Vox's Triumphant TV Takeover
Undeserved Ascendance
chapter 13
by
copier
· original author:
an188
The launch night of Vox Network had arrived, and the sleek, dark-toned studio pulsed with electric energy under the massive neon “V” logo that dominated the backdrop. Vincent “Vox” Whittman stood center stage in a perfectly tailored black suit that strained heroically against his disguised but still outrageously muscular physique. His dyed-black hair was styled sharp and professional, skin toned to a believable tan, colored contacts hiding the otherworldly intensity in his eyes. To the world, he was simply a man who had gotten *very* serious about bodybuilding during a mysterious hiatus.
Behind the scenes, he was a god playing mortal.
The red “ON AIR” light blinked. Cameras rolled. Millions tuned in for the debut of “All Eyes on Vox” — his flagship late-night show promising hard truths, celebrity scandals, and “the future of news.”
Vox flashed his signature wicked grin at the camera, voice smooth and commanding as ever, now carrying an undercurrent of absolute authority. “Good evening, Havenridge — and everyone watching beyond. Tonight, the voice you’ve been waiting for finally takes the stage. No filters. No corporate suits pulling strings. Just truth, delivered straight from the source. Welcome to Vox Network.”
He was flawless. Super senses let him hear every producer’s whispered cue, every audience member’s shifting breath in the small live studio crowd, even faint chatter from rival control rooms miles away. When a teleprompter glitched for half a second, he blurred his hand at imperceptible super speed to swap the script mid-sentence without missing a beat. A spotlight flickered — he fired a microscopic laser-eye burst from the corner of his gaze, instantly correcting the wiring with pinpoint heat while smiling through a joke about local politics.
The performance was magnetic. He dissected a fresh political scandal with surgical precision, dropping hints of “exclusive sources” that his super senses had already confirmed by eavesdropping on sealed conversations earlier that day. Ratings numbers spiked in real time on the control room monitors. Social media exploded with clips of his sharp wit and commanding presence.
But as the show hit its stride, Vox’s enhanced hearing picked up something that made his blue-veined cock twitch beneath the desk.
A rival station’s signal had been hijacked. That unmistakable velvet radio voice cut through the airwaves like static-laced silk, broadcasting on an overlapping frequency only his super senses could fully isolate:
“…and while some shiny new TV upstart preens in front of cameras with his fresh gym gains, remember, dear listeners — real voices don’t need neon lights or stolen spotlights. They simply… resonate. How long until the pretty picture cracks, I wonder?”
Alastor. Mocking him live, on air, during *his* moment.
Vox’s grin sharpened into something predatory. He didn’t break stride. Instead, he leaned toward the camera, muscles flexing subtly under the suit as he delivered a perfectly timed barb: “Speaking of outdated voices clinging to the past… some dusty radio relics just can’t resist tuning in to see what real relevance sounds like. If you’re listening out there — and we know you are — feel free to call in. I’ll even give you a guest spot… if you can keep up.”
The audience laughed. The jab landed. Ratings climbed higher.
Inside, Vox burned with competitive lust. His hidden powers hummed under his skin. He could feel the faint pink energy signature somewhere in the city, Alastor no doubt smirking behind his own microphone. The rivalry made everything sharper, hotter. By the time the show wrapped to thunderous applause and record-breaking numbers, Vox was half-hard from the thrill of dominance and the promise of confrontation.
Backstage, as crew congratulated him and champagne corks popped, Vox slipped away to his private office overlooking the studio floor. He loosened his tie, letting the suit jacket strain across his massive shoulders. “Not bad for night one,” he murmured smugly. “But the real show is just getting started.”
His super senses tracked Alastor’s signal fading into the night. The radio demon was out there, taunting, tempting. Vox could fly out right now, crash whatever hole Alastor was broadcasting from, and turn their next meeting into another destructive, cock-grinding aerial war. Or he could let the network’s momentum build first, using his subtle powers to shape stories that painted Alastor as yesterday’s news while preparing something more personal.
Either way, the city — and the airwaves — now belonged to Vox. And he had no intention of sharing the spotlight peacefully.
You have the following choices:
1. After the successful launch, Vox uses his powers to sabotage Alastor’s radio station while planning a private powered reunion.
Flush with victory and simmering lust, Vox slips out after the show using super speed and flight. He locates Alastor’s broadcast tower and subtly disrupts it — laser eyes to fry non-essential electronics, super breath to scatter signal equipment, all while remaining unseen. The sabotage is framed as “technical difficulties” on the news. Meanwhile, Vox leaves a taunting message only Alastor’s senses would catch, luring him to a secluded rooftop for a long-overdue confrontation. Their reunion explodes into a super-powered brawl filled with deep, sloppy kisses, muscle-grinding, and destructive foreplay that ends with both of them leaking and aching for more.
2. Vox doubles down on his tyrannical control of the network, using subtle powers to crush internal dissent and shape public narratives against rivals like Alastor.
Emboldened by the debut ratings, Vox becomes even more domineering in the days following the launch. He casually uses small-scale super strength in the office to intimidate hesitant staff (lifting desks, bending props), employs super senses to eavesdrop on every meeting, and subtly plants or kills stories using his speed and laser precision when alone. He begins weaving a media campaign that mocks “outdated radio voices” and positions Vox Network as the only future. The power rush makes him stroke himself to glowing orgasms in his private suite while fantasizing about eventually breaking Alastor on live television — or in a more intimate, destructive setting.
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June 13
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