside him. “You’ve gathered up quite the talent for this launch of yours picture box. It’s quite impressive how efficient you can be when you put your mind to something. Knack for impulsivity aside, I do like how much you pay attention to the smallest details.” He closed the binder with an audible thump, causing Vox to lean in further. Thirsty and eager to convince, for he knew the compliments weren’t necessarily a yes. “-but just because you have all your ducks in a row doesn't mean you’re ready for the big splash my dear.”
”Al, come on, I’m ready! More than ready. You looked through each and every page of that binder without one word of criticism. Not one! You even hummed. You never hum when you don’t like something.” Vox’s grin was almost too wide for his screen. “Everything is planned out perfectly. Meticulously, with plenty of room for improvisation and spontaneity. Just the way you like it. I went over every single minor detail, three times over. It’s flawless. It’s perfection!”
”-and risky.”
Vox’s grin became predatory and he honed in on Alastor, crowding him into the corner of their booth. Giddy excitement bubbling in his chest when all Alastor did was raise a cautionary brow. Sitting perfectly still, which was practically a welcoming gesture all on its own.
”You like risky. I like risky. I’m a risk taker by nature, you know that.”
“Yes, and it’s been quite the dilemma getting you to quell that nefarious self-sabotaging nature of yours. Especially when you promise such entertainment. Why, you should be thanking me my dear!” His smile widened. "That I am so adamant in not watching you crash and burn. As much as I’d find other peoples failures a delight to watch, your success would prove to be something far more gratifying to me.” Alastor said, momentarily distracted by the flutter of electricity bouncing between his antennas. Expression shifting from exasperation to amused. Vox honed in on it, like a shark finding blood in the water.
“Then let me do it.” One of Vox’s eyes began whirling in excitement before he took a moment to shake his screen free of it. Still not accustomed to playing with that new addition to his abilities. “It’ll be worth it. Trust me, I’ll make it worth it. More than worth it, I’ll make it unforgettable. My name will be in everybody’s mouth by the end of the night.” Vox pressed closer to Alastor’s side, their knees knocking together comfortably. “Come on Al, let me blow your mind. Let me blow Hell’s mind. It’s about time I show everyone just who you’ve been investing into all these years.”
Alastor snickered, radio feedback filling the air in his laughter. “Ready to show off are you? Oh, the misfortune of being too talented for your own good. I know it far too well.”
“Tsk.” The T.V demon sucked his teeth. “Buttering you up is my job, pick a different trade.” That one got the Radio Demon guffawing, another win in Vox’s book.
Alastor sighed dramatically once again. ”I will admit, I am intrigued to see just how you plan to pull this off. If you manage to do it, I imagine it would be quite the spectacle.”
”You don’t gotta imagine it, it’ll happen. I guarantee it.” He was getting close. Alastor wasn’t saying no anymore. He was far too interested to say no now. His finger was tapping on the front of the binder like he was fighting the urge to go through it once more. Eyes looking at Vox thoughtfully, like he was weighing all of his options. “Just let me shine, doll.” Vox's grin became cheeky at the way Alastor glared at him. He tensed, ready to jolt away the moment he saw those talons making a bee-line for his screen. Preparing to dodge being flicked on the forehead.
Alastor however, merely hummed beneath his breath and slid the binder back towards him with a finger. “I suppose no disciple of mine would truly be one of my own if they didn’t possess an egregious amount of self-entitled arrogance now would they.”
“Baby if I was any less audacious, I’d have never met you in the first fuckin place. Not to mention you’d probably like me a hell of a lot less.”
Alastor’s eyes widened for a second and before he let out a loud ‘HA’. “I suppose I would.” He huffed, downing the rest of his drink in one gulp. “Alright, what the hell. That bright eyed enthusiasm of yours is awfully contagious and I’ve been infected. Plot away then my wicked televison. After all, I do love a good party!’
Vox felt the staticky tart flavor of his blood fill his mouth after biting down on his tongue too hard. Holding back sounds of despair. A desperate attempt of using self-inflicted pain to separate himself from his shame.
If there was anything worse than his body being rendered useless, beaten, restrained and kidnapped by what he assumed to be mobsters from the Lust circle of hell going by the conversation he’d managed to pick up on, it was letting Alastor down.
It wasn’t just Vox’s reputation on the line after all. Nearly everyone going to be at his Gala knew he was Alastors. Everyone had been expecting him to be a disappointment from the moment he’d started showing up at the Radio Demons side. Hungry for power, eager to show off, wearing the true nature of his ruthlessness like it was a second skin. Eager to regain to notoriety he still had when he was alive.
They all expected him to be a flop. A mindless fad the Radio Demon was entertaining to curb the yawning threat of boredom.
And now… they were gonna be fuckin right.
A shoe unkindly met the side of his already damaged face. Apparently his two cents hadn’t been appreciated. “Shut the fuck up! Nobody told ya to open ya mouth!” They kicked him again, harder and in the chest this time. That one sent him skidding back a couple feet, and fuck, did that hurt. Whatever the fuck they did to him had his pain receptors going up by the thousands. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get them to calm the fuck down. Every kick felt like it went straight through him, sending pain blooming all across his body.
This was the worst.
The spokesperson for, who he assumed to be the “contractor”, thankfully snatched the brute away from him by the scruff of his collar. Right when he’d been about to raise his boot again.
“Stop it, stop it. Stop it right now! No fucking hitting him! The fuck is your- oh god, look at his screen.” The imp said, looking at all the pieces of glass that were falling from Vox’s face. “Shit. This is fucked. All of you are fucked. We are all fucking fucked, fuck!”
More garbled speech came out of his speakers. “D̶̝̀i̸͙̐t̴̻͊t̷̯͘ộ̵.”
”See, I told you they were fucking stupid.”
“Hey!” One of the hellhounds stormed forward, towering over the imps head. “You got some fuckin nerve chewin us out for somethin that ain’t even our fault. The two of yaz dragged me and my boys up from Lust to handle your bullshit because no one from your prissy Pride ring wanted to do your boss's job. We did what the contract told us to do. It ain’t our fault you decided to leave out essential fuckin details. Like I don’t know, a description? A fuckin photograph?! A warnin?! A simple ’Hey, don’t touch the dude with the T.V for a head’ would have saved us the trouble if you’re that scared of the bitch.”
“Well excuse the fuck out of us for assuming you had a minimally functioning brain! We thought you’d know better than to take the T.V demon out of all fucking people!” The imps companion shouted, joining in the screaming match. “If you had let us go over your stupid plans we would have at least spotted the EMP’s and questioned why you even needed them! Least then, I could’ve known who the hell you were targeting!” Ooo, little guy was putting some bass behind that voice. He must be the hotheaded one, for the short lanky lil thing stomped right up the hound three times his size and started jabbing his finger into his chest. “I get that you shady fucks are from Lust but you work all over the seven rings, including Pride. You should fucking know by now, because everyone and their mother who lives in this fucking hell hole knows not to touch the T.V demon!”
“-and why the fuck not? He supposed to be special or somethin?!”
The other panicking imp looked at the group like they were the dumbest things in existence. In the end, he only had to say two words. “Overlord Trosse.”
…
The entire room went silent.
“Oh, shit.”
“Yeah, oh shit. Big oh shit! You fuckin moron!”
The leader of Vox abductors pinched his brow, clearly frustrated and now, rightfully afraid of what the implications of their actions were going to spark.
“Christ on a stick, fuck my life.”
“Double fuck mine.” The other hellhound sighed. “Okay, alright, let’s get rid of him.”
Vox felt a cold shock of dread shoot through his entire body, dreading what exactly ‘get rid of’ implied.
“Uh, hello? Were you even listenin? You have a fuckin death wish dumbass?”
”Hey fuck off! I’m trying to think our way out of this mess and save our asses! What do you wanna do, keep him? Lug him around in the fuckin trunk until that bitch pops up to collect? What do you think will happen if that creepy prick pops up and we still have him?!”
”What do you think’ll happen if we don’t.”
…
Yet another bout of ominous silence. Vox nearly laughed at their lack of competency to think their way out of the very fucked situation they’d just put themselves in.
”Well kill him or not, seems like it doesn’t matter cuz we’re as good as dead either fuckin way! Sparky over there ain’t even doing nothin and it’s got you shaking in yer boots!”
“Did he not hear a word we said?” One of the demons whispered to the other.
“Oh cmon, lads.” Said a larger hellbourne hybrid, swaggering towards his direction. Vox growled and pushed himself upright enough to rest his back against the cold metal wall. Glaring up at a self-sure smile that met his snarl. The demon kicked at his ankle, making his bent leg fall flat to the floor. Bastard. “Ya’z really gonna let a T.V on legs scare you to piss?”
“It’s not the T.V we’re worried about Gobs.”
“How special can he be if the Radio Demon is lettin his toys walk around town all willy nilly. Alone, defenseless. Not even a little guard minion in sight.” The hybrid demon said, crouching down to Vox’s level. “Must not be all that important. Sides the nice suit he’s got. Shiny new shoes n’ all. That a gift from daddy, baby boy?”
His speaker let out the sound of a channel whizzing. ”Ġ̷ͅo̴̫͑ ̸̹̀f̴̘̐ū̴̮c̶̮͂k̴̻̓ ̴̼̈́y̵͈̆o̴̤̍u̴̼̔r̵̛̭s̵̫͆è̶̢l̵̗̋f̷̭͗.̶̧̓.”
The demon smirked and ran a hand across Vox’s knee. “Might just do that, might bring you right along with me.” Vox snarled something nasty, a pulse of electricity sparking from his eye. “Think I’d like ta see what the big bad radio demon likes bout ya from the inside. If you catch my drif- FUCK!”
A violent flicker of lightning flashed between them and the flesh of the bastards arm began sizzling. Skin melting from the heat’s intensity. Circuit jams be damned, he’d of used the rest of his energy reserves to fry the bitch whole if he didn’t back the fuck off. “Shit, shit, SHIT! The fucking cunt! He fried me fuckin arm!”
“Should of kept your hands to yourself huh then, dumbass.”
“Wa̸͙͌n̷̖͑n̶̖͊ă̶̭ ̵͎͝t̵̹͒ŗ̴͑ỹ̷̳ ̸͉͌ṭ̴͛h̵̖͠à̴̢ẗ̷̜́ ̶͇̎ä̴̻́g̷̰͊ã̸̱ì̵͚n?
Vox threatened, electricity sparkling from the one eye he had left to stare through. It was enough to send the hybrid backing away with a snarl.
“Why the fuck iz he still able to do that? I thought you said dem fancy new frags would knock him offline!”
“They're just testers. We ain’t got clearance for the good shit yet. Boss saves that for bigger fish.”
”Pretty sure that the fucking Radio Demon is the bigger fish! He’s going to come looking for this guy right? Why skimp out on equipment?”
“Don’t start a bitch-fit with me just cause you wanna get your fuckin dick wet. Ain’t nobody tell you to fuck with-.”
As riveting of a conversation that was, Vox found himself quickly tuning it out. His audio processessors were struggling to stay functionable and he wasn't going to waste the power he had left listening to those idiots bicker and whine.
Luck was not on his side, as a flash of panic shot through him when all the clusters of voices started to bleed into each other and began to muffle out. He was starting to lose his hearing...
Fuck, frying that guy must have took way more effort from him that he thought. The buzzing in his brain intensified and somehow managed to get worse. Like someone had filled his head with cotton laced electricity. It felt like needles dragging along his wires.
He felt his consciousness starting to wane, body ready to put him to sleep so that he could regain his power reserves and heal the internal damage.
Vox fought it, as hard as he could, but one of the downsides to having a semi-mechanical body was that it sometimes saw fit to take his self-preservation into his own hands. He was going to be knocked unconscious, whether he likes it or not.
He couldn’t afford to pass out now. Not when he was barely able to defend himself. He couldn’t. But there was just no way he was getting out of this on his own.
He needed Alastor and he needed him fast.
…
-and there was only one other way to get him here.
Vox squeezed his eyes shut in guilty resignation, dreading what he was about to do. It was quite literally only reserved for dire emergencies for very specific reasons.
-but this was definitely an emergency.
Vox still remembered the sigil like it was showed to him yesterday. He’d ran finger across every single grove that Alastor made, in the exact order. He did it every single time he reinterred their shared studio space, as a good luck charm to himself. The unfinished rune where only an handful of people knew how to complete.
Every single second Alastor spent going over the process with him, word from word flooded to the surface of his mind. What to say, how to say it, how to think it, and most importantly… how much excruciatingly pain it was going to cause Alastor.
The amount of force it took to pull what was once a mortal soul through traditional methods of summoning was an all encompassing agony.
Mortal souls weren’t meant to be channeled like spirits, for it simply wasn’t in their design. They were too robust, too attached to the mortal plane. Not thin enough to pass through different planes of existence without some method of death being involved. It was possible, especially for those equipped with massive amounts of power, but not favorable. Not even a little bit.
The process was going to scramble Alastor from the inside out, channeling all that was his being into a current so thin, it moved faster than the speed of light. Like being tossed into a high speed blender and spat out in a completely new form.
He really didn’t wish to do that to Alastor, especially like this, but there was simply no other option. If he died here, or allowed himself to get taken away to a place Alastor could not reach…
Vox hitched a sigh and with watery eyes, he looked over at his abductors who were still arguing with each other on what to do with him. Distracted and not paying him any mind as their voices got more heated and terrified.
None of them were sparing him a glance, not even the one who was getting his arm wrapped by another one of his buddies. If there was ever a time for Vox to act, it was now.
He was not dying here.
‘Fuck Alastor…’ Vox grimaced in both guilt and sympathy. ‘I'm so fucking sorry.’
He slid his body down the wall until his lower back was touching the ground. Feigning weakness and fatigue, while his sharp talons dug into his wrist and the blood began to pour. Down his palms and onto the floor, out of site from the demons not but a few feet away.
Taking another deep breath, he closed his eyes as he tried to imagine what he was looking for in his mind. Focusing every bit of brain capacity he had left to push through the static laced fog and bring every intricate detail of Alastors sigil into light…
…and began to draw.
♤
43 minutes.
Vox’s first large celebratory gala to begin the start of what was going to be an annual lively event celebrating every milestone he’s achieved within the rather short amount of time towards his ascension into the entertainment industry… and the man was 43 minutes late.
A no show.
Which was frankly impossible.
Being tardy just wasn’t something the television demon would do.
Being a no show, even more bizarre.
It was why when Alastor had sat down in his own private booth, after guiding Rosie into her own chair of course, he’d expected the T.V demon to pick up on their arrival immediately.
Eager to perform and unable to contain that vicious excitement in his shark-like grin.
…
-but it’d been 43 minutes and there was no Vox in sight.
He sent out a pulse of static, expecting to pick up Vox’s frequency somewhere in the building. Perhaps speaking with a funder or going over any last minute changes with his performers, but he turned up with nothing.
Perplexed, Alastor sent out another one. Larger this time, expanding its range to a couple miles. Checking to see if he was at the very least nearby. In a cab pulling up to the venue, in the sister building to the venue, or even at the caterers a few blocks down, but was still met with nothing.
Something heavy began to settle in the base of his gut… but he waited another 10 minutes before he gave in to the desire to try again. This time he sent out an even bigger wave, one strong enough to cause all the lights on the second floor to flicker, sending his signal searching all throughout Pentagram City. Trying to pick up whether or not he was in their studio or still at the tailors.
The only other two places he had been prior to this event.
…
He was met with silence.
Something was wrong.
There wasn’t even an underlying buzz of Vox’s energy anywhere within the city.
Vox wasn’t there.
He wasn’t anywhere.
Alastor couldn’t find his signal.
The glass in his hand exploded from the tightness of his grip, spilling glass shards and red wine all over his coat sleeve. Startling his companion across from him. “Alastor?” Rosie asked, alarmed by his sudden distress.
Nifty was quick to hop up to his level, standing on top of his legs to dab at the wine that got on his clothes. “You bad boy! You’ve ruined your brand new suit!” Nifty huffed with a little stomp of her foot. “It looked so good on you!” Usually Alastor would match Nifty’s energy with a slew of pleasantries and apologies for upsetting the little dear, but this time, his face was frozen in shock. Smile unnaturally still as rage slowly filled his eyes.
His poker face was flawless, but Rosie immediately picked up on the panic subtly rising inside of him. Nifty did too, when her master didn’t respond to her poking fun. Alastor looked… scared? Confused? Livid?
Yes.
Rosie reacted first, hand moving across the table to grasp Alastor’s own. “What is it?”
Alastor let out a fourth and final pulse of static. The strongest one yet, this time strong enough to cause the light bulbs above their table to finally buzz out and pop. The other lights on the second floor followed suit. Causing some of the attendees to startle.
His static pulses were full of worry and frantic demands. ‘Where are you? Vox, where are you? Why can’t I find you? Where Ą̵͆ͅR̷̢͙͖̋Ḙ̴̈́͊̍ ̸͈͓̤̺͘͠Y̸̟̅̓O̵̲̔U̵͓͗̎͘?̴̞̼̥͝?’
Still, nothing.
He held his signal steady, sliding into a frequency low enough for any paltry device running on lower energy to pick up, trying to trigger anything even close to Vox’s frequency to react… but nothing responded to him.
Dread filled Alastor’s stomach so quickly that he might as well have swallowed a gallon of lead. “Something’s wrong. This can’t be right.” He said, voice grave. Alastor had not truly sat in his own frequency alone since Vox first dropped into hell. His own radio waves that he gave off were never unreachable from Alastors own.
The only way for him to be cut off was for him to be dead.
Perma-dead, erased from existence.
-but there was just no fuckin way.
Today of all days? Absolutely no fucking way.
He refused to believe it.
“What’s wrong dear? What happened?” This time both of Rosie’s hands came to clasp at his one. The expression on her face was just as grim as his own.
It was then that he felt something tugging at him. A sharp stab within his chest that Alastor nearly raised a hand to scratch at.
He looked down to see Nifty balling her fist into his waistcoat and none of her sharp knives in sight. She was simply watching him with an observing eye, knowing that something was wrong and waiting for Alastor to take action. To give the word of what they needed to do, ready to attack whatever was causing Alastor distress.
Confusion filled his vision and it was right then and there that the phantom tug became a violent pull. As if something had anchored itself inside of him. A hook lodged within the very essence of his soul and began ripping him from his current space in reality. Atom by atom, vein by vein, organ by organ. Straight into a current that stretched the very matter of his existence thin.
The floor beneath him began to glow green, inky shadows spilling from the creases of his magic, forming and slithering in formation in order to create… his sigil? A physical incantation of his magic.
Alastors smile grit together in pain and as shock and surprise filled red widened eyes. He immediately knew what was happening.
He was being summoned.
There were only four people in the entirety of hell who knew his summoning sigil. One of them was up above. Settling on the third floor of the venue, guiding a fabulously dressed Carmilla Carmine into her seat.
The next two were with him. Rosie, sitting right across from him in a blood red gown, long black sleeves to match Alastors own. Nifty, still standing at the ready in his lap, curiously staring in awe at the thick green fog forming beneath in seat.
The fourth…
The fourth…
Ha.
Alastor burst out a wheezing laugh from deep within his chest. His voice strained from the sheer brutality of his own magic ripping him to shreds. Black liquid began to ooze from both his mouth and nose. Those dual toned eyes being bled of all color, except for the red radio dials glowing from the very middle.
There was simply no describing the sheer agony of it all.
But this was fine.
It was more than fine.
Vox may not have been able to respond through their shared frequencies, whenever he may be, but he was still alive.
Alive and apparently, in desperate need of Alastors services.
“Pardon me, my dear Rosie. It seems I have dire matters to attend to.” He said, lacking any and all cheer in his voice despite the wide smile taking up his face. The red-head picked up her hands that were still holding onto to his own and placed a kiss on the back of each one. “Do take care of Nifty for me until I get back. I have a television to repossess.” He said, quickly lifting the small demon off his lap and planting her on the table.
“Alastor, what is going-“ Rosie didn’t have enough time to question the man before the shadows from sigil burst from the floor and began wrapping around him like an octopus clutching its prey. Inky tentacles glowed green with magic fire, the color bursting from the iris of his eye. The last thing she saw of him was the glowing X on his forehead.
In an instant, he was gone. Chair left empty with only faint wisps of shadows left curling around its decorative legs.
♤