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Title: Collegiality
Author: tikistitch
Rating: R
Pairing: Selatcia/CFO
Warnings: Heavily implied non-con. The prompt requested “dark and creepy,” and that’s kind of how it came out.
Summary: A former colleague visits CFO.
Notes: Written for the Back to Dethklok Mini Rareathon. I’ve actually never tried writing slash before. PLEASE DON’T KILL ME.

[Just a note for the 2 or 3 of you who have actually read my fics here before: I usually write really light and silly stuff. This isn’t particularly light nor silly. It turned out kind of mean and disturbing. I mean, even to me. I just don't want someone to read this by mistake thinking they're in for LULZ.]


I do not know what to make of the modern fascination with simpering angels.

I am an angel.

I was created for one thing. And one thing only.


Let me be clear: I do not seek vengeance. I am vengeance. I am the wrath. I am manifest.

I shall put it another way, since humans seem to be so terribly slow at grasping these things: if you should see my face in your rear view mirror, it does not mean you are going to be hearing harps and choirs. It means you are likely to get a flaming fucking sword up your ass.

I am of the Host. I am vengeance.

And I am terrible.

So. Shall I tell you about the other night? Is that why you are here? It is a most enjoyable story, and one I delight in telling. I went to meet an old friend. An old business partner, you might say. He had left the family firm. Under unfortunate circumstances.

Since I am unfailingly polite and graceful, I donned my best human suit. Though it is of necessity not as glorious as my True Form, my human suit is still pretty fucking impressive.

I invited myself into his office. He did not look exceedingly pleased to see me. Which was sad. Truly sad.

“Sariel,” I said by way of cordial greeting, “exactly how long am I going to have to follow your pathetic ass around the universe, cleaning up your fucking messes?”

“Ah. Uriah. Or, do you prefer, Selatcia?”

I helped myself to a drink. His good Scotch.

“Demigods? Really, Sariel? You’re fucking around with demigods this time?”


“NOTHING good has ever come of demigods.”

“Uriah, you don’t understand. These boys…. I don’t fully understand it myself, but they may be associated with an apocalyptic event.

I snorted my whiskey. “An apocalypse?”

“Yes! They….”

“Are you aware how much fucking paperwork it takes these days to bring down an apocalypse?”

“I know it sounds unlikely.”

“Management would know about it. Michael would know.”

The mention of Michael gets the reaction I am seeking. He gets mad. So mad, he nearly manifests, right there, in the office, into his True Form. It’s amusing. So amusing.

Oddly enough, he is not as I remember. Not exactly. He seems bigger. And darker.

But, no matter.

“Do not get winged on me, Sariel” I warn.

“I can get winged any fucking time I want to,” he says. Oh, dear. Someone has gotten a bit uppity. We shall have to deal with that indeed. Build yourself a castle; sit behind a big mahogany desk? It is not surprising, you start putting on airs.

But, he fades back to his man form. His pathetic little grey man form.

“You cannot possibly still be angry about all that business with Michael?” I ask. He does not answer. He does not need to. “You realize, do you not, if it had been up to me, they would not have left you free to strut around among the humans.”

“I understand it wasn’t up to you. It was never up to you.”


“I wish you wouldn’t call me that. I haven’t used that name in-“

“You know, you wear a human suit too long, you start to act like them. You start to think you are one of them. You even start to smell like them.

“Uriah, may I inquire as to the purpose of this visit?”

“Consider this a … courtesy call. From an old colleague. We have been monitoring your … situation. It is very troubling, what you are telling me. An unauthorized apocalypse? Very troubling.”

“Now you’re troubled? I thought you said….”

“Someone obviously needs to inform Management.”


“Do you not think this is the most prudent course?”

I have got him squirming now. This is delightful. Absolutely delightful.

“Are you sure you, uh, need to go to Michael?”

“Someone needs to report this to him.”

“I need more time. We need more time.”

“Perhaps I could be … persuaded. To delay a bit.”

“What do you want, Uriah?”

“You know what I want.” And I looked in his eyes. And, he knew. That’s what made it so delicious.

It hurt. I know it hurt, because I made it hurt. I made the little bitch hurt. Right on top of his fucking mahogany desk, inside his ridiculous castle.

He did not cry out. Not that it would have been easy, my hands tight around his neck. He is a tough little bastard, though. I will give him that.

“Well,” I said, zipping up my human suit, “That was pleasant. We must do this again some time soon.”

He fell into his chair. He was still gasping. “Yeah. Yeah, we must,” he said. Fucking Fallen little piece of filth.

He should have considered himself lucky to be gasping. I have taken my pleasure with humans before. Real humans. They generally do not gasp afterwards. They generally do not move around much. Ever, ever again.

“Sadly, I must go now,” I tell him. “But I will be back. I will be back.”

“Yeah. I know.” Oh, the resignation! So touching.

Pathetic. Really.

They shall have their little apocalypse. I know what is to come. I can forsee it as well as he can. But, it will be mine. All mine. Not his. When the time comes, I will be the one to don the sacred armor. And all will behold me, shining in my brilliance.

I am vengeance. I am of the Legion.

And I am terrible.

Nathan knocked. He didn’t usually knock, and he actually wasn’t quite sure why he did so tonight. But, he was Nathan, so he didn’t think about it overly much.

Ofdensen was sitting at his desk, smoking, and looking out the window. He glanced back towards Nathan, not meeting his eyes, not asking him inside, but not telling him to shove off either.

“I thought I heard voices.”

“You heard wrong.” Ofdensen held his fingers to the rim of his whiskey glass, thoughtlessly turning it around and around on his desk.

Nathan entered the office. He made himself comfortable in the chair opposite, and gazed out the window as well.

“You been smoking a lot lately, dude,” he said. This prompted a scowl, though Ofdensen still avoided eye contact. Instead, he grabbed another glass out of his desk. He filled the bottom with whiskey, and pushed it towards Nathan.

As he poured, Ofdensen’s hand shook. Not much. Just a little.

“You OK, man?” Nathan said quietly.

“I’m fine,” Ofdensen replied, a bit too quickly.

Nathan sipped the whiskey, still being careful to keep his gaze directed out the window. It was old. It burned. But the burning felt good.

The two men drank in silence for a while. They watched a cloudbank cross Ofdensen’s window. It was a dark cloud. It looked like a storm was coming.

Finally, Nathan said, “It’s getting kinda late. I think I’m gonna get to bed.” Ofdensen nodded absently. Nathan rose and headed for the door.

He paused in the doorway. “Charles,” he said. “If there’s ever a guy you need me to punch in the fucking face for you, you just say the word. You know I’ll do it.”

Ofdensen started, but just slightly. He turned, and finally met Nathan’s eyes. The manager looked truly terrible, but there was a very vague smile playing on his lips.

“Not right now,” he said. “Maybe, maybe later. Yes. Maybe in a bit.” He nodded.

Nathan nodded too, and turned down the hall.

His eyes shown red in the darkness.
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