thisducks | Trapped [in the scary box]

Entry tags:

psl,
vox

Trapped [in the scary box]

So, maybe he'd messed up a little in his desire to make up with his daughter and now, he's paying for it. Everything's gone quiet in this big empty warehouse of a space, the room impossible to see into as dark as it is, and it's left him utterly alone with his thoughts. Around his limbs that are slowly going numb as time ticks on he can feel the warmth of the holy steel, faintly echoing the throb of his heart, making a prisoner of his body while the silence does the same to his mind. The latter, for someone like him, is infinitely worse.

It leaves him there to feel like an utter fool, of course it does, and worse that not only does Vox know the ugly truth of his punishment, but so does everyone. The sinners that he only kept in any kind of line through that great deception now can make everything just that much worse. How is he supposed to protect Charlie from their filth now when they know not only can he do nothing for her, there's damn little he can do for himself?

Every time he tries to help the ones he loves, he just makes it... worse. Charlie screaming at him, anger and tears in her eyes, it just keeps playing on repeat in his mind, only as the night goes on to be replaced by her mother. Just how angry will Charlie be with him when she finds out he's gotten himself stuck like this? The abuse his own mind forces upon him drags him further and further down that spiral until his head sags, body slumping as much as it's able in his imprisonment.

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Vox can't sleep. He's entirely too excited- too wrapped up in the euphoria that comes with winning. He's on top of the world right now, or rather, on top of Hell. He wants to shout it off the rooftops, broadcast it live to every TV, make sure every single pitiful soul down here knows just who's destined to rule over them. Unfortunately, he has to wait. The Might of Lilith will be unveiled tomorrow morning, in front of an adoring crowd, which is also when they'll fire their first blast at Heaven and pose an ultimatum. The weapon hasn't been tested yet, but Vox has no doubt it'll work. It's going to be so fucking spectacular.

He doesn't know what to do with himself now. Time is crawling by in the slowest way possible. Valentino is still being a pissy little bitch about the fact that Vox needed to borrow Angel Dust. (Ridiculous. That whore was always a pawn, who cares whether it's by starring in movies sold by Voxtek or by endorsing Vox's triumph?) And bugging Alastor in this moment feels wrong too, because there's only so many times Vox's victories can be brushed off as nothing before it gets exhausting. Denial is a really ugly look on the radio demon. But hey, there is one person Vox can still lord over.

Quite abruptly, a light flicks on in the warehouse. One situated right above Lucifer's head. It's not enough to illuminate the entire space, but it is enough for immediate surroundings. Vox's head is visible before anything else, the screen's glow breaking through the shadows as he approaches. His expression is set into something vicious and hungry, sharp teeth bared within a smirk.

"Well well weeell," he begins, his voice almost a singsongy tone. Even as he speaks, he doesn't stand still. He starts circling Lucifer's little cage, just to illustrate how much freedom he himself still has. "How are you finding the accommodations, Your Majesty? Nice and snug, maybe?"

The change in lighting is enough to pull Lucifer out of his psuedo-sleep, some place between awake and fully unconscious where nightmares can come crawling out of the depths of the mind to play out their little shows until he no longer knows what state he's in himself. His eyes creep open, then squint against the naked spotlight above and the brightening inside the strange glass not-a-box he's in. He only gets a moment before he has to question again if he's awake or asleep because there's that stupid TV again, breaking through the edge of the circle of light and prowling around him like a shark waiting for its moment to strike.

Oh fucking hell he's talking again. Really does like to hear himself drone on and on, doesn't he?

"Well I was sleeping, and then someone turned on the TV volume too loud and woke me up." He fakes a wide yawn, then stares out into the darkness again. "Just need to find the remote and the mute button. Power button's even better." Mentally exhausted, angry at himself sure, but he's not about to let Vox win by hearing any of that in his voice. Piece of electronic sinner trash. Within their cuffs, his fingers try to flex, but he realizes he really can't feel them anymore. Maybe it's just some kind of blessing in disguise to have them go numb at this point.

A TV-related jab. Adorable. Vox has heard hundreds of those during this time here. They've evolved over the decades, just as his equipment has, but in essence it's always the same sort of hot air. Pulling the plug, etc. etc. Vox always takes it as confirmation that he's getting to someone. The fact that they want him gone, out of their space, means that he's the most significant presence in their lives at that moment. He prefers adoration, but one can't imprison someone without this type of backlash. It'll do just fine.

He raps his knuckles against the glass of Lucifer's containment, the sound sure to echo within it. Just a little bit of extra torture, as a freebie. Those signs warning people not to tap the glass of aquariums are there for a reason, after all.

"Ooooh, I'm sorry. I just figured I'd check up on you. I wouldn't be much of a host if I didn't," he teases, his voice dipping into a low static at the word "host".

The knock of knuckles to glass rings just faintly too high, like a needle pricking inside of his ear and then vanishing. It sets his teeth on edge, which he's sure is exactly what Vox wants, and unfortunately automatically brings his gaze back to the screen that looks both curved and slightly duplicated thanks to the glass between them. The sarcastic reply makes him snort, then use his chin as a form of gesturing since he doesn't have much else to work with.

"Well if you're hosting this place, I'll have you know I'm leaving a bad review on this dump. One star, fucked up, badder than bad." His voice turns almost sing-songy for a moment before it returns to insulting snobbery. "Wasn't even a chocolate on my pillow. Think I'll stay at the better hotel nearby."

Okay so maybe it really isn't anywhere near here, clear across the pentagram in fact, but that isn't the point of his statement anyway. He tugs slightly against the metal tight around his wrists, though it brings up a flicker of the past and he stops himself immediately as the image of similarly silvery-gold metal around his wrists sends a shiver down his spine.

Vox can't stop himself from laughing. Just outright cackling with glee. Lucifer's really taking the bit and rolling with it, huh? He doesn't mind; he can keep going with it too, he just thinks it's funny. Hardly the sort of attitude to expect from the so-called King of Hell. Though... It's not as if Lucifer's done anything to deserve that title. Not on purpose, anyway.

"So soooorry, it seems like this is the only accommodation you can afford. The only one you deserve, too. This is Hell, after all!"

There's another mean little chuckle, as Vox stops dead in his tracks right in front of Lucifer. He turns to face the man, leering him down, arms folded behind his back.

"You know? Eternal suffering? That's what we have to put up with, so about time you get a taste of it too, don't you think?" he asks, tilting his head sideways as if he's posing a question he's genuinely curious about. But even then, the grin doesn't leave his screen.

No sinner in Hell knows what it means to be the King of Hell. All they see is the concept of power, glory, and might; they can't see the chains that come along with the crown, chains dripping in his own blood. This is the kind of soul he knows isn't capable of being redeemed, the kind he tried to warn Charlie about so she could stay far away from them. They will never be truly sorry for anything they do, incapable of repenting the sins that they continue to layer day by day in an endless pile that spills black across their souls. Sinners hear their titles - Pride, Wrath, Sloth - and think they are badges of honor rather than the branding burned into their flesh from the outside.

He never wanted any of these titles. The weight of the crown of thorns that digs into flesh - King, Pride, Devil.

"I have to put up with all of you," he points out in turn, and though he doubts Vox will realize he's actually speaking the blunt truth, it doesn't matter. Whether he believes or even understands the concept doesn't change the truth. However, it doesn't stop him from turning it back on Vox, staring the digital eyes head on with his voice equally as blunt. "Do you think you're suffering?"

The fun part of all of this is that Vox actually knows a little bit more about Lucifer's punishment than he's let on so far. Angel Dust hadn't only parroted that bit about the inability to smite back at him. The whore wouldn't have been a very capable spy if he'd left out information. Vox likes to keep some details closer to the vest, though. Keep some cards up his sleeve until the right moment to play them. 'They clipped your wings and chained you down here' is far more vague and up to interpretation than 'you hate being stuck here with us and that's exactly why you're here'. Which is rich, in Vox's opinion. Like a father hating his own children. Don't want to raise the brat, then don't shoot the shot.

Vox's smirk widens, but it's turning twisted and bitter. For a few seconds, his left eye dips into hypnosis mode. It's one of those things he can't always control, to the point where he barely notices it happens. It doesn't matter, either. All it ever does is make him look more intimidating.

"Buddy. Have you seen me? I've got a fucking TV for a head," he replies, his voice half a growl despite the upwards quirk of the mouth. His hand is raised so he can rap the backs of his fingers against the side of the screen. "I've learned to live with it, over time. Made a couple of improvements so it's more tolerable. Or maybe I stockholmed myself into thinking it's not that bad, I dunno. But I sure as fuck remember how much I hated it the first few years!"

He doesn't hide his hatred of the sinners and has never bothered; it was a lot easier to allow his hatred to look like distaste when Lilith was around. She had always been the more charismatic, the one that connected with her fellow sinners, believed in them. It had allowed him to simply remain at her side and look cool, calm, and collected despite what he felt inside (or his true nature which is generally anything but those). Now, it ends up put on full display and really had been since Charlie invited him to the Hotel nearly a year ago now.

"No, shit, really?" Complete with a wide-eyed dumbfounded expression. "I hadn't noticed!" Before his expression falls back to one of annoyance. "Is that the worst thing you've decided is going on with your life? Of all the things- there's sinners that are walking couches. Have you seen that guy? I wouldn't wanna be him! If all you get is cable though, I don't blame you for having that shit running through your skull. Whiny guy, aren'tcha?"

He gives Vox a look, as if he isn't currently trapped fairly helplessly in pounds of angelic steel. "I guess I'd be pretty pissed off too if I only had one channel and it was stuck on stupid."

All of Lucifer's remarks really only serve to rile Vox up further, because they're making him feel unheard. Dismissed. And he can't accept that. Sarcasm is one thing, but the old 'other people have it worse' card? That's a classic way of brushing shit under the rug. 'Didn't get that promotion you wanted? Who cares? People are dying in the war.' With that kind of logic, nobody is allowed to suffer, because there's always going to be someone who has it worse. The walking couch guys are sure to be one-upped by a toilet guy.

"You don't get it, do you? All of this," he gestures at himself with the flourishing motion of one hand, then at their surroundings, "and all of this... Hell, and everyone in it. That's aaall on you. So sometimes I wonder, you know? Just this tiny little voice in the back of the noggin, asking a single question. Who would I have been if you hadn't unleashed evil into the world?"

Because for as long as Vox can remember, he's felt an abundance of negative emotions. Jealousy, anger, disgust... He felt them because they were nestled deep inside, and he felt them because the world all around him was unfair- tainted, just as he was. So if evil were removed from the equation, both from himself and from others... It's stupid to wonder for too long, especially since that 'evil' came from free will, so the little voice never earns more than a scoff from him. Still, it's a pretty neat query to pose to the origin of it all.

Let's face it - there probably is a toilet guy somewhere in Hell. Probably a real piece of shit, that one.

Lucifer sighs as if Vox is reciting old nonsense at him even though deep inside, it twinges more than he lets on. He knows that's why humans despise him, why everyone despises him, but it still hurts to be faced with that head on. "The only one who doesn't get it here is you. You seriously think I'm oblivious to that fact?" He shakes his head, his tone taking on the same one that parents take when they're trying to explain something difficult to a young child who is being stubborn about being right. "You wouldn't be at all if things hadn't gone the way they did. Humanity would still be goldfish in their little bowl, swimming around, being fawned over the angels who watched them but generally, didn't actually care."

Why is he even bothering to tell Vox this? He knows the demon will never understand because it's impossible for someone like him to care about anyone else than himself. Sinners would never grasp at the concept of what bonds they would be in if he hadn't wanted to free the humans he had loved so much from their cage, unclip their wings so they could have the freedom to use what made them so special - their curiosity, their imagination, their dreams. The great secret of humanity that had been lost to time.

"Winners write the history books," he murmurs, mostly to himself.

Vox is stubborn about being right, so maybe Lucifer's more than justified in using that tone with him. Trouble is, he also refuses to back down. Half of what's being said, he's ready to dismiss without even truly hearing it. It's all excuses. Justification.

He leans in closer, his face mere inches from the containment. "Well, maybe I woulda liked that cushy goldfish life," he insists, mouth still set in its vicious grin. He wouldn't actually, short of not knowing any better, but that's not the point he's trying to make here. "Guess that's the cruel irony here, huh? Being the goldfish means not getting the free will to choose that life. I'd just be. But now you've made the decision for me."

He stops to laugh for a moment, only now realizing how backwards it is. Humanity gets to choose, except nobody gets a choice in having free will. No one except Eve, but why should all who came after have to be punished for it? Several wires shoot out from his back and upwards, to the top of Lucifer's containment. There's even more cables up there, far thicker and indirectly linked to Lucifer's restrained hands, ready to transmit divine energy into the weapon when the time is right. Not yet. Which means that for now, they can serve a different purpose.

"It's all chains, in the end. Free will is a fucking lie," Vox remarks, walking a fine line between casual and bitter. The wires from his back connect to the larger whole. There's no further warning for what's coming. No time to brace. Electrical currents shoot through, merciless and sharp.

The curve of the glass and the light playing through it make for a dizzying multiplication of Vox's screen, making Lucifer blink several times as he tries to bring them all back into focus but it fails each time. He's only half-listening to Vox's rambling, but he doesn't need the exact details to know what he's saying when the tone makes it clear. There's an irony that nothing Vox could ever possibly say to him is going to be more insulting or punishing than what he has already said to himself for thousands of years.

The final line makes Lucifer try to focus again, fail again, before he shakes his head. "The only lie is what all of you choose to do with it." The greatest irony of them all, the greatest insult to everything that he and really all of humanity has had to suffer, lies in the ancient allegory of the long spoons - two rooms full of people with spoons too long to feed themselves and a pot of stew in each. In one, they starve and in the other, they are happy and full. In the latter, they learned to not be selfish and feed each other. Hell, Heaven.

Humanity chooses to do the terrible things it does and thus, punishes itself.

But those thoughts he's had in many late, bitter nights are driven from his head when searing pain starts at his hands and zigzags through his body in a white rush, causing his every muscle to lock up. His teeth grit together, unable to even part to make a sound with his jaw muscles clenched. What the hell is this...?! No tickles here but just the crushing, cramping pain that goes through his entire body. Even if it relents for seconds, his body continues to twitch as the electricity sporadically dissipates.

Fuck, that was satisfying. Vox made sure to take in every aspect of it: the sight of Lucifer's agonized face, the cracking sounds, the distinct smell of ozone in the air, the sterile blue glow of electricity dancing along the restraints... Just a beautiful symphony of what would be lethal, were a mere mortal exposed to it. Vox would know.

He's caused harm to fellow Sinners numerous times and always kind of taken delight in it, but this? Putting the Lucifer Morningstar through agony? That's on a whole other level. It really solidifies the notion that nobody can stop him. Sure, Lucifer couldn't have fought back even if he were free, but there isn't even an option for self defense at this point. The King of Hell is entirely at his mercy. Soon, every single pitiful angel in Heaven will be too.

He gives Lucifer a brief moment to regain his composure before speaking, just to be sure he's heard. "How's that feel? Shitty, right? But not gonna lie, from this side of things... Kinda looks like art. A glorious masterpiece that I could probably package and sell to all of Hell. It'd be a hot item! Just about everybody hates your guts right now!"

If he were free, he'd just vanish! Fighting back doesn't necessarily mean optionless completely. Right now though, the steel wrapped around him is enough to keep him trapped as he hangs there in his restraints, panting slightly with narrowed eyes and bared teeth. It isn't enough to shut his mouth though, not wanting to give Vox the win. "And here I thought your partner in crime was the one who sold porn, but I guess you get off on the kinds of kinks he doesn't even bother with. Not surprised, really."

Is he supposed to taste something metallic in his mouth? He knows the taste of his own blood far too well, but this is something else entirely. Must have something to do with the electricity.

"What, is that supposed to upset me? Oh no no no, sad little sinner. Been hated for all of human history as it is, so basically, nothing's changed." With his last two words going completely flat, hiding down that old bitterness that comes with this particular topic.

The attempted kinkshame just bounces off Vox, like rubber being thrown at more rubber. Val actually does bother with electrocution and tasering in his porn sometimes, it's a pretty lucrative niche. Val also enjoys it when Vox gives him a few zaps mid-fuck, so suffice it to say, there is no shame here. Val gets off on it, Vox gets off on it, everybody wins. Everybody except Lucifer, anyway, but Vox will keep it in his pants right now. Being surrounded by so much porn on a daily basis desensitizes a guy to casual stimuli.

He leaves the cables where they are for now, ready to send another dose Lucifer's way if he so pleases. Maybe he will, maybe he won't. Not even he knows, and the suspense is what makes it more fun for him. His head cocks itself sideways on a light angle again, gaze still taking in all the little details of Lucifer's physique that imply pain.

"Oh wow, it's cute you'd think it's about you. I was just thinking about all the money I'd make! And the admiration!" He laughs again, placing a clawed hand flat against the containment. It's like holding onto a delicate treasure. "You're just a tool made to get me to my rightful place. Once I take over Heaven, you'll finally have served a good use."

Ugh. Sinners. Every time he thinks he's discovered how low they can go, they find another way to go even lower. It just reaffirms most of his feelings about them, setting in a harsh line against the work Charlie has put in to try and show him that some sinners are better than that. He knows, he knows now at least, that there are exceptions. A few. A very, very small few. The exception just seems to prove the rule however when he's faced with a situation and a sinner like this.

With a couple of slow smacks of his tongue against the roof of his mouth, that disgusting taste is starting to fade. It doesn't get rid of the faint traces of ache still lingering around in his muscles, but both things are overshadowed by the pain of having to listen to this guy. "You'd know all about what being a tool is, after all. You think they'll just bow down to you as soon as you step in the gates? Never mind the fact you don't even have a way out of here to get up there. What, think you'll spew out enough hot air to float on up out of Hell? That'll be fun to watch you try."

Vox laughs again; a hearty, maniacal guffaw. Lucifer's barking is so delightfully futile. So pointless. No matter how many quips are sent his way, it won't change the fact that Vox is in control. It won't change that Lucifer is in chains. In fact, nothing will get that to change, because Vox insists on keeping it this way.

The funniest part is that Lucifer is an integral part of the plan for Vox to get up to Heaven. Sinners can absolutely set foot on that sort of holy soil. All it takes is for all of Heaven to allow it and make that special exception. Before long, angels and demons will be one and the same; all people who will have to turn their gazes upwards to see Vox.

"Oh, I'm sure once I apply enough pressure," he begins, and the last word is just about spat out in a threatening tone of voice, "they'll send for me personally. They'll have no choice. Either they let me into Heaven, or I'll make sure there is no more Heaven."

"...idiot." Lucifer knows how foolish this plan is because Vox has no concept of what lies above. There is still that army of exorcists waiting that had come every Extermination. No angel on high has turned their power down on Hell since Charlie fought back, but if it means defending Heaven itself, he has no doubt they would do what is necessary. Does Vox truly believe their lack of retort is a lack of ability? Likely.

So he decides to apply pressure back, despite the fact he's getting suuuuuuper tired of this conversation already. "Uh huh. You have fun with that pipe dream of yours. There's nothing you could do that'll ever convince them to let a piece of shit like you through those gates, never mind your idea that you'll somehow get rid of it."

Woo boy. He knew Vox had always been a talker with a lot of bullshit coming out of his mouth, but this just solidifies all the reasons he hadn't been listening to him. There were only a few of the Overlords even worth having any kind of conversation with - the few semi-sane ones - and these three aren't them. "If you're done, I'd like to get back to my nap, thanks."

Vox would consider this conversation over and done with, but Lucifer's desire to have it end is precisely why he won't let it. He can't reward bad behavior, oh no. In fact, he rather thinks Lucifer should beg and grovel, and admit defeat. That's a much better note to close the conversation on.

He takes a step back from the containment again, the attached cables stretching out a bit more over the larger distance. "Oh, no, not quite done yet, I'm afraid. Far from it. You have an attitude problem, it seems. And there's only one way to rectify that," he proclaims, tilting his head on a light angle.

And then it begins again. The sharp currents, sent through the cables into Lucifer's chains. Longer, this time. More voltage. The King of Hell had already proclaimed that Vox can't kill him, which means there's no danger limit to keep in mind when it comes to torture.

There's that moment when it tickles, a tingle that passes through him as if judging the path from his hands to his feet before striking properly. After that, it's all consuming. Unable to move or fight back properly, not even defensively, there is nothing he can do but be forced to take every brutal inch of the electricity driving thousands of blades into his muscles. The power follows his nerves like guiding paths to the places he would want it to go least. It drives the breath from his lungs as it forces those muscles to contract and hold so he doesn't even have the mental release of screaming.

And it doesn't relent.

No, it leaves him struggling to even find a thought in the flood of pain that seems to steal every notion that begins to form in his head and slash it to pieces just like it's doing to the rest of his body. Yet he knows on a level as deep as instinct he can't give in because that gives this sinner victory and once he loses, he'll struggle to regain any ground at all. Eventually, someone will realize he's gone. He has to believe that. Charlie might be angry with him, but she still loves him.

Not that... anyone would have noticed if he had disappeared in most of the last seven years.

No! Whatever game Vox is playing at with all of this, for Charlie's sake, he fights back. Enough to slowly crack open an eye and stare directly at Vox, even if he can't do another damn thing.

There is no swift release this time. Vox waits it out, feeling the rapid movement of the currents as they flow. It's the sort of sensation no mortal could ever hope to grasp, but being a demon comes with senses beyond humanity's scope. It's cathartic, the way electricity just goes whenever it wants and takes the quickest route to get there, mowing down most obstacles with ease. Poetic, even. And opportunities to do this sort of thing come rare, because it's not as if Vox can unleash power surges like these without causing collateral damage. The damage is the point, this time.

In that moment, everything that comes into contact with the currents becomes part of a grander whole, Lucifer's frozen muscles included.

Good times have to end sometime, though. So after about half a minute of that, Vox allows the flow to peter out. There's a few more stragglers- some crackles that disturb the air afterwards, but nothing too major. Vox remains where he is, grinning, waiting to see what Lucifer will say or try to do now once he's recovered. It's like watching a particularly interesting piece of media on TV.

There's a distinct level of feeling utterly violated, knowing that the electricity is a part of Vox's power and it was running through his body, touching every inch of him in ways that no one but a very select few had ever been allowed. It feels as if it lasts infinitely longer than it actually does, making him lose track of time completely until even when it finally ends, his mind doesn't catch up immediately. No, all of it lingers even after Vox stops his assault. It crackles in his muscles, it short circuits his thoughts, it steals the breath from his lungs.

In the aftermath, it leaves Lucifer hanging there in his cuffs, putting his entire body weight on his wrists as his knees refuse to support him. Little twitches happen in random places - an eye, his bicep, his back - again and again. Finally it feels like he can pull in a breath, though it has a huge weight upon his chest that keeps him from taking a full lungful and instead gives him only enough space to pant like an exhausted dog.

His head hangs, unable to pull it up even though he knows the sinner is still watching him. His first proper thought isn't about Vox and it isn't even about himself, just the ugly repeating notion that Charlie is going to be angry at him for messing things up even further.

Amazing. Vox had half expected someone on Lucifer's level to recover faster than this. Fallen or not, the man's still a high-ranking angel. But no, even someone this majestic caves to Vox's inherent power. He really is the strongest Sinner demon in Hell, isn't he? Maybe even the strongest demon, period. Other rings and their rulers be damned. Heaven is going to have to beg for his mercy, and if they're lucky, maybe he'll give it to them.

Content, his cables detach from atop the containment and retreat into his back once more. They can stay there for now. He walks right up to the glass again, pressing a hand against it. Now Lucifer's panting, useless form can be regarded up close, albeit somewhat distorted by the rounding of the glass.

"Do you get it yet? This whole thing is a conduit," he says, because he's built up quite enough suspense by now. He might as well just let Lucifer know what the plan is, so he can despair over that too. "Power travels quite nicely in there. So when the time is right... I'll take some of yours and aim it outward. Just imagine how many angels will fall when Heaven's hit with a taste of its own medicine."

None of them know or understand. The crown that comes with chains... so much of his power held back not just because Heaven knew what he would do to any sinner, but in order to protect those who remained here who didn't deserve any form of punishment. Chains upon chains, crafted in golden blood, so much of it his own. If he draws on it to protect himself-

-his head jerks up despite the protest of muscles, unable to keep the look of horror that begins to crawl up his face and sink down into his bowels. Take some of his power- anything the sinners would have been able to do wouldn't have touched an angel, but his own-?!

He looks upwards at the device he's been caught in, though he can't tell much of anything from inside of the damned thing. Could this really do what Vox is saying? Then again, how in the hell did Vox figure out just what angelic steel could be fully capable of? Killing an angel is one thing, but to be able to capture, hold, and steal...?

Lucifer grits his teeth as a muscle violently contracts in his neck with a hint of leftover power, but he forces himself to look back to Vox. "I have no idea what you're messing with. You might think you do, but you don't, and it's going to come back to bite you harder than you've ever dreamed."

"Oh, I think I have a pretty good idea, actually."

Vox had been paying extra close attention during the big battle against the exorcists and their leader. He's even watched a lot of it on repeat. Adam in particular caught his interest, not just because of how he kicked Alastor's ass (boy did he rewatch that bit a lot though), but because of the showdown against Lucifer. There was an insane amount of raw strength on display there. Adam blasted Pentious's entire blimp into oblivion and acted like it was only a casual, quick little move. Like lifting a pinkie finger. Archangels and those ranked above them... Vox is sure they could decimate all of Hell in a matter of seconds, if they so wished.

He won't let them. He'll take control of that decimation and turn it right back around towards Heaven.

"But hey, you should be happy," he continues, tapping the sharpened ends of his fingers against the glass again. "You get to play a real important part in freeing your people from Heaven's judgment. Once I take over both realms, I'll make sure to be a much more benevolent god than that fucker upstairs ever was."

... Well. Maybe. Probably. It depends how he feels. Anyone who crosses him gets to suffer forever, of course. But those who play by the rules? He'll get them nice things. Why not?

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