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Published:
2025-11-25
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Achromatic

Summary:

A small take on the season 2 finale if Vox had succeeded in his plan and blown everyone up.

Notes:

3/7/26– fixed some minor errors

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

 

It was done.

Over.

Smoke clung to the air, combining with the dying embers that settled slowly onto the ground. Countless bodies were strewn over the floor, red blood mixing with gold. Wide, vacant eyes. Hundreds of sinners and winners alike, all dying from one man’s selfishness.

In the distance, a car alarm sounded; an unwelcome noise that cut through the haunting silence like a knife. 

In the center of it all, sitting in front of his now-destroyed weapon, was Vox.

Waves of hysterical laughter tore its way out of him, teetering on the edge of pure, unrestrained insanity. The right side of his screen was completely shattered from the weapon’s explosion, raining shards of glass down below.

He brushed an absent hand against the tears running down his cracked screen.

He won.

Finally, after fucking everything he’d went through, he had won. Won against Heaven; won against everyone who’d doubted him; won against Alastor. At long last, he was a god. Divine. Unbreakable.

He wasn't just a star anymore— he was the sun, what everything else in existence orbited around. At the center of the fucking universe. So bright it went beyond human comprehension.

Vox tipped his screen up to the blurry outline of Heaven that sat in the sky, crazed smile spread across the entire lower half of his face. More deranged laughs escaped him, sounding more and more strained by the second. Blood ran down from the cracks in his glass.

He had killed every last one of them. Thousands of corpses lay still, hands frozen in a cut off protest. Among the wreckage; the two people who had tried to stop him, their red eyes wide with fear. The Vees.

Vox didn't spare them a glance. He physically was unable to. If he did, he would never be able to look away.

He rose from the ground shakily, hitting his screen hard against his own weapon as he went unsteady. He froze, a sharp laugh cutting through the air.

He managed to turn towards the direction of the carnage, screaming out into what was effectively a wasteland. A crushing weight had settled in his chest, unmoving.

“Did you fucking see that?? I WON. I beat ALL of you. I'm a fucking GOD, better than you ever will be. You're all beneath me, you worthless fucking shits— I WON. I don't give a fuck about ANY of you—” His voice spiraled into broken hysterics, hands hugging his sides. “Holy FUCK. I'm a GOD.”

The landscape of dead bodies didn't respond. The car alarm stopped.

A god with no audience.

Vox fell quiet, smile tightening almost painfully. His lone antenna hung down to the point it nearly blocked his vision — the unbent one had been blown off in the explosion.

“Fuck all of you,” he bit out. “Fuck every last— I hate you all. I am the ruler of Hell now, not Lucifer, not even Satan, ME.”

He was again met with silence.

He stared down into the crowd of deceased, anger replaced with a sort of emptiness.

His screen dimmed almost instinctively as he fought against the increased blurriness of his eyes. More maniacal laughter followed, electricity sparking weakly around him. No, he had finally proved himself— finally shown that he was something. It didn't fucking matter what he'd done to achieve it. Because gods didn't care. They didn't.

What kind of king was he, if he had destroyed all his worshippers?

It was all gone. All of it. 

He had shone so bright, everything else had died in the process.

His hand ran harshly against the mess of blood and glass that the right side of his screen had become; the pain instantly derailed his current train of thought. He laughed so hard he nearly careened right onto the ground.

“Fuck it. FUCK it. I beat you. I beat every last fucking person here. I don't care anymore. I don't fucking care—” Vox’s breathing came out uneven, borderline panicked. “Fuck Hell. Fuck it all. I won.”

He raised his screen towards the damage in front of him, smile like a mask on his face. Fire danced in the background, dozens of buildings having collapsed to their sides. The neon signs that once sported ads for VoxTek now flickered weakly against Pentagram City's skyline, sparks falling down onto the road. The smell of ash and blood hung in the air.

In the crowd of dead bodies, almost hidden in the shadows, was the faint outline of a large form. Something red blinked into view, and Vox's laughter broke off in an instant.

Shok.wav.

The entire city was still.

Vox didn't run to him. He couldn't. Why couldn't he fucking—

He hit the floor harshly, pure mania coursing through his entire body. He made a sound— a mix between a scream, a sob, and a laugh. He could physically feel himself curling up into nothingness, screen glitching in and out erratically.

“I won.” His voice wasn't even audible through the mess of countless voice overlays. “I won.” He didn't even know who he was trying to convince at that point. Something ached; deep and unhealable.

The picture of a man who'd destroyed everything, all for his own gain.

Some kind of deranged insanity crashed into him, and he searched the sea of corpses almost desperately; his eyes landed on him.

Alastor.

The sole reason for all of this.

The person Vox had willingly blown everything up for. Who he had been chasing after for 70 long, torturous years. 

Alastor laid unmoving on the ground, red eyes devoid. His chest wound was still gushing blood, green stitches completely absent. His posture was relaxed, almost calm. 

Dead. Finally dead.

Vox dragged himself over to the radio demon, laughing like a madman as he looked down at the red corpse in front of him. Tears slowly slid down his screen.

Alastor's smile was gone. Absent. 

No longer in control.

No longer the best in the room.

For the first time in 70 years, something had finally broken the radio demon. Something had finally, finally brought him pain. It was karmic.

Vox leaned down next to him, tight smile never wavering from his screen. Blood was slowly trickling down from the glass.

“You're not smiling.” Vox's voice was as shattered as his TV. “You're finally not fucking smiling.”

He ran a finger down Alastor’s hair, electricity buzzing faintly in the air between the two. “Cheer up, Al. You’re not fully dressed without one, after all.”

More laughter escaped him, a sound of pure psychosis. “I won. I beat you. You're fucking nothing, and you always have been. No one will fucking remember you. The great radio demon, finally dead.”

Alastor didn't respond. His eyes remained fixed blankly up at the sky.

“Who's the real pathetic one, Alastor? Fucking SAY IT.”

Silence.

Vox's grin twisted into something that was equal parts anger and heartbreak. His eyes blurred at the corners. “I destroyed this entire city for you, Alastor. I did all of this for you. It was all you.” A flash of static crossed his screen. “And this is how it finally fucking ends.”

He gripped Alastor's hand in his, cold to the touch, voice growing more unsteady by the second. “You always told me I would be nothing without you. Well, guess what, Alastor? I survived.” Vox’s voice raised, a desperate plea. “I survived you.”

Silence enveloped the entire city. Vox forced out a broken laugh.

He glanced out at the endless corpses surrounding him: the Vees, Shok.wav, and every last fucking person who'd been a part of Charlie Morningstar’s hotel.

Blood fell down his screen, mixing with tears.

It was over. There was nothing left.

Vox took one last look at Alastor— at the man who'd driven him to the very brink of madness, never wavering. Until now.

For the first time since setting his weapon off, Vox's smile dropped.

Then he reached up and ripped his head off.

 

 

“I must say, ruling all of Hell seems a bit … impractical, no?”

Vox laughed, brushing Alastor off dismissively. “But think of the opportunity, Al! We could finally be someone. Prove ourselves as major threats. Don't you want that?”

Alastor’s expression remained unmoving. “I … suppose?”

Vox turned to him, beaming. “Exactly!” His voice then lowered, turning more genuine. “And when we finally succeed, you'll be there; right next to me as we finally take over. Together. I promise.”

Alastor came to a stop, eyes finding Vox’s, his face unreadable. His ear twitched.

Then his smile softened, just a fraction.

“I’m sure I will be, my dear.”

 

 

Blood flew in every direction as Vox’s body hit the ground.

His screen shattered, huge shards of glass coming apart.

A soft exhale was barely visible through the quietness, as if the entire city had been holding its breath until that very moment.

Vox's hand was still intertwined with Alastor's.

Notes:

oh hi. nice weather we're having.