Remote Access (Alastor x Vox)

Chapter 15

Vox awoke to the sound of his own pained groans, a relentless ache pulsing through his head. Every slight movement sent twinges of pain coursing through his body, prompting him to curl his knees toward his chest before attempting to sit up.

As he struggled to pry his eyes open, a constant hiss of white noise emanated from some unseen source, blending with the faint stirrings around him. Lifting his head proved unexpectedly difficult—it felt unusually heavy, as if either his neck had stiffened terribly or his head had somehow gained weight. With some effort, he managed to raise his gaze, his blurred vision slowly focusing on the grimy surroundings of an empty alleyway where he sat among strewn garbage.

Confusion clouded his mind as he pushed himself to his feet, struggling to recall the events that led him here. He absentmindedly patted down his favorite turtleneck sweater, trying in vain to shake off the grime clinging to the fabric.

Despite his confusion, he couldn't help but be irritated that his clothes had been soiled, and as he moved to brush the dirt from his face, he paused, his hands connecting with something that felt oddly familiar yet foreign to be on his head; the cold, hard feeling of laminated metal, sleek yet ominous in its texture.

A television..?

Panic surged within him, and Vox frantically tugged at the object, desperate to free himself. A sharp yelp of pain escaped him as he pulled, and a strange realization suddenly dawned on him that made his stomach sink.

Vox's eyes darted around the alley until they landed on a large shard of broken mirror amidst the rubbish. He snatched it up and brought it close to his face, his heart sinking as he took in the horrifying reflection.

His once human and attractive features were gone, replaced by glass and chrome. His dark, sleek hair had been transformed into spindly stalks resembling receiver antennae, and his once perfect, straight smile was now a jagged row of sharp, pointed teeth. With a growl of frustration, Vox hurled the shard to the ground, where it shattered with a sound as defeated as he felt.

Staggering onto the street, he tried to piece together what was happening, and his eyes widened in shock at the scene before him: demons of all shapes and sizes wandered amidst chaos. The streets were alive with rioting, screaming, and despair.

Despite his existential crisis and his grim surroundings, Vox couldn't help but scoff, shaking his head with a sneer. "Ugh," he muttered to himself, "Looks like someone let a toddler loose with the color red..."

This was Vox's first impression of Hell.

Navigating Hell was initially a daily exercise in dodging death, or fates even grimmer, but Vox soon adapted to his unconventional circumstances. Despite his bizarre appearance and the dire situation, he discovered that his damnation came with some unexpected advantages.

He swiftly uncovered abilities that set him apart from the run-of-the-mill sinners around him. His hypnotic left eye and boundless charisma became his ticket out of trouble, weaving him out of precarious situations with ease. And when charm and hypnosis fell short, he wielded his control over electricity, zapping adversaries into ash with the flick of a finger.

Vox's talents quickly attracted the attention of several ambitious, if somewhat minor, overlords. They salivated over the prospect of harnessing his powers of manipulation to transform their unruly underlings into compliant pawns. However, Vox was too shrewd to be easily ensnared by contracts. With a sharp tongue and even sharper wit, he managed to keep himself free from any binding agreements, offering his services across the city at a premium.

The initial months in Hell were grueling, however. Establishing a life independent of the overlords who dominated Pentagram City and dodging eternal servitude was a colossal task. Vox found it draining to constantly navigate these treacherous waters. Despite avoiding servitude, the daily grind left him feeling like a puppet, with each overlord pulling strings in an attempt to claim a piece of his abilities.