Chapter Text
Invisible airwaves crackle with life
Bright antennas bristle with the energy
Emotional feedback on a timeless wavelength
Bearing a gift beyond price, almost free
— Rush, The Spirit of Radio
If he had to give a reason for starting this fight, Alastor would shrug and say he was bored .
Seeking some cheap entertainment to alleviate his ennui, he decided a refreshing little stroll was in order, and casually walked himself straight into Vox’s territory. Not even bothering to glitch the cameras surrounding him, Alastor deliberately left himself wide open to attack, expecting to get a few laughs once Vox took the bait. Much to his delight, his rival’s response had been as immediate as it was predictable.
Although Alastor is definitely guilty of goading Vox into this particular fight, trying to assign blame to either party is rather pointless. Ever since they had their little falling out all those years ago, things have been more or less on-sight between them; the mere presence of the other having a way of making them choose violence without so much as a second thought. It’s why they usually avoid interacting with one another. In the physical realm at least.
The airwaves are another matter entirely.
Being media demons, they naturally prefer to fight in the electromagnetic spectrum, using their respective broadcasts to cut each other down to size. Physical fights between them tend to be rather rare, but when they do occur they are spectacularly entertaining.
Of course, their strange relationship (if it could even be called that) didn’t always cause them to commit casual acts of domestic terrorism. Alastor can vaguely recall a time when they didn’t even know each other’s names. Back then, Vox had been nothing more than a distant signal desperately seeking a reply. Longingly reaching out every night for someone who could speak his electric language.
Hard-hearted Alastor had no sympathy for such a pathetic signal, and he stubbornly maintained radio silence with the TV Demon for years after Vox made his debut in Hell. Alastor hadn’t known it at the time, having dismissed the young up-and-comer as nothing more than a temporary blip on the radar, but Vox’s arrival was the beginning of the end for whatever semblance of peace the radio star had managed to scrape together during his decades of damnation.
And Hell had been such a nice place before he showed up.
Things naturally escalated as Vox made his rise to power, eliminating his competition in a theatrical enough fashion that he managed to gain even the Radio Demon’s famously selective attention.
Curiosity piqued by Vox’s showmanship, Alastor decided at long last to break his radio silence, and finally sent a reply to the lonely signal that had been calling out to him for so many years.
That turned out to be a critical error on Alastor’s part. For as soon as Vox realized he had earned an iota of the radio star’s attention, tenuous as it was, the TV head instantly wanted more. So much more than Alastor would ever be willing to give.
Hence the inevitable “misunderstanding” that led them to this point. Vox just doesn’t handle rejection all that well, and instead of taking their parting of ways like a fucking adult, he decided to make it Alastor’s problem. But no matter. The amusingly misplaced aggression just gives Alastor all the more reason to tear into his opponent with a gusto reserved exclusively for Vox.
Bad blood makes for the BEST battles after all, and there’s enough bad blood between them to drown all of Pride.
Alastor is suddenly pulled out of his musings, and back into the battle, when a casual attempt to decapitate Vox is unexpectedly foiled by a rather painful electric shock, delivered directly into the attacking tentacle. The shadowy tendril pathetically withers, turning to ash before it can be withdrawn. Alastor’s smile twists faintly with anger at himself for getting distracted and falling for what he now realizes was an obvious trap.
It seems Vox is in especially good form today . He must be in a particularly sour mood, Alastor thinks as glee overrides his brief moment of self-flagellation. He’s all too happy to make Vox’s day even worse, taking sadistic pleasure from the sweet schadenfreude.
They’ve already managed to level an entire city block in the wake of their little game (right in the heart of Vox’s territory no less) and the collateral damage is nothing to sneeze at. The wreckage of the street they’re on is littered with rubble and corpses that are now serving a higher purpose as projectiles. And snacks. Alastor privately admits that he might actually be experiencing some difficulty in this fight were it not for the fresh supply of flesh and blood supplementing his dark magic. Of course, Vox is no slouch either, and had long since tapped into the city power grid, juicing electricity most voraciously, and overclocking his systems to dangerous levels.
“Getting tired old man?” The TV Demon quips as he sends out a furious barrage of charged cables at his opponent, trying his best to impale the other anywhere he can.
“Ha! You’re a fine one to talk when all that’s holding you up are those tacky wires!” Alastor taunts, merrily skipping backwards as a few of his tentacles work to slap away the offending cables, taking care to avoid the electrified tips.
“Keep dreaming, babe. I could go all night!” Vox’s shark-like smile ramps up a few notches as he sends a high voltage shock into another one of Alastor’s tentacles, watching with unmasked delight as the tendril shrivels away.
“No plans as usual, I see. How sad for you,” Alastor mocks, unperturbed by the loss. He surveys his surroundings and regroups as he decides on his next step in their dance.
“Oh, I’m exactly where I wanna be.”
“At the precipice of a painful demise? Well, far be it from me to deny you what you want. I know how you get when that happens.” Laughing blithely, Alastor theatrically twirls his microphone like a cheerleader’s baton before thrusting it forward, directing all his tentacles into a united, full-frontal assault.
The glowing mass drives itself into the other demon’s chest with the force of a semi-truck, the overwhelming power of the attack slamming Vox into the remains of a brick wall, obliterating it instantly upon impact. The writhing tentacles continue to push forward, mercilessly beating Vox into the ground. Shockwaves from the onslaught reverberate painfully through Vox’s resilient robotic form, temporarily stunning him.
Alastor has to hand it to his foe. A weaker demon would not be fairing nearly so well after such an intense attack.
Think: Soup
In spite of the admiration Alastor feels for Vox’s strength, the radio host continues his barrage, intent on pummeling his opponent into the ground until he can safely leave the fool to regenerate. As Alastor’s tentacles beat the ever loving shit out of Vox, dust starts to plume into the air and soon blocks Alastor’s view of his rival.
Just as the radio host begins to wonder if Vox was dispatched by his attack, he feels his ears and tail suddenly shoot straight up, his body sensing danger before his mind can process it. The dust filled air suddenly permeates with the burning smell of ozone as a sharp buzzing sound washes over the battleground.
Alastor instinctively jumps back twice his normal distance, desperately trying to pull his tentacles back in time to avoid the pillar of cyan electricity that suddenly shoots out from where Vox landed. Squinting through the blinding light, Alastor can just barely make out Vox’s distinct silhouette rising up from the wreckage like some perverse parody of Christ. The surge of electricity doesn’t last long, but it’s more than enough to painfully fry any remaining tentacles into oblivion.
Still crackling with the remnants of his electrical surge (the city will be without power for quite some time after this little stunt), Vox uses his cables to gracefully land on his feet, reeling them in just as Alastor withdraws the tattered remains of his tentacles.
“What was that you were saying, sweetheart? Something about getting your ass kicked?” The TV Demon mocks through a shattered screen, doing his damndest to hide how much that counterattack took out of him.
But Vox’s clear exhaustion isn’t lost on Alastor (though he’d be lying if he said he isn’t growing weary himself), and he briefly considers reverting to his full demonic form to just end this shit already. His antlers are already itching as they instinctively begin to thicken and expand, making sickening cracks as they branch out into deadly points. Vox doesn’t fail to notice this, but in spite of his fatigue it seems to only amuse him, his cyan grin stretching well past the borders of his cracked screen.
“Feeling desperate, Bambi? Why don’t you go ahead and unleash the beast? It’s not like you can beat me as you are.” Full of bravado, Vox stands confidently across from Alastor, regrouping what little power he has left as the radio host considers his words.
Ultimately, Alastor decides he doesn’t want to go full-demon if he can help it. All too often that form causes him to totally lose control of himself and just rampage . That works for taking out large groups of peons, and for intimidating lesser opponents, but it would only hinder him while fighting one-on-one with someone as powerful as Vox. It’s the same reason why Alastor didn’t bother reverting forms while fighting Adam. The power boost is admittedly phenomenal, but it comes at the cost of his precious self-control.
No, that simply will not do. The TV Demon would never let him hear the end of it if Alastor had to lose control just to defeat him in what amounts to little more than a petty street fight. Which leaves only one palatable option.
It’s time to bring this fight into their shared territory.
The airwaves.
Cracking his neck at an unnatural angle, Alastor’s eyes shift into spinning radio dials as his antlers start to vibrate. He broadcasts a painful, high-frequency attack that instantly directs itself at the only other transceiver in the area.
Vox’s broken screen completely glitches out, filling with static snow as his antennas are blasted with Alastor’s electromagnetic assault. Obstinate as always, Vox digs in his heels and sends out his own destructive frequency at the same amplitude, shifting half a wavelength out-of-phase in an attempt to knock out the other’s signal. Alastor bristles at the disharmony and adjusts frequencies accordingly, directing feelings of death and derision at his foe.
Despite the heart-wrenching contempt being beamed at him, Vox refuses to back down. Face glitching in and out, he parries the electromagnetic attack, broadcasting back feelings of loathing mixed with unrepentant lust. He delights at the wrinkle of disgust that taints Alastor’s eternal smile.
One day I’ll wipe that smug smile right off his face, Vox thinks as the two media demons begin to modulate their frequencies at random, looking for a weakness in the other’s signal until they find themselves accidentally occupying the exact same frequency and phase. Before either one can adjust, the interference expands the amplitude of their wavelengths, effectively combining their signals. The feedback is tremendous as their signals lock, and the loop leaves their minds raw and exposed to one another.
Vox immediately decides to take advantage of this sudden phenomenon to unbalance his foe, and he starts transmitting some of his most filthy fantasies directly into Alastor’s head, all of them involving the deer demon being subjected to Vox’s perverse desires. As the frequency washes over him, Alastor can feel the electromagnetic waves thrill through his body, giving the suggestion of hands (and other things ) in places they shouldn’t ever be.
As the pictures transmit to him in high-fidelity, Alastor admits he has to give Vox some credit. The man has a horrifically vivid imagination. However, the level of detail would suggest that Vox had these images rendered ahead of time...Alastor blanches as the realization hits him.
Is that pervert broadcasting his Spank Bank at me!? Alastor screams internally, smile still stubbornly plastered on his face as he’s hit with another barrage of A.I. generated porn. It seems Vox has a breeding kink…how utterly vile, Alastor thinks vaguely, wondering how Vox even knows about the nun costume.
Despite the ongoing mental violation, Alastor is able to swallow down his discomfort, and valiantly tries to push the filthy frequency away with his own, broadcasting the promise of immeasurable pain and certain death to his rival. The threat only serves to further amuse the TV Demon, Alastor’s murderous song doing little to combat Vox’s X-rated picture show.
Relishing in Alastor’s struggle, Vox cheerfully blasts another wave of hardcore porn at his rival, watching with great satisfaction as it takes its intended effect. Alastor would never admit to anyone that he’s flustered by the stream of disturbing pornography, but the faint blush forming on his cheeks betrays him. Vox takes several screen grabs of his blushing beauty, intending on stitching the glitched images together to make a clear picture.
No longer wanting to play this game if Vox is going to play dirty, Alastor decides to flip the board. He starts to tap into his black magic, intent on using a quick spell to break the loop their signals seem to be stuck in. But just as Alastor summons his magic, Vox simultaneously sends out one last surge of electricity, hoping to stun (and possibly capture) his opponent.
The magic and electricity clash in a spectacular shower of cyan sparks and floating green symbols. Alastor’s magic works voraciously to absorb the electricity before it can damage him, but the threat of electrocution becomes the least of his concerns as the disruption finally causes their signals to break apart. Unfortunately for the two of them, the resulting shockwave from the sudden split is so powerful that it blasts their limp bodies to opposite sides of the city.
Halfway across the city, and embarrassingly far from his turf, Vox just barely manages to avoid being smashed into spare parts. In the moment before impact, Vox’s cables reflexively extend themselves, valiantly absorbing most of the force as their master lands painfully on his back, creating a rather impressive crater.
The unlucky sinners in the area run for their afterlives, screaming in abject terror as they wonder what fresh Hell might befall them should they stay. After all, an overlord falling from the sky is never a good sign. But Vox remains blissfully unaware of all the chaos he’s caused as his systems barrage his HUD with error codes.
Through a broken screen, the TV Demon stares blankly at the sky, chest heaving up and down as he tries to cycle enough air through his cooling fans to prevent a forced shutdown. After a few minutes he’s able to eliminate the cascade of shutdown commands, allowing him to focus on what just transpired. Vox’s shattered face suddenly glitches and fizzes with static snow, nearly blue-screening as he drives his fists into the ground, howling in frustration.
“SHIIIIIIT! That little FUCKER got away from me AGAIN! Un-FUCKING-believable!” He throws a brief temper tantrum, inadvertently sending stray bolts of electricity into the few civilians left in the impact zone. The poor fools scream their throats raw, their eyes starting to smoke as they roll back into their heads, the pain of electrocution causing them to wish they had made better choices when they were alive. Fortunately, the sinners’ screams remind Vox that he’s in public and has an image to maintain. He force-closes his Alastor induced rage subroutines, artificially calming himself down enough to cycle the electricity he so desperately needs back into his body before he explodes the weak little sinners.
After his power regroups, Vox runs a quick self-diagnostic. Aside from the broken screen and significant power drain, Vox is happy to find he’s actually not too badly off. In fact, despite his anger at the abrupt end to their battle, he feels oddly…satisfied. Beating on Alastor really is better than sex! It almost feels like he just got his robotic rocks off, despite not even making any physical contact with his bratty little doe.
Vox staggers to his feet and dusts himself off, thinking of how much better he would feel if he had made contact. Christ Almighty does he HATE edging. Still, as the TV Demon starts to walk off, he notices he has a distinct spring to his step. A goofy grin crosses his broken face, and he happily straightens his bow tie before practically skipping over to the nearest camera, feeling on top of the world as he teleports back to the safety of his studio.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the city, Alastor isn’t faring nearly as well as Vox, having landed in a dark alley on top of a literal pile of trash. It was enough to save him from further damage, but it’s still a filthy trash pile full of garbage juice and hypodermic needles.
How horribly undignified.
Pride thoroughly bruised, Alastor struggles to his feet, feeling strangely violated and dirty in a way that has nothing to do with the filth surrounding him. He chalks it up to a combination of battle fatigue and being subjected to his rival’s perverse fantasies, and decides he just needs a nice relaxing bath to wash away the feeling of being touched in all the ways Vox dreams about.
Fighting his exhaustion, Alastor shakes off most of the trash before teleporting home. At least, he tries to. Much to his surprise, the teleportation spell fizzles out with an embarrassing poof . He tries again, noticing a slight disturbance in his magic, like it’s slowly being siphoned away.
Did my fight with Vox really take this much out of me? Alastor wonders with growing concern. Concentrating now with all his might, Alastor reaches deep down into his powers. After a few moments he’s finally able to teleport himself back to the hotel.
Once he returns to the blessed privacy of his room, Alastor allows himself to sigh, though his smile stays stubbornly on his face even as he begins to peel away the disgusting remains of his destroyed suit. Stripped down to his skivvies, Alastor looks sadly at the sorry, garbage soaked state of his beloved old jacket. It will take a lot more than a visit to the dry cleaners to salvage his suit, but Alastor will make it happen. Some things are too precious to throw away, no matter how much trouble they cause.
He hands the clothes off to one of his shadow moppets, who dutifully takes them to be cleaned. Alastor begins to summon another moppet to draw a warm bath for him, but finds the strain to be too much in his current state.
Looks like I’ll be preparing my own bath tonight.
With yet another sigh, the radio star slips into his cozy little bathroom. He’s greeted by his lovely old claw-footed tub, which takes up the majority of the small space. A colorful variety of oils, salts, and soaps line a shelf by the bath, a loofah hanging on the peg next to it. Alastor never was one to deny himself simple comforts.
With the last trickle of power in his system, Alastor flicks on the radio, filling the tub with steaming water, and a generous amount of essential oils, as a familiar song starts to play, dancing itself through the cramped room to greet Alastor like an old friend.
Smiling genuinely now that the music has soothed him, the Radio Demon gratefully sinks down into the aromatic water. As he bathes, he does a casual self-assessment, looking for anything noteworthy. His demonic healing has already erased most of his injuries, so nothing to worry about there. That being said, he feels completely drained in a bone-deep way that he’s never felt before, not even after battles that were far more intense than what he just had with Vox. Alastor dunks his head underwater, watching his air bubbles rise to the shimmering surface as he ponders the issue.
Perhaps this power drain can be attributed to their basic natures? After all, he and Vox are at their cores electromagnetic beings who live just as much in the airwaves as they do in Hell. It isn’t unheard of for them to find themselves affecting one another in ways no one else can, so it’s certainly possible the weird contact their signals made caused a disruption in Alastor’s innate frequency.
With that thought, the deer demon watches his last air bubble float to the surface, and waits patiently to feel that sweet, familiar burn in his lungs. Fighting the need to breathe, Alastor keeps himself underwater, staying just long enough to trigger a distinct tug of terror that pulls ever so delightfully on the edges of his self-preservation instincts.
Right before the panic can set in, the radio star finally allows himself to breech the surface of the water, dripping red hair plastered over his smiling face. Finished with his underwater deliberation, Alastor concludes that Vox must have done something sinister to his radio waves.
Amazing how he manages to annoy me even when he’s not around, Alastor thinks bitterly, hoping the strange feeling will pass after a good night’s sleep, Still, I suppose I have to give that flashy oaf SOME credit. He actually managed to leave me feeling unbalanced this time. Usually I’m the one doing the unbalancing.
“How fun!” The Radio Demon suddenly voices aloud, catching the attention of his faithful shadow, “I just might have to play with Vox more often!”Alastor cackles maliciously as he thinks about all the entertaining ways in which he’s going to mess with the TV Demon, the mere thought of disrupting someone else’s life and watching them squirm sending the most delicious feeling throughout his body.
Unseen by Alastor, his shadow cackles back at him, knowing something its master will soon find out.
How fun indeed…