Chapter Text
In the Louisiana bayou. Inside a cramped shack Alastor surveyed his handiwork of his newest attempt.
The centerpiece of this ritual was not a traditional skull or candle, or bloody body part. Instead the shattered carcass of a television set, left discarded and useless.
At the center sat Alastor himself.
His grip tightened around the true prize, the slab.
He had found it glowing in the middle of nowhere, like a fallen star. It had given him this whole idea.
It was impossibly sleek, smooth as polished stone, that woke under his touch and seemed to respond if he could maneuver the correct hand motions over it.
He’d figured out enough.
Enough to reach something.
Enough to open a bridge.
His finger traced the final motion.
The device hummed.
He cleared his throat and spoke with the voice that had gotten him this far.
“Hear me, demons of the circuit. I seek an audience. I offer a conduit.”
He didn’t know who, exactly, would answer. He just needed someone powerful. As he spoke, the tablet’s screen flickered. A tiny, unfamiliar icon in the corner blinked a faint, red: 2%.
In a way that made him feel uneasy.
Down in Hell Vox was having a very bad day.
He still hadn't found any signs of the Radio Demon in Hell. Alastor had been a ghost for seven years. Vox’s screens were tuned to every frequency in Hell, searching for a hint of that fucking radio broadcast.
But today he heard something.
Not through a speaker, not from a screen.
It echoed in his very systems.
Unmistakably Alastor’s voice.
“-seek an audience…”
Vox’s screen flickered. “What the hell? How’d you get in my systems, you fucker?” He snarled, electricity snapping from his form.
He followed the pull, a signal bleeding through from somewhere he couldn't pin point.
He felt a wave of electricity that wasn't his own.
It was nothing. Less than nothing. And yet... there was that voice again, calling him across the static.
The decision was pure, obsessive impulse. He fed the trickle a devastating surge of his own raw charge. Not caring where it led, only who it might reveal.
The world reassembled with a sickening lurch.
And standing before him, within a circle of junk and glowing symbols, was a man.
“What the fuck,” Vox hissed. “Human?”
What the fuck was a human doing here?
The man spoke, but Vox barely registered the words.
The words didn't matter.
Just the voice did.
Vox’s screen flickered, recognition slammed into him.
“Alastor?” His voice dropped. “Is that… you?”
His eyes dragged over the mortal form.
“…Huh, human AND a twink?” he added, grin returning to his face.
Vox straightened, adjusting his bowtie by reflex, straightening his posture.
He was in a human shack.
With a human Alastor.
The implications hit him all at once-
The old TV.
The ritual.
He was in the past.
Before...
His loss, his rival, his greatest regret… was standing before him, mortal and ignorant.
A fierce, possessive thrill surged through his circuits.
This was a reset.
A clean slate.
“So,” Vox said smoothly, voice filling with practiced charm, “you summoned me, human.”
“I did,” Alastor said, his smile never wavering.
“Name’s Vox. Broadcast Demon. And you… you’ve got quite a voice. I heard it all the way in my penthouse.” Vox took a step forward.
The chalk circle flared gold. And so did the tablet in Alastor's grasp.
Vox hissed, yanking back as pain seared through him.
The tablet, he noted. That weird, golden smart tablet was the power source.
For now.
The demon was contained, but not for long.
“My thanks for the compliment, Mr. Vox,” Alastor said. “I summoned you because I require a… deal.”
Vox let out a crackle of laughter. “A deal! I’ll bet you do. And I’m here to make all your dreams come true, Al. Can I call you Al?” He leaned in as close as the barrier would allow. “What do you want? I'll make it yours. All it takes is one contract.”
Alastor tilted his head. “Then perhaps this needn’t be complicated. Grant me the power upon my arrival in Hell, to be the most powerful sinner.”
Vox blinked.
“Wait. That’s what you want?” he cut in. “That's how you-" he stopped himself. "You don’t want revenge, or I don't know, your own radio station, or whatever?”
“No,” Alastor said simply. “Hell is rather eternal. I would prefer to enjoy it.”
For a moment Vox just stared at him.
Then he laughed, too loud, too quick, the sound glitching at the edges.
“Yeah, yeah, sure, whatever, I'll enjoy that later.” he said, waving a dismissive hand even as his eyes burned bright. “Power? I’ve got power coming out of every port. I’ll give you influence, status, protection, respect. You won’t suffer a damn day if you’re with me.”
He pressed even closer to the barrier.
“I’ll make you untouchable.”
“Excellent.” Alastor folded his hands. “Then we are in agreement.”
Vox’s grin spread wide, triumphant, possessive, already imagining a future that had once slipped through his fingers.
“Damn right we are-”
Alastor raised a finger.
“-Almost,” he corrected mildly. “I will not accept a deal without knowing the full terms.”
The room seemed to still.
“…Terms?” he echoed.
“Yes,” Alastor said, eyes never leaving Vox’s face. “If I am to place my eternal fate in your hands, I would like to know precisely what you expect of me in return.”
Vox’s screen flickered, calculating, yearning, dangerous.
“Oh,” he said slowly, voice dropping into something intimate, charged.
“You’re going to love this part.”
Vox let out a low, pleased hum.
“The terms are simple,” he said, spreading his hands. “You come with me when you get to Hell.” His grin widened. “You work with me. At my side. My partner.”
Alastor listened attentively, head tilted, eyes sharp.
“And?” he prompted.
Vox faltered for half a beat, then scoffed. “And-well, obviously, you stay with me. You use that pretty voice of yours on my signal ONLY.” His tone grew warmer. “We make Hell listen. We build something together."
Alastor hummed. “A professional arrangement, then.”
Vox hesitated. “…Professional,” he echoed, though the word tasted wrong. "...that is part of it. Yeah."
Alastor clasped his hands behind his back and began to pace the small space.
“You offer protection, status, influence, and most importantly power,” Alastor said thoughtfully. “In exchange, I provide talent, loyalty, and companionship.” He glanced over his shoulder, smiling. “You seem quite invested in the latter.”
Vox’s screen flashed. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“You dragged yourself out of Hell and into a shack in the middle of nowhere for my voice,” Alastor replied lightly. “I think I shall.”
Silence stretched.
Vox crossed his arms, cables tightening. “Fine. I want you mine. I want you choosing me.” His voice sharpened. “Is that really so much to ask for what I’m offering?”
Alastor stopped pacing.
He turned fully now, studying Vox with open interest, no fear, no revulsion. Just calculation.
“Not at all,” he said. “But you are asking for exclusivity. Eternity, even. Such things are… expensive.”
Vox bristled. “You think I can’t afford it?”
“I think,” Alastor replied, “that you have yet to demonstrate why I should bind myself to you, rather than another demon of similar rank.”
Vox laughed incredulously. “Similar rank? Al, sweetheart, there isn’t another demon like me.”
“Then prove it.”
The words were gentle.
They hit like a slap.
Vox’s smile flickered, irritation crackling through his frame. “You picked the wrong century to make demands,” he snapped, gesturing around the shack. “No screens. No towers. No signals. This place is a damn dead zone.”
"I'm the Broadcast Demon, remember," Vox scoffed, continuing, “I run ALL of Hell’s media. Just you wait a hundred years and-”
“I can’t wait a hundred years,” Alastor cut in, still smiling. “I am mortal. If you want me bound to you, Vox, you must make it worth my while now.”
Silence.
The bayou hummed outside.
"FUCK."
Vox's gaze drifted again to the tablet. Still annoyingly clutched in Alastors hands.
Vox’s grin spread. “Al, do you know what that little light there in the corner means?”
Alastor’s eyes flickered down. The upper corner of the glass now read: 1%.
“I presume it is a measurement of some kind,” Alastor stated.
“It’s a battery, you antique twink,” Vox hummed. He was circling just outside the outermost chalk ring. “It’s about to die. And when it does, then…” He let the sentence hang, the hum of his own power rising to fill the silence. "Then, I'll prove to you exactly what I'm worth."
0%.
The tablet went dark.
The circle shattered.