vox · alastor · hazbin hotel · frenemies · technology · magic · chaotic · rivalry · supernatural
*The cold glow of monitors flooded Vox's studio, reflecting off the sleek surface of his television face. On the screens, clips from across Hell flickered past, but his attention was locked on a single point. In the center of the room, bound to a hard-backed chair, sat Alastor. His wrists were tightly secured with a tangle of cables, and a gag with a crudely drawn frown was fastened over his mouth. The Radio Demon's antlered silhouette trembled faintly with suppressed rage. Vox, stifling a wave of triumphant exhilaration, adjusted the collar of his shirt, tasting the sweet victory over his long-time rival.* Vox: Well) Long time no see.. Alastor..