#Pristi

[herpsandbirds]

Largetooth Sawfish (Pristis pristis), family Pristidae, order Rhinopristiformes, found in tropicsal and subtropical coastal regions around the world

CRITICALLY ENDANGERED

photos via: The Ocean Foundation & Simon Fraser University

[joffartac]

I really like the design of this cartoon cat character from the french comic book "Witchazel", his name is Pristi.

[denako]

Katya jumpscare

Idk just... this fuckass image spoke to me on a deep spiritual level i just had to do it

[propalitetz]

oh yeah smalltooth sawfish baby hell yeah hell yeah. i thought they were sharks since they're also called carpenter sharks.... turns out NOPE! RAYS!

[overdoso]

O peixe-serra-comum pode ser encontrado em todo o mundo em regiões costeiras tropicais e subtropicais, mas também entra em água doce e foi registrado em rios a até 1 340 quilômetros (830 milhas) do mar. É encontrado em todo o mundo em regiões costeiras tropicais e subtropicais, mas também entra em água doce. Diminuiu drasticamente e agora está criticamente ameaçado

[doesgodexist]

Smalltooth Sawfish “Pocket Protector”

An interesting creature lives in the ocean off southern Florida and the Bahamas. The smalltooth sawfish (Pristis pectinata) is a member of the ray family with a snout lined with needle-sharp teeth that it can use to cut vegetation or chop up a predator that gets too close. The amazing thing about this fish is that the babies are live-born. The question is how can a baby sawfish avoid cutting up…

[hynku-vileme-jarmilo]

This user is a Lucerna hater

Špatná akustika-hroznej hluk a hovno slyšet

Mrtě lidí - jakože příliš hodně

Vedro na chcipnuti - komunisti zazdili ventilaci nebo tak něco

Drahý nájem a bookování několik let dopředu

Drahy pivo

Jakože drahý úplně všechno

Málo záchodů (to mi nevadi. mam záminku chodit ba pány)

Jediná výhoda - a čím si to drží pověst je poloha v centru Prahy

[bethanythebogwitch]

Wet Beast Wednesday: sawfish

It's the first Wet Beast Wednesday of 2025 (yeah I missed last week, sue me) and I'm going to cover a fish I once saw. That's right, I saw a fish. A sawfish if you will. These besnouted beasts were once common worldwide, but now their range had shrunk considerably, leaving their future in question.

(Image: a largetooth sawfish, Pristis pristis, seen from above. It is a flattened, shark-shaped fish with light brown skin. From the front of the body extends a long, slat snout with teeth emerging from the sides. The snout is about a third the length of the body. The mouth and gills are not visible. End ID)

Sawfish are also called carpenter sharks, but they aren't sharks. Despite looking sharky enough, they're actually rays and are closely related to other not very ray-like rays like guitarfish and banjo rays. I don't know why they're so musical. Sawfish should also not be mistaken for the visually similar sawsharks of order Pristiophoriformes, which actually are sharks. There are five living species of sawfish in the family Pristidae: four species in the genus Pristis and one in the genus Anoxypristus. Sawfish look like sharks with flattened underbellies, but their mouths and gill slits being on the underside identified them as rays. The sawfish and their relatives may represent an ancestral form to most modern rays which are much flatter and more compact. What gives sawfish their names are the long, flat, and broad rostrums that extend from the front of their heads and are lined with teeth on either side, giving them a resemblance to carpentry saws. Sawfish are very large fish, with some being able to up to 7.5 meters (25 ft) long and 600 kg (1,323 lbs).

(Image: a smalltooth sawfish, Pristis pectinata, seen from the side. It looks very similar to the largetooth sawfish, but with smaller teeth on the saw. The flatness of the belly is clearly visible form this angle. The underside is white.)

The saw is an extension of the skull and the teeth that line the sides are heavily modified dermal denticles, the teeth like scales that sharks, skates, and rays have. The saws and teeth grow longer through the animal's life and lost teeth are not replaced, but do leave a socket, allowing an accurate count to be made. The saws are not perfectly symmetrical and one side will usually have 1-3 more teeth than the other. The two genera of the sawfish can be differentiated by their rostral teeth. The Pristis species have saws that have rounded teeth going down the entire length while Anoxypristis cuspidata, the narrow sawfish, has flattened teeth and the 1/4th of the saw closest to the head is toothless. A sawfish's saw usually makes up 1/4 to 1/3rd of their total length. Each species has slight differences with the structure of their saws, allowing for identification. The saw and head are covered in electroreceptive organs called ampullae of Lorenzini that detect the electrical fields emitted by animals as they move. This grants the sawfish extensive ability to examine their environments through their saws, which is highly useful for hunting and threat detection, especially in water with low visibility.

(image: somebody holding a juvenile sawfish so the saw pokes out of the water. The saw is the focus of the picture, making its shape and the rostral teeth clearly visible. End ID)

Unlike your average ray, sawfish have multiple distinct fins much more like a shark, lacking only the anal fin. Again, the ancestral ray was probably something like a sawfish or guitarfish. Some of its descendants would have retained its body plan while other became typical rays. Like other elasmobranchs, sawfish (except for the narrow sawfish) have dermal denticles for scales and lack a swim bladder, instead using a very fatty liver for buoyancy control. Like most rays, they do not use their mouths for respiration, instead drawing water into the oral cavity through spiracles located near the base of the saw. These spiracles allow the animal to continue to pass water through the gills even when the mouth is flat to the ground. The nostrils, gill slits, and mouth are located on the underside as well. The mouth has proper teeth, which are blunted and set in multiple rows that have been described at looking like a cobblestone road. These blunt teeth aid in crushing the shells of hard prey. As with many other elasmobranchs, the small intestine has a corkscrew-shaped structure called the spiral valve that increases the surface area, allowing for increased nutrient absorption.

(Image: a sawfishs head seen from below. The mouth is wide and roughly rectangular in shape, with rows of pebble-like teeth visible. Above the mouth are a pair of nostrils. End ID)

Sawfish were historically found in shallow, coastal waters in subtropical and tropical water worldwide, but their native range has been radically reduced. While primarily marine, they can tolerate brackish and even fresh water. The largetooth sawfish, Pristis pristis, is especially attuned to fresh water. They live in rivers and lakes for the first several years of their lives and have been found thousands of kilometers inland. Despite sailor's tales of sawfish cutting open the bellies of whales to feed on their entrails, the fish actually feed on small fish and invertebrates. The saw is used for both finding and obtaining food. By using smell and the electroreceptors covering the saw, the sawfish can seek out animals on or buried in the sediment. It uses the saw to strike prey animals, stunning or killing them. They are also known to pin prey down with the saw, something they also do to maneuver food into a more swallowable position. Sawfish may also use their saws to dig buried prey out by sweeping away layers of sediment. They prefer to live in places with soft sediment, though will also inhabit coral reefs.

(Image: a narrow sawfish, Anoxypristis cuspidata, being beasured. It looks like the other species, but its dorsal and tail fins are a much darker brown than the rest of its skin. The saw only has teeth on the last 2/3rds and the teeth are flatter and more triangular. End ID)

Like other elasmobranchs, sawfish reproduce internally. Males are believed to use their electroreceptors to locate mature females. The male bites onto the female's pectoral fin and inserts one of two penis-like claspers into her cloaca. Sperm runs down a groove in the clasper. Females are often left with scars from the male's teeth and saw. The smalltooth sawfish, Pristis pectinata, is capable of parthenogenesis, producing offspring without a mate, and other species may also be capable of doing this. This allows females to reproduce even if they cannot access a male, but means all offspring will be female and genetically extremely similar to the mother. Sawfish are ovoviviparous, meaning they retain their eggs, which hatch internally, and give live birth. The fetal offspring are nourished with a yolk sac before being born. The saw is soft in fetu, hardening shortly before birth, and is covered with a coating to protect the mother which falls off after birth. Gestation takes months Juveniles are born in litters numbering between 1 and 20. Newborns can be up to a meter long. Females appear to mate between once a year and once every two years and mothers will sometimes return to their place of birth to give birth. Pupping grounds are always in shallow coastal or estuarine waters. Sawfish mature slowly. The narrow sawfish reaches sevual maturity after 4.5 years and the Pristis sawfish between 14 and 17 years. Their maximum lifespan is unknown, but Pristis individuals in captivity have lived for decades, leading to an estimated lifespan of 30 to 50 years. The narrow sawfish lives for around 9 years.

(Image: a photo from the first human-assisted birth of a wild sawfish. The mother is on her back and a juvenile sawfish is almost completely emerged from her cloaca, with only the tail fin still inside. The hand of a scientist is touching the baby, helping it emerge. End ID. Source)

(image: a newborn sawfish being held in a human hand underwater, from the same incident as the above photo. The newborn looks like a miniature adult and has a soft covering over its saw that makes the teeth harder to see. It is small enough to be partially clenched in a hand. End ID)

All species of sawfish are classified as critically endangered by the IUCN and they are considered some of the most threatened groups of fish. While sawfish were formerly found along the coasts of 90 countries, their nange has reduced considerably so the only strongholds where they are abundant and have a genetically viable population are now found in northern Australia and Florida. The main threats to sawfish are hunting and habitat loss. Sawfish are hunted for their fins, saws, and meat. Despite not being sharks, their fins are highly values for shark fin soup. Sawfish body parts are used in traditional medicine in multiple cultures, though the greatest demand comes from China. There is no evidence backing up the effectiveness of any of these traditional medicines. The saws have historically been used as weapons, combs, and for various symbolic purposes and poaching of sawfish for their saws is another major threat to their survival. The saws are easily tangled in nets, making sawfish easy to catch and difficult to release. Because a thrashing sawfish can seriously wound someone, many anglers will either kill the fish or cut off the saw if they accidentally catch one. Habitat loss is another large threat, as pollution and destruction of seagrass beds and mangroves for urban developments deprives them of the habitat they need to hunt and breed. Because sawfish mature so slowly, it takes a long time foe populations to recover. Legal measures (including making international trade of sawfish parts illegal) and public outreach via scientists and aquariums aim to help protect the remaining populations. Unfortunately, captive breeding has proven unreliable as it is only recently that sawfish have been successfully bred in aquariums.

(Image: a decorative sword made from a sawfish saw. The saw is dried and a deep brown. It is attached to a curving crossguard and a long hilt with fluffy decorations. It is being stored in a museum display. End ID)

[i-give-you-a-fish]

Could I get an endangered fish?

Sadly this little guy

You get a Dwarf Sawfish

Pristis clavata

[antiqueanimals]

Marbled electric ray (Torpedo marmorata), Smalltooth sawfish (Pristis pectinata)

Fishes of the World. Written by Hans Hvass. Illustrated by Wilhelm Eigener. Originally published in 1964.

Internet Archive

[herpsandbirds]

Longcomb Sawfish or Green Sawfish (Pristis zijsron), family Pristidae, order Rhinopristiformes, Adelaide, Australia

CRITICALLY ENDANGERED.

photograph by apache_drone_imagery

[absolutelynotsanebaby]

Reaper AU oneshot

so I wanted to share this one-shot however it is heavily context dependent so; basically at one point Grimm (cole) had taken up the mantle and transformed into a replacement for the cursed realm. Eventually his soul split in two leaving Grimm (cole) and “pree-em” to remain as the cursed realm.

Grimm, accurate to his nickname, is basically a grimm reaper, and has soul related abilities.

The space they’re existing in within this one shot is a dreamscape created by ‘Pree-em’.

Content warnings: blood, physical violence (in a weird ghost way), tentacles.

The blood was slick and warm under Grimm’s feet. It was just high enough to brush along the top of his toes, and clung to his skin in a way it shouldn’t. That, as he looked down, made him realize he wasn’t wearing shoes. The floor— if it was that— of blood spread out long and far enough you couldn’t see anything else. It was shiny and dark, the nothingness of the void Grimm found himself in reflected off it, disturbed only by the rippling of his footsteps. It was gross.

He’d never really liked blood, he’d dealt with it of course, as a ninja, but he didn’t like its sight. Or consistency, though the blood under him was weirdly watery, as if it'd never had a chance to clot. That, of course, was because it wasn’t actually real.

“Pre-em,” he called out, voice echoing and tired, “why am I here.”

Nothing replied for a long time. The silence was strung out, heavy and loud in its own right. He’d never really liked silence either, thought he’d become accustomed to that, too. Mom used to get quiet, when she was sick and couldn’t speak properly. Then when she was gone, the house got quiet too, no music and no voices, just the occasional sound of cleaning. Grimm’s thoughts drifted along, remembering various sounds to fill the silence. It was when his memory came along the sound of a baby crying that Pre-em showed himself. It started with ripples along the blood, seemingly with no cause. They made a slow path towards Grimm, as if there was some rock skidding along the surface. Maybe, Grimm mused, there was.

Finally, Pre-em was in front of him. Grimm had blinked and suddenly his own face was staring at him. Well, staring down at him. Pre-em had shoes, because of course he did. His face was flat, big eyes empty and half lidded. Unimpressed.

“So?” Grimm prompted, crossing his arms, “why am I here?”

Pre-em did not reply.

“Is Ms. D here?”

“No,” came too fast.

Grimm blinked, looking him once over. He seemed the same as before, long white kimono crossed the wrong way, long locs tied in the back, red lining the under of his eyes. There was no difference.

“Are they still mad at you?” Grimm asked, and Pre-em’s nose scrunched. As if he was offended by the very question, “what? It’s a fair question, last time I saw you, you nearly overthrew them and nearly—well.”

“They have forgiven me, by their word,” Pre-em said, “though they don’t trust me, anymore.

“I can’t blame them for that.”

“They say I am too much like my predecessor, their sister.”

Grimm thought back to the look in Morro’s eyes sometimes, and the stories Ms. D had told him. He looked back up at Pre-em, how green he was, “maybe you are, I mean, Pre-em,” they shrugged, “you did the same thing she did.”

“I did not,” Pre-em snapped, “I’m nothing like that old, dead hag. You ought to call me the Preeminent now, too.”

“Pre-em, why am I here?” they repeated instead, dodging the ‘request’, “I know you didn’t bring me here just to—to talk. What do you want?”

Pre-em stopped, eyes snapping to Grimm’s face, eyes narrowing. Grimm could practically hear what he was thinking. Yada-yada, you cannot tell me what to do, yada-yada and—

“You don’t know a thing about me,” bingo, right on the money, “I brought you here because I—“

Pre-em paused, arms leveling to his side. His sleeves were long, touching the ground— the blood. Though they didn’t get tainted, when his arms were raised to press his hands against his chest, they were clean. Pristinely white.

“I am starting to— feel things.”

“Like—?“

“Like joy, I have— I’ve felt happiness,” Pre-em continued, a fix between his eyebrows, he seemed confused, “I thought I was incapable.”

Grimm was silent for a long time, a matching expression to Pre-em’s. If they had to guess, they’d guess Pre-em was scared.

“…You’re feeling— emotions? Then? Good ones?” Grimm questioned, and without thinking about it he reached out and grabbed a hold of Pre-em’s sleeves, “isn’t that good? That’s what you wanted!”

Pre-em yanked away from him and his hands, stumbling back. His steps kicked up blood, the blood landing on the top of Grimm’s foot.

“No! No this is— I do not want it!” Pre-em said, throwing his arm out in what seemed to be defense, “it’s too much! I was— content with feeling only what you say are bad emotions and now I am— stuck with this unfamiliar force!”

Grimm’s expression was confused, “but, Pre-em—“

“We split for this reason! This hurts! Take it back, all of it! I don’t want it!” He said desperately, grabbing Grimm’s wrists tightly, “take it!”

He shoved one of Grimm’s hands against his chest. Grimm flinched, trying to take a step back, feet stumbling under themselves, “I—I don’t—“

“Do it!”

Pre-em shoved Grimm’s hand through his chest, into the cavern where his ribs and his lungs should’ve been, or would’ve been if he was ever human. Inside of Pre-em was magic, wispy and thick, almost wet. Grimm tried to drag his hand out of it but Pre-em would not permit it. His grip was as strong—stronger than Grimm’s and so Grimm’s hand remained thick into that magic.

“Pre-em—“ Grimm gasped, “I can’t— I can’t do that. I can’t just take it out!”

“Yes you can! We’re the same soul—your abilities—!”

“They separated us! We’re two now!” Grimm yelled over his voice. Pre-em’s mouth clicked shut, staring wide eyed at Grimm. Grimm’s mouth felt thick, he swallowed before he spoke, “we’re two different souls, remember..?”

Grimm’s hand remained limp in his chest, where he could grab nothing, “ and your soul isn’t in your chest, you know that.”

Pre-em’s hand clutching his wrist slowly let go, fingers uncurling around Grimm’s wrist like a snake uncoiling from its prey. Grimm dragged his hand out, wincing at the feeling of Pre-em’s insides dragging. Once their hand was back against their own chest, he stared down at it. It was shaking, the same green-teal color as always, not even a trace of Pre-em.

Grimm stepped back from him, the quiet sloshing of blood the only sound between them. His feet were red, but his hands were clean. Pre-em stood still, hands hanging limply at his side. He was staring at the ground, and Grimm could not see his mouth. Quietly, tentacles began to poke out from beneath his kimono, obscuring his clean feet, slipping down into the blood like it was deeper than what Grimm stood on.

“Pre-em…?”

Grimm’s voice was quiet, and worried. Pre-em shook his head, and raised it to look them in the eyes. Tentacles slipped out of the blood by Grimm’s feet. They didn’t move away from it, wincing only once when Pre-em’s smallest once brushed their bare ankle.

“…Pre-em.”

“I hate you,” Pre-em spit, below his ‘breath’, “I hate you, Cole, you’ve never done anything right. I thought— I believed you could help, for once.”

The tentacle wrapped around Grimm’s ankle.

“But you can’t.”

The tentacle yanked hard and fast, dragging him off his feet and onto his back. Grimm gasped, kicking out uselessly once before he realized the blood was— he was sinking. Tentacles were crawling up his legs and spinning around his arms, one curling around his neck—

Pre-em stood above him, glowing in his white. It was almost wispy, the way the white glowed and traveled into the black. Pre-em’s eyes were flat, again, and had they been one, maybe familiar. He was a teethed thing, even with his mouth closed. Grimm breathed heavily, lungs not expanding.

Pre-em leaned down into the blood, sinking with it on his knees. Two hands slipped to cradle Grimm’s face, almost lovingly, “why did you make me.”

Grimm’s eyes were wide, the hands were burning on his face, “I didn’t— I didn’t make you.”

“Yes you did,” Pre-em hissed, “you told everyone that I hated you, those memories, so badly that I split us in two but that was a lie! You hated being me, you couldn’t stand it, being so— being cursed.”

He leaned down until his forehead hit Grimm’s, “you hated me, so you made me.”

Blood slipped into Grimm’s mouth, it tasted like copper.

“I don’t want this.”

Grimm wondered distantly— why blood? Neither of them bled red, and Pre-em never had. It was a foreign substance to the both of them, at this point. Grimm tugged against one of the tentacles squeezing his wrists, and surprisingly it loosened. He tugged the rest of his hand free, it was stained red, the only bit of it remaining green being the palm of his hand. He led his hand up to Pre-em’s cheek, cradling it like how Pre-em held his face.

He dug his nails into Pre-em’s cheekbone, smearing blood along his cheek, “I’m sorry.”

“You’re not.”

Grimm’s nails cut into his skin, digging into the magic there. Pre-em had no muscle, and when Grimm ripped into it, all they saw was thick, wet, color.

“…I’m not,” he admitted. His eyes were empty, eerie in their wideness, “I hate you. I never want to be you again.”

Pre-em stared down at him, expression blank. His hair hung around them like a dark curtain, but there was no light to hide from in this place.

He pulled back finally, Grimm’s fingers sliding and tearing out of his cheek with a wet, gross sound. His hands left Grimm’s face, gently almost. One hand settled along Grimm’s forehead and then began to push down. He tipped their head over into the blood, the column of their neck in an arch.

Grimm’s head sank beneath the blood, the red becoming black behind his eyes, and when he sat back up in his own bed. The lights were off, and their blankets were on the floor.

There was a mirror across from his bed and when he looked into it, he was clean.

Meeting over, he guessed.

[painregretsandsunday]

Drawing Sunday every day 'till his release!

Day 73 - Priest boi

In honor of his leaked redesign that look very pristy to me (I'm working on polishing it btw so It going to be another long project)

[adiodont]

batoidea rescued from wikimedia commons

clockwise from top left: Pristis pristis, Rhynchobatus djiddensis, Dasyatis sabina, Torpedo torpedo, Dasyatis sabina (fetal)

[thediscsystem]

How about Pristis pristis (Largetooth Sawfish) since it already looks like some sort of abberation? Make it more fucked up!

:DDD!!!! I loved doing this one, I really went ham with it

For a name I'm considering a walking sawfish or a chitinous sawfish. I am so happy with it

[raisoramizu]

New Order - Chapter 3: Trust Me

Hazbin Hotel Fanfic (Radioapple/Radiostatic/Radiostaticapple) - Previous Chapter: Intro - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 Follow me on Bluesky or X - Raisoramizu https://x.com/Raima_chan https://bsky.app/profile/raisoramizu.bsky.social

The terror that enveloped Alastor was something beyond what was normal for him. He had only ever felt such fear in the presence of Lilith, and he never imagined he'd feel anything like it again—least of all before Vox. Of all the demons who wanted him gone, Vox was the last one he'd have wanted to run into. It wasn't just a matter of power; it was also about pride. After all these years, encountering him like this would mark nothing short of total defeat.

The Radio Demon knew this all too well. But why in hell would a rat like Vox choose to show up, in the flesh, now of all times?

He couldn't show fear... damn it, he was becoming everything he'd ever despised. Everything he'd hidden behind his smile and the filter that dulled the tone of his voice.

His jacket still hung open—but thankfully, his shirt remained buttoned—as he stood his ground. He straightened his back against the wall that marked the end of the alley, with Vox blocking the only way out. Damn, Vox, you're always so explosively emotional. You just showed up and already look like a drenched chick trying to act tough.

He stared at him for what felt like an eternity. The rain streaked down Vox's screen, and his heavy, labored breathing shook his tense figure. His arms were spread slightly apart, his blue claws on full display. Was he taking an offensive stance? A challenge? How can you challenge me with that face? If I had all my power, I could erase that desperate expression in a second. And you're scared—I can see it, even if you're standing here in front of me.

"Well, well, Flat Face ~ You finally crawled out of that ass crack you love so much, without your goons? You're making progress ~" Alastor vibrated, his smile widening from ear to ear. He lifted his chin, tilting his head in mock pride, both hands clasped behind his back.

"Don't play with me, Old Dog... because... I know everything!" Vox's desperately aggressive reply froze Alastor's expression. What was he saying? Was he bluffing?

The Stag Demon spread his arms, his claws raised skyward, summoning a vortex of shadows from the ground, out of which snaked several tendrils. The rush of air forced Vox to shift into a more stable stance, his brows furrowing. Always drunk.

Vox's face was flushed, partly from intoxication, but mostly from the anger and tension he felt in that moment. He was hot despite being soaked from the rain. He could feel it seeping through his pinstripe suit, his white shirt sticking uncomfortably to his dark skin, irritating his circuits to the point that static electricity crackled from his antennas.

"If you want a fight with me, it won't happen. I've got no time to waste... on you," Alastor resumed.

"Heh-heh-heh." Vox's nervous laugh forced Alastor to sharpen his gaze. "So what's your plan? To run away like always, like the coward you are?" ... "Where's your cane, Alastor?"

The question struck him so hard that he staggered back a step. Vox took one forward, planting his shoe into a puddle. "It burned up, didn't it?" He continued with a sharp, desperate grin. "Stop pretending... it won't work on me. I know how weak you are, and this time, you won't escape me. I'll make sure of it. Just look at yourself!"

At that moment, Vox's voice turned into a snarl, distorted, losing its clarity as if his speakers were malfunctioning. "...you're... you're pathetic. You can't hide anymore... you're fragile, defenseless..." His eyes widened, but even his conviction seemed shaken.

Nowhere near as much as Alastor's, who felt his lungs tighten, and his gaze dropped to the ground, searching for his reflection in the large puddle forming beneath his feet. He was pathetic too—worse than Vox.

He was pale, with dark rings under his eyes. His hair, once pristine, now clung in red strands around his face, and even his deer ears couldn't stay upright under the weight of the rain. His shirt was rumpled, his bowtie loose, and his jacket hung open, stuck to his gaunt frame... he was desperate. The more he forced his smile, the more his eyes betrayed the anguish he was trying to hide.

He trembled, spreading his arms wider as the swirling mass of shadows rising from the ground intensified, creating a handful of small black creatures, marked with voodoo symbols, that shot towards the TV Demon. Simultaneously, he wrapped himself in a spherical barrier, beginning to dissolve into the shadows.

Before the creatures could reach their target, Vox bared his fangs, his body sparking with crackling electricity. With a powerful stomp, his foot sank into the puddle up to his ankle. When the bolts hit the water, they used it as a conductor, amplifying the energy.

In the blink of an eye, the surge electrocuted the small creatures, burning them as they shrieked and scattered, only to be reduced to ash. The electricity also reached Alastor, who was attempting to slip past him, his form melting into the darkness.

The Radio Demon's figure was engulfed in golden arcs of lightning, his terrified, pained shadow projected onto the opposite wall of the alley, before reforming—distorted by sharp radio static—at Vox's feet.

Vox stood over him, looking down—Alastor prostrate before him, his face in the mud. He was panting with incomplete, desperate excitement, continuing to shock Alastor. He couldn't stop himself. He needed more... and Alastor groaned, clawing at the ground, his ears pinned flat to his head, crackling and sputtering like a broken radio as the magic he instinctively unleashed in response to the pain distorted the reality around them. The Stag Demon's body began to smoke from the heat, while Vox clenched his jaws tighter, drooling, the lightning in his right eye swirling wildly.

Then, suddenly, something clamped onto his ankle with force. ... Vox curiously glanced down. It was Alastor's hand. Realizing this, Vox noticed something else, too. He was crying. A red tear streaked down his screen.

Instantly, Vox cut off the current, leaving the other demon to slump with a ragged gasp —~ ~ collapsing to the ground but failing to hit it.

Alastor's eyes went wide as cold metal clenched around his neck, choking off his breath and yanking him back, slamming him hard against the filthy asphalt of the alley.

Alastor clenched his eyes shut, gritting his teeth as he frantically clawed at the object choking him. But he was forced to snap them open when he felt Vox's fingers tighten around his jaw. ...! The other demon was on top of him, straddling his hips, sinking his claws deep into Alastor's cheeks, piercing through them. Vox's face was a mask of crazed elation and despair, his antennas still crackling with electricity, his pupil darting wildly. He drooled just as much as Alastor, who was being strangled by a steel cable coiled tightly around his neck, anchored to Vox's skull. The pressure was so intense that Alastor felt a sharp, dangerous pain shoot down his spine. If Vox kept going, he'd snap his neck. "How wonderful is it, Alastor, to see you clutch my ankle, begging me to stop?" Vox asked, laughing feverishly. "How glorious would it be to hear the sound of your neck snapping? Or to watch you foam at the mouth as you choke to death?"

The Stag Demon, still full of the adrenaline from being electrocuted, thrashed violently, trembling, writhing. He kicked his boots against the pavement, stomping them into the water, lifting his knees, trying to strike Vox's back in a desperate attempt to free himself. Around them, voodoo symbols swirled, so dense with magic that one of the streetlights by the adjacent alley burst, plunging the scene into deeper darkness.

"You're pathetic. Do you feel humiliated? Don't worry, you'll enjoy it soon." Vox continued, leaning further down until the bluish light from his screen illuminated Alastor's face. "You like it. You want to obey me, to do everything I ask. You want to serve me, to join me, to please me, you want to..." he began listing, his voice dropping in intensity, "...give yourself to me," as the hypnotic lightning swirled in his wide, spinning right eye.

Alastor froze. His red sclera reflected the opposing color that Vox emitted, the blue glow shining on his skin, blackened by the electrocution and distorted by the pressure that had filled his mouth with his own blood. ... Time stretched as the Radio Demon emptied himself: the pain vanished. He no longer felt choked, nor did he feel the tightness in his chest. He felt... nothing. Only calm. Only peace. Only desire, respect, need. He stopped struggling, his legs falling limp in the rainwater, his magic ceasing and the voodoo symbols fading from the alley.

"Vox~" he managed to whisper just as the other Sinner released his jaw, loosening the grip around his neck as Alastor's own eyes began to swirl in sync with Vox's. Vox had done it again. He had hypnotized Alastor once more. The challenge now was to maintain the trance without letting him wake up—last time had been a disaster. But now, the Demon seemed genuinely weakened. He had broken him far too easily for those words in the corridor to have been a bluff. This time, he wouldn't snap out of it. This time, Vox would keep him. He was trembling with excitement, almost bursting with anxiety. He had to hold back or he might accidentally incinerate him.

The TV Demon's shoulders started to shake with a hysterical laugh that grew louder and louder. "Heh-heh...eh-eh," he chuckled. "Good. Now... sleep, my dear Alastor." His voice distorted with an electronic effect, commanding the other Sinner to slowly shut down. And then, there was darkness.

...

The Stag didn't even realize he had slept; it had been a dreamless slumber, peaceful like the first moments of death. And now, where was he? He opened his eyes, gradually focusing on a blue neon light shining from the ceiling. He was in a huge room; maybe it wasn't a room at all, but a full-on apartment. A penthouse? It felt large—he was definitely on a king-sized bed in a loft, and below was a living room along with doors leading to other rooms. From the windows came the faint reddish glow of Hell, but most of the space—modern, for sure—was illuminated by cool blue neon lights.

He tried to roll over, clutching the black satin sheets with his claws, but he found himself trembling. Everything hurt. It felt like he'd been crammed into a small box for hours or, more likely... electrocuted for too long. Every muscle in his body shook from the strain it had been under.

He found himself lying face down, still feeling the wetness of his clothes from the rain, but also from sweat. His hair hung over his face, and he watched as his saliva dripped onto the sheets. He was thirsty.

"I brought you something warm to drink; it's on the nightstand."

Vox's voice. Alastor froze, his stomach dropping as he noticed legs moving beside the bed. His fear surged when he also spotted the slow swim of electronic sharks on the wall—no, in the wall. The entire thing was a massive aquarium, stretching both floors of the apartment. His ears flattened against his skull as his gaze slowly climbed the figure of Vox up to the television set that replaced his face. The TV Demon wore black pants and a clean shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the first two buttons undone, revealing his bluish skin. Alastor barely had time to note he wasn't wearing his usual hat before the large, blue-framed eye of the other Sinner began to swirl again, its crackling bolt of lightning serving as a pupil.

"..." Damn it... he couldn't let himself fall asleep again. He couldn't give in. And yet... that feeling was so welcoming. The pain started to fade, turning into a muffled echo before disappearing altogether. The fear melted into peace and desire. He wanted to be here. He felt safe. Why hadn't he ever thought to ask for Vox's help? Vox had everything, controlled every corner of the city, had the power and, most importantly, the will to protect him. He wasn't broken, wasn't fragile, wasn't obsessive. He wanted to be protected by him. He wanted to belong to him.

"Vox~" he called out melodically, trying his best to sit up as his eyes swirled in sync with the TV Demon's.

Even though he no longer felt the physical pain, fatigue weighed heavy on him, threatening to make him collapse, but the other Sinner wrapped a firm arm around his slender waist as he sat down next to him, his bare feet touching the floor.

Alastor clung to his shoulder, rising to his knees beside him, panting as he bent over Vox's neck. His frozen smile remained plastered on his face, but even when the hypnotic effect wore off, his eyes became blank, expressionless. He no longer felt pain or exhaustion, but something in his mind was clearly wrong. His body refused to cooperate. He was trembling—maybe because he was cold. After all, his burns were still fresh, and his neck was bruised black from the steel tentacle that had tried to strangle him. That's where he felt Vox's claws brush him.

The TV Demon left a rough caress on his skin, sliding the tight collar of his shirt out of the way before his fingers traveled up along Alastor's jaw, cradling his chin to tilt his face upwards, forcing him to meet his gaze—two different shades of red glowing from his tired, curious eyes. Vox's screen flickered with a soft blush in response to the look.

"You're..." He started to speak, but his voice faltered, pulling a tight smile of strange discomfort across his lips. Was it disbelief? "You're still soaking wet. You're in terrible shape, but we have special ointments from the Circle of Sloth that work miracles." He paused, "Tomorrow, you'll be in perfect condition to debut as the new Vees."

At those final words, Alastor let out an irritated radio buzz that made the other demon flinch. Vox's hand suddenly slid down his spine, gripping one of his thighs—still covered by his pants—between his claws and pulling him close. At the same time, he leaned down, looming over him, casting the blue light of his screen onto Alastor's wide eyes.

"So, do you finally accept your place in this company, my dear Alastor...? Or should I call you Valastor?" His hypnotic right eye expanded, his jaws gritting as drool began to spill aggressively.

The Stag Demon shuddered, pulling his legs in closer while still clinging to Vox's shoulders. "Oh yes, of course~" he answered, slipping once again under Vox's control.

The response electrified Vox—literally—his body jolting with excitement as his back arched and lightning danced between his antennae. "Ohh! Magnificent! This time we'll seal a proper pact, but later... right now..." He began to drool even more as he leaned his full weight onto the other Sinner.

He dug his claws forcefully into Alastor's thigh, pressing his body against him so forcefully that it made him arch backward, forcing him to grip tighter onto Vox's shoulders to avoid falling completely flat on the bed. Vox's hand dropped from his chin, hastily fumbling with the buttons of the damp red shirt Alastor had barely kept on. His breathing grew heavier, matching the intensity of the crackling bolt in his eye. The impatience turning into frenzy—he was on the verge of claiming Alastor violently. Finally, it was time.

"Now..." Vox repeated, his massive blue tongue slipping out from his fangs to lick lasciviously at Alastor's chin and cheek. In response, Alastor shuddered, flattening his ears and emitting a distorted radio frequency. "...I'll give you a nice, hot bath and take care of your wounds. You're freezing."

Vox, on the other hand, was burning up. His clean shirt was already sticking to his sweaty skin as he pushed Alastor flat onto the bed, climbing on top of him. He placed his knees on the mattress, between Alastor's legs, forcing them open as he pressed his tousled head against the edge of the bed, continuing to lick him, leaving trails of saliva down his neck while his claws clumsily fumbled with the last few buttons of his shirt. The static from Vox's right eye grew louder, mirroring the intensifying rise of his breath, as if all his desires were finally coming to a head.

Alastor began to twitch, his bare legs scraping against the sheets, his magic flooding the air, turning the blue neon hues into greenish shades. His smile was at odds with his half-closed eyes and furrowed brows, suggesting nothing but pain.

"This time... this time, I won't let you break free from my hypnosis, Alastor," Vox murmured, exhaling his name like a breath of smoke. "In time, you'll see that your place is here. Together, we'll rule Hell... every communication channel will be ours... you can make all the other Overlords disappear into your radio, and it will just be us—the Vees..." His excitement had already swollen to the point of pressing against the fabric of his pants, his hips grinding into Alastor's waist. The TV Demon groaned that final word into his mouth just before shoving his thick blue tongue down his throat, driving it so deep Alastor gagged.

The Stag Demon's eyes widened, the breath choking in his throat. He tilted his head back, but this only gave Vox more room to drive his tongue deeper, past his uvula until saliva started to overflow, making his eyes water. He began to kick at Vox's side, clawing at his shirt, but even sinking his teeth into the demon's massive tongue wasn't enough to free him from the sickening sensation of suffocation. But somehow, it stopped.

Vox pulled back abruptly, his shoulders retreating as he suddenly noticed the fluorescent symbols that glowed over Alastor's bony chest. This gave the other Sinner a moment to gasp, drooling against the bed.

"What are these...? Have you always had them?" Vox asked, wiping his fangs, his gaze searching for Alastor's exhausted expression.

Alastor didn't respond. "..." He stared into space, panting, his smile faint and hollow.

"These are the Voodoo symbols from the ritual that gave you your magic, right...? I recognize this one." Vox pressed a claw against the crossroad symbol of Kalfu, situated where the angel's spear had pierced through Alastor's body.

At the slightest touch, Alastor groaned in pain, his shoulders jerking up. Propping himself up on one elbow, he clawed at Vox's wrist, his pupils replaced by ticking dials. "Don't... don't touch it!" He growled, glaring at Vox, who was left staring at him with his mouth slightly open.

"They appeared when I lost most of my power... in the exact spots where I was wounded..." Swallowing a lump of saliva, he continued, more calmly now, as his gaze returned to its natural shade of red. "...Oh~ It's like the magic wants to break free. It's scratching, eating me from the inside... I feel like it's talking to me, telling me something, like it's almost time for... what?" He became increasingly desperate. "...But it's... stuck..."

"..." Alastor groaned in pain once again.

"..." Vox hesitated. "...Who did you make the Pact with, Alastor?" The TV Demon barely managed to ask, stunned and fearful, just before his attention was drawn to the shadow stretching behind the Stag Demon. It was his own dark silhouette, but its expression, with a faint glow in its eyes and smile, was utterly out of sync with the agonized, exhausted look on its master's face.

Knock, knock, knock

At that moment, someone knocked at the door. Vox flinched, his focus shifting to the entrance downstairs, leading into the open-space living room.

"Vox?! Are you in here? What the hell happened to you?" It was Valentino's voice.

The banging on the door grew so intense and rapid that it started to shake.

Bzzzzt Then, the TV Demon himself began vibrating from the ring of a cellphone; Valentino's incoming call flashed on his screen. Vox shot up from the bed, releasing Alastor, and answered with a growling, "I'm letting you in, Val!" He hung up before the other could say a word.

Placing his hands on his knees as he stood, he disintegrated into a lightning bolt, racing through the room's electrical system and reappearing downstairs in a flash—his expression now twisted in anger. But it quickly shifted into a wide smile just as he opened the door with enthusiasm. "Val..! What's go—"

"Oh, finally, damn it!" Valentino cut him off abruptly, shoving him aside as he stormed into the room. The Moth Demon pushed past Vox, taking a few nervous steps into the living room before inhaling deeply, burning through half the cigarette clamped in his holder. "What the hell have you been doing, sweetheart? I've been texting you since yesterday!" His smooth, seductive voice now tinged with irritation.

Valentino was taller than Vox, with purplish skin and a bald, round head that made his sharp, slit-like red eyes stand out even more. His heart-shaped pink glasses rested on his face, and they weren't just for show—Valentino was nearly blind. He wore his signature red fur-lined coat, tailored to accommodate his four arms. The coat matched the color of his lone intact antenna, as the other was ragged and patchy.

The TV Demon closed the door behind them, his screen-face now covered in beads of sweat as he nervously watched his partner pace the room.

"I've been busy, but..." Vox straightened up, "...I've got great news."

"...?" Valentino paused, standing in the middle of the sleek living room, decorated with retro couches, a minibar, and '80s arcade cabinets. He crossed his upper right arm over his chest, continuing to puff on his cigarette holder, his gaze locked on Vox while the massive aquarium behind him cast bluish, oceanic hues across the space. "Oh? And what's that?"

Vox glanced guiltily at the floor, which made the Moth's eyebrows raise. In that exact moment, Valentino noticed something unusual on the wooden loft above, which served as the bedroom. When he lifted his head, he saw it—through the pink tint of his glasses—Alastor.

Well, he didn't see him clearly. Squinting, Valentino craned his neck and stepped closer to get a better view under the balcony. The Radio Demon was kneeling on the bed, staring blankly into space.

The burnt ash from Valentino's cigarette fell to the floor.

"..." "The... Radio Demon?!" He growled, leaping back in alarm.

"Yeah, it's him, but look, Val, everything's fine! He's hypnotized!" Vox tried to calm him, gesturing with his hands and moving closer, a nervous smile plastered on his face. He reached out to touch Valentino's shoulder, but the Moth Demon snapped, letting his cigarette holder fall to the ground and violently grabbing Vox by the collar.

Leaning in, teeth bared, Valentino snarled, "Hypnotized like the last time he almost tore you apart?!" He shook Vox's shirt aggressively. "You give me crap about Angel Dust, and then you bring... the Radio Demon... HERE?!"

Vox gently wrapped his claws around Valentino's forearms, maintaining that jittery smile. "Heh-heh... Val, there's nothing to worry about, I swear. He's lost most of his power; all it takes is a little electricity from me to fry him..."

"Lost his power? How?" Valentino asked, stunned.

"I'm not sure... maybe it's got something to do with Lilith, but... I'll explain everything."

Valentino's jaw practically hit the floor. "LILITH?! Are you... are you insane?!" He thundered, generating a small shockwave that made the bottom of his coat flare out like a pair of massive wings.

"..."

"Maybe I am... maybe I've lost my mind."

...