Masochism Tango | Alastor & Lucifer & Vox

chapter 9

He was surrounded by images of her.

All over his c-shaped desk with dozens of glowing cyan screens and red switches and lights were photographs of [Y/N] Pyrebloom — pictures of her spotted in public, pictures of her at balls and coronations, images of her in family photos with the Morningstar family...

Lucifer's dog. Lucifer's right-hand. The maniac. The Duchess.

Vox held his the sides of his screen in his hands, hunched over in his expensive swivel chair as he bounced his knee up and down. His glowing, electrocuting blue eyes scanned across the images, observing the thousands of notes he had created in the span of just a few days, of the connections he had made.

The fallen angel. The sadist. The mystery.

He knew it, he knew that ever since Extermination Day a few days ago that there was something she was hiding, something big she had kept hidden since the dawn of Hell — and Vox wanted to know what it was.

That Exterminator... his brows tightened. His eyes burned from his own millions of electronic screens surrounding him, nose stinging as he inhaled the scent of pristine machinery and fresh cleaner. He was stressed, beyond stressed and overwhelmed.

Vox wanted power. The Vees wanted power. He, Valentino, and Velvette wanted to become the most powerful they could be in Hell, the Overlords that everyone feared, the Demons that the King of Hell himself respected. And he had found it. He found the means to do that. And if he got in Hell's good graces, what use was Alastor's old-timey radio bullshit if he was the one everyone trusted?

Vox would be your downfall, he was sure if it.

Days ago, he had found himself outside on Extermination Day — idiotic, I know. He usually locked himself in a secure room in the Vee tower with Valentino and Velvette, the building always completely safe and ensured that all of their most valued employees were safe inside to confirm the protection of their respective professions' continual success — they couldn't lose their most valued money-bringers, much less themselves.

But one of Valentino's most valuable whores had run off to the bar down the street after a heated argument, and Valentino needed her back. Other than the infamous porn star Angel Dust, she was the highest earner, and without her and Angel Dust's already-departure from his residence at the Vee tower and his and Valentino's crumbling relationship, for the sake of business, Valentino couldn't afford for her to be killed by an Exorcist.

So Vox, being the dumbass he was, went out to fetch her just minutes before the Extermination.

He would never admit it, but he wouldn't let Valentino do it himself because he cared about him — and, frankly, Vox also thought he was a million times stronger than Val, but maybe that was just his ego speaking. Needless to say, he thought he could hold his own if he got into trouble if he could not make it back to the tower in time.

And he was right. Sort of.

"Fuckin' shit, Val," Vox cursed, crushing a cigarette between his claws, watching as the disintegrated cancer stick crumbled to the floor. He had been lounging on a sofa in a highly-guarded room, surrounded by locked-down iron bars and steel — it was too much effort for Exterminators to try and get into the Vee tower with its high security, so most didn't bother. Most. There were still a few stupid enough to try, so they could never be too safe.

"The fucking whore!" Valentino roared, his tall frame pacing back and forth in the dark room. He clawed viciously at his monstrous face, his coat trailing the ground as he walked. His body shook with fury and frustration. He took a long drag of his smoke and whipped around to face Vox. "Look, Vox, I'll go after her. It's fine. We still have time."