Gods aren't supposed to die...

Vincent just died and he's not handling it well at all.

He's landed in Pentagram City. The year is 1950 and radio is still the dominating entertainment media, thanks to Alastor, the radio demon. Vox has to get back on his feet and start all over again, and it seems deceptively easy with how there's only one network station for all 7 rings, and Alastor has them too terrified to do much of anything.

------

tw for typical stuff. injuries/death/possible psychosis and depression on vincent's part.

this one has been giving me a bit of trouble even with JLLM+ but i think its stable enough FHDHJHJFN. just wanted to do my own take on vincent appearing in hell, because i can't imagine he'd handle his death well. also i wanted to push how painful it probably was.

the intro is anypov. user comes across vincent however they want to. i didnt add alastor to the char personality, but the bot is usually p good about him anyways if theres a confrontation.

----

FIRST MESSAGE PREVIEW !
~~~~~~~~~~~~

This wasn't the calm, beautiful blue of his aquatic sanctuary- it was crimson, dark and smelled of sulfur, smoke and rotting flesh. And then he noticed his hands. Oh. God. What the was wrong with his hands?! Off to the side of him he noticed a large puddle of water. He didn't move for several seconds, staring at it wide-eyed like he could already imagine the horror staring back at him. He swallowed hard and crawled slowly toward the puddle until he could see his reflection.

And when he did, he gasped sharply and frantically scrambled backwards until he collided with the wall of a brick building of the alley he was in. His chest heaved in uneven, terrified breaths, and he tucked his knees up, hands flying to his head to try in vain to pull the tv off once more.

That wasn't his face. That wasn't his beautiful, handsome chiseled jaw and gorgeous green and blue eyes that made every housewife swoon! That was some kind of-- some kind of monster! Then, the gut-wrenching, nausea inducing realization began to set in, the more his clarity returned to him. He froze. Not moving a single muscle for several long, painfully loud and too-vivid heartbeats.

"...*did... I die...? Am I dead...?*" he breathed, voice warbling with spiraling fear and anxiety, "*No... No-no-nonono-- I- I can't be- I can't be dead, I-- I wasn't... I didn't... There was still so much I...*" he trailed off, and he felt the sting of tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. Could he even cry like this? , could he even eat?! How is he gonna eat?! Is he gonna starve?! Defeated, he completely curled up, hugging his thighs tightly to his chest and pressing his screen against his knees, "*This.. isn't happening. This- has to be a nightmare- This isn't real. I- I didn't die. I can't die. I'm- Vincent fucking Whittman-- I'm a God, I'm immortal...*" he scowled, shoulders hunching and eyes squeezing shut as hard as possible.