The Tower (Mythklok, Chapter 9)
Title: The Tower (Mythklok, Chapter 9)
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: In which things get dark and edgy. Also, Prequel!Sariel starts running with a bad crowd.
Warnings: Slash, non-con, AU, F-words, OCs, smoking.
Notes: Notes after the jump
This is a Metalocalypse AU. You have been warned. tiktaalikroseae gets credit for the name “Mythklok.” Here are the other bits, about an angelic visit (Chapter 1), a hunt (Chapter 2), a barbecue (Chapter 3), a ski trip (Chapter 4), a sword fight (Chapter 5), Bette Davis Movies (Chapter 6), a concert (Chapter 7), tall tales (Chapter WTF) and a trial (Chapter 8). Oh, and if you don’t feel like readin’, here’s amazing arts and more amazing arts by other people who are not me, as they are talented.
WAIT! WUT? Charles is a Fallen angel who used to go by the name of Sariel. He and his buddy, Raziel, used to kill other angels. For fun and profit. They were brats. Recently, Sariel had Raziel kill an Archangel. That sort of pissed off the other angels. So, this really officious Archangel named Michael made Charles and Raziel plus Nathan come to a trial, which Charles managed to turn into a circus. Complete with elephants. And monkeys. No clowns (that guy hasn’t shown up in this AU yet), but there was a dragon. Nathan had a great time, but I think the angels are pretty majorly pissed off now.
WARNING: This one is sort of grim. Like, Batman universe grim. There’s some cute stuff in the middle, but, yeah. So, if you’re having a bad day, this may not your best reading material. I promise this is not permanent creator breakdown stuff; the next couple chapters are back to more wackiness.
THE TOWER
They had struck at Asgard first, appearing out of nowhere one dark winter afternoon when the sun slanted low in the sky. The Legion, though said by many to be in a much diminished state, was still the most magnificent army in this or any universe. And the angels had the advantage of surprise. The warriors of Valhalla managed a valiant defense, finally beating back the attackers. But mounting a counterattack took time. Precious time.
The damage had been terrible.
He noticed that he could still smell the smoke. "Where is she, exactly?" he had asked. Though upon further reflection, the answer was obvious.
A depressing portion of Valhalla lay in ruins, but even amidst the shattered buildings, it was clear which wing the manservant was escorting him to. For a certain radius, every single plant - every leaf, every petal, and every single blade of grass - was dead. No birds nested, no lizards skittered across the path, no hares hid in the underbrush. He suspected if he had toed up some of the dead leaves, he would find no clusters of sucking maggots underneath.
The manservant had grown quiet. He stopped, and it was clear he would go no further. A chill winter wind picked up some dead leaves and sent them scudding across the grounds. It was the only sound.
This section of the once glorious hall had mostly crumbled. There was a tower that stood more or less intact, but it was completely surrounded by rubble.
"Sometimes," the manservant whispered, "she throws herself off the tower. She doesn't die though." And there was something about the way he said the last part that brought a chill, even in the dim winter light.
He nodded to the servant and set out alone towards the ruined structure. He lit a cigarette, more to have the company of the small ember than out of any real appetite.
He decided to try climbing the tower stairs, as it seemed she'd left them more or less intact. He found her at the very top, where the tower opened up. She was standing at the battlement, her back to him.
He walked up beside her and stood for a moment.
“He wouldn’t come with you, would he?” she said. She didn’t appear to have changed her clothes, nor brushed her long hair, since the attack.
“I didn’t ask him. But, yes, he seemed reluctant.”
“I think they’re scared of me now.”
“Yes.” He smoked for a while, considering. Finally, he decided. “I’ll have the servants gather your things. You’ll come with me.”
“No,” she said.
“I don’t think you understood. That wasn’t a question. You’re coming with me.”
“You don’t understand. I kill things. I can only kill things now.”
“Yes, I gathered that.”
“I will just kill stuff at your place.”
“Yes, you will kill things, and then we’ll replant them. So you can kill them again if you want. And you can destroy stuff, and we’ll rebuild it. We’ve reduced it before to a smoking ruin. Won’t be the first time. I’ve always had my problems with the South wing anyway.”
She had her hands on the battlement now. “You don’t understand. There’s only death in me now. It’s over.”
He sighed. “I suspect you think your grief is bottomless right now. Maybe it is. But I’m sorry, I just don’t have any other ideas. So, you’ll come destroy my stuff for a while, OK?”
She looked at him. He forced himself to meet her eyes. He wanted to be anywhere else, with anyone else. She finally looked away, and started to speak. But then stopped.
“Raziel, if nothing else, leave these people to their grief. I realize you cared for All-Father. But to these people, he was their father. He was their king. Let them…. Let them mourn him. And let them try to figure out what the fuck to do now.”
She nodded. He turned and descended the tower, and she followed, a silent shadow.
Then they traveled, across realms, to another castle. One located more or less in the world of men.
It was large and impressive. And worryingly quiet.
They walked across the lawns, the grass curling and turning brown as she passed, bringing death.
“You’re still living here?” she asked.
“Of course. Where else would I go?”
And they were quiet again.
They used the front entrance. She noticed the people wearing hoods. Not as many as before.
She noticed how they edged away.
She knew where they were going. She noticed he took a circuitous route. So he wouldn’t have to pass the empty bedrooms.
They were in his office.
He was fussing with something in his desk. “So many eventualities I planned for. I’m a planner. You know that. Every scenario. Where…. Where I might not be here for them. I didn’t…. I never…. For some reason, it never entered my head that I would be here….”
He brought out a long rectangular box. He opened the lid.
“So what I was thinking is, you know, I’m someone who would be hard to kill….” He stopped. “But, you’re someone who could do it. Yes.” He stopped again. And started again. “I know I would resist. I don’t know why. Maybe unconsciously?”
He brought out the sword, and placed it on the desk.
“I have just one request. Don’t make it merciful…. I know you know how. Please make me suffer.” He looked up at her. “Make me suffer.”
She was in the corridor, running. She knew where there was an open balcony. It was high. Maybe it was high enough. She was up on the balustrade in one leap, and then she was over.
Her eyes snapped open.
It was still dark.
She was under the covers, Wotan’s large warm body sleeping beside her.
She slid out from under the blankets, pushing herself frantically away from him. She grabbed a dressing gown, and, wrapping it tightly around her, fled outside to the porch, where she tried desperately to start breathing again. The dressing gown was thin against the cold, but that wasn’t why she was shaking.
She was surprised, but not surprised, to see him standing there. She could see the ash of his cigarette, see it reflected in his glasses.
“Can I have one?” It took him a moment to realize she meant a cigarette. And then her hands shook too badly to light it, so he ended up lighting it for her. She dragged the smoke in to fill her lungs.
“You too?” she finally asked.
He nodded.
She was huddled by a fireplace, under a quilt. A worried wolf had shown up and nosed her, and now slept partly wrapped around her. But she hadn’t been able to stop shaking.
He sat on a couch, smoking. He had been very quiet, very still.
“Who would have sent us something like that?” she said.
“Obviously someone who wanted to fuck with our heads.” he said.
“Well, they succeeded. You think it was Michael?” She grabbed the quilt tighter.
““We obviously … made an impression the other day. But do you really think he’s strong enough for that?”
“No, no, not really.” She looked into the fire. “I can’t lose him, you know. That’s true. But, I have to wonder if I’m putting Asgard in too much danger, being here.”
“You could leave,” he suggested.
“I’m not gonna be able to do that anymore. You know. Run away.”
“What? What do you mean by that?”
“This place,” she said, still staring into the fire. “Wotan doesn’t know that I know. It’s a very old magic. I didn’t recognize what it was at first. And…. I doesn’t work on everyone, I think.” He sat forward on the couch, staring at her. “It gets into your blood. It binds you here.”
He was standing.
“A binding spell?” he finally asked, a catch in his voice.
She nodded. ”If I stay here much longer, I’ll be stuck in this universe. For good.”
He was pacing, agitated. “Raziel. Oh, god Raziel. Christ, why didn’t you tell me before now? You can’t….” He suddenly flicked his cigarette into the fireplace. “OK. OK. Here’s what we’ll do. Pack some of your shit. Not the whole fucking wardrobe. Come with me now. Tonight. Now. You’ll…. You’ll stay with us. We’ll figure this out.”
“What? No.”
He stopped pacing and stared at her. “What do you mean, no?” There was a warning in his tone.
“Sariel. This is my home now. I can’t just pick up and leave every time I have a bad dream.”
“You can’t let yourself be trapped here!”
“It’s not trapped-”
“If you can’t fucking leave, it’s called being trapped. What the fuck would you call it?”
“Sariel. Calm-”
“Have you fucking gone insane?” He had her by the shoulders now.
“I’m not going.”
“If you won’t fucking come I swear to God I’ll drag you away!”
“I said no.”
He hit her. Hard. The wolf was on its feet now, growling low.
He was standing above her, trembling with anger. His eyes were grey. Like a knife blade. “I’m here because I can’t fucking leave this shithole. And you’re letting yourself be trapped? By some stupid pagan crap?”
She rubbed her cheek thoughtfully. She had finally stopped shaking. She reached out and grabbed the wolf by the scruff of its neck, and its hackles slowly lowered. “Sariel. I think I’m in love with Wotan. I know it’s not something I’m supposed to be able to do. But, I am. It’s not something I expected. It happened.” She looked up at him. “I think this is where I’m supposed to be now. I’m sorry what happened to you. I’m sorry … in so many ways. But this isn’t about your situation.”
“My fucking SITUATION? Is that what you call this?” His hair had gone grey.
“Sariel. Get your wings down.”
“I. Will. Not. Put my wings down.”
And he was back in his office. He’d thrown himself back. Because he was going to kill her to save her.
“What the fuck is up with you?”
“Nathan. GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE.”
Of course, Nathan blithely ignored his manager and wandered into the office. The dude looked really weird. His hair had turned white. He was old and all, but this seemed a little odd. “What the fuck man?” he said, a bit more softly.
“Get the fuck out of here,” Sariel whispered.
Nathan only needed one look into his eyes. Meltdown. So he applied his usual counseling methodology. He punched him. Hard.
Sariel reeled, but didn’t lose his footing. He took a step towards Nathan. Just one punch. Just one punch.
And he would break Nathan’s neck and kill him.
Terrified, he put the desk between himself and the other man. He put his palms flat on the desk and, gasping, forced himself back to full Court Form.
Curious, Nathan watched his hair change from the funny silver-grey back to hair color.
“Can you make your hair go other colors? That’s kind of cool.”
Ofdensen looked up and gave a small laugh. Trust Nathan to turn the most dire situation ridiculous.
“You OK dude?” Nathan figured he was supernatural, so he’d given him an extra hard smack. But he was now hoping he hadn’t scrambled the guy’s brains. They needed him for stuff.
Ofdensen bent over to pick up his glasses, which had been thrown to the floor. “I had a dream. Raziel and I both had the same dream.”
“You had a bad dream?”
Ofdensen sunk down into his chair, peering through his glasses. They seemed to have survived OK. “Yeah. I know. It sounds lame. But it was very realistic. And terrifying. And I went up to talk to Raziel. And…. And we had a really bad argument. And….” He looked at his own hand, now a bit mystified by it all. “And I hit her.”
There was a silence. It was a funny kind of silence, like the sound had been sucked out of the room. Ofdensen looked up at Nathan.
“You don’t hit girls.”
“Yes, I know that Nathan. Just. Look. Raziel is a 50-foot Seraph-” but he cut off, because Nathan had a fistful of his shirt in one hand and one mighty finger poking his face and he was looming over him and his look was really pretty fucking terrifying.
“You. Don’t. Hit. Girls. You never hit girls.”
Ofdensen actually gulped. “I…. I know. I’m sorry. I know.”
Nathan released his grip. “You need to go tell her you’re an asshole!”
“Yeah. Yeah. I know. I’ll do that.” He sat back in his chair. “It was a scary fucking dream. I went up to Valhalla, and it had been destroyed, and Wotan had been killed, and Raziel was suicidal. And then we were back here. And all you guys were dead.”
“Whoa. That would be bad, being dead.”
“Yes, that would be bad. And, I gave Raziel a sword. And told her to kill me.”
“Wow.” Nathan considered. “You know, dude, you can kind of be an asshole in your dreams.”
“Yeah. Yeah I guess so.”
“Hm,” Nathan considered. He looked at the smaller man. “But Valhalla is all OK? And Wotan is OK?”
“Yes. Yes. Everything up there is all OK.”
“And, I’m not dead.”
“No. No, you’re not, Nathan.”
“Have you checked the others?”
“What?”
“Have you checked to make sure everybody else is OK?” Nathan demanded.
“No. I don’t think-”
“We need to check. You guys always have weird shit happening. So, we need to check. And, we can all figure out how you can tell Raziel you’re an asshole. Maybe flowers or some shit. C’mon!”
He could smell the breakfast cooking. Wotan and Raziel were sitting at their kitchen table, piled with enough food for at least 10 people, and what looked like every single major metropolitan newspaper on earth.
A wolf nosed Ofdensen, and then apparently decided it would be better off with falling table scraps, so it crawled back under the table to where Raziel was feeding bits of toast to a raven.
“Good morning,” she said, glancing up from Yoimuri Shimbun. She must have put a bit of makeup on her cheek, he guessed.
“Would you care for some breakfast, Sariel?” Wotan asked.
He found that he would, especially as the boys had decided to retire to a strip club for the conclave of the past night, as that was apparently where they did their best thinking. The breakfasts at Valhalla tended to be a good bet, as there was the least likelihood of any foodstuffs originating from some horrible grub-eating monster. The scrambled eggs were particularly amazing. According to Raziel, Wotan evidently kept some crazy rare breed of hen, and of course the eggs had all just been laid hours before they were cooked. He ended up eating probably rather more than he should have, shoveling it in with several cups of coffee while reading a pink Financial Times.
“I need to see to my tack,” Wotan said, rising. Raziel smiled across her coffee mug at him.
Ofdensen squinted at her coffee mug. It had printed letters on it. He moved across the table to sit next to her, and grabbed the mug. It said, “WHERE’S MY FUCKING COFFEE.”
“Where the hell did you find this, and why didn’t you get me one?” he asked.
“Oh, in your Etsy shops! Etsy is very addictive.”
“It’s not my Etsy shop. You should ask Toki about that though.”
“Parvati swears by it!”
He put down the mug. “I’m an asshole.”
“Yes. Yes you are.”
He started emptying his jacket pockets. There were cocktail napkins. About a dozen cocktail napkins.
“What is this?” she asked. She picked one up. There was writing on it.
“They all decided - the boys - I needed to write out, in detail, exactly how much of an asshole I am. With examples. But then they decided it wasn’t nearly extensive enough, so they all did their own.”
Raziel had started picking up napkins and reading through them. “Oh, I see. Who wrote this one here? With the very small writing?”
“Oh, that’s Dick Knubbler. He’s our record producer. He was re-recording a bass line, so they brought him along too. He seems to be having a lot of trouble with that fucking bass line.”
“It’s very eloquent! I especially like this passage here!”
“Uh-huh.”
“Scarl Offingsdon?”
“Uh, yeah. They’ve started forging my name. They, uh, don’t always get it quite right.”
“And what’s this stamp?”
“Oh. Uh. Murderface is a notary public.”
“And a drawing?”
“Yeah, I think Toki was sad they were saying so many mean things, so he drew a picture of a bear.”
“Oh, that’s very cute!”
He watched her for a while, her raven evidently reading over her shoulder as well.
“Raziel?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you going to say you forgive me, or something?”
She smiled. “Yeah. Yeah, I forgive you.” She squinted at him. “Nice shiner, by the way.”
“Oh.” He touched his own left cheek. “Nathan.”
“He’s got a good right.”
“Yeah. That he has. Raziel?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re gonna talk to Wotan? About the whole binding spell thing?”
She was carefully folding cocktail napkins. “I guess I should, huh?”
He stood. “Yeah, I guess you should.”
She shrugged. “I will.”
“You promise?”
“Yes.”
“Soon?”
She nodded. “Yes.” She finally looked up at him. He held her gaze for a moment. She held up the stack of napkins. “Thanks for these. By the way. And…”
“And what?”
“”Situation’ was a really stupid…. I don’t think…. I know we never talked about….”
“That was kind of a fucked up time. I guess.”
“Yeah,” she said, nodding.
“We should talk. But not now. Just, not now.”
She nodded.
“I’m going out for a smoke.”
“Sariel?”
“Yeah?”
“If you could leave,” she started. “Right now. Would you?”
“In a heartbeat,” he told her.
The door banged behind him. He lit up, and looked over to where Wotan was cleaning Sleipnir’s elaborate saddle. A chill wind was blowing. He should have thought to bring a coat. He was getting as stupid as his band.
The god king looked up. “Sariel,” he said.
Oh, shit, not again.
He walked over closer.
“I’ve talked to Mimir. We think your dream was a warning, not a prophecy. I’ve increased my sentries, regardless. And, seen to other security measures. I’d suggest you do the same, if you haven’t already.”
Ofdensen nodded. “Yeah, already done.”
“You realize,” Wotan continued, “I try not to interfere with what goes on between you two. I figure it’s family matters, or near as such. So, I don’t know exactly what went on last night. But as you know, Raziel is Consort now. There are certain things I’m simply not going to be able to ignore.”
“It won’t happen again.”
Wotan eyed him. “I’d sort of like to give you a smack right now. Only it looks like someone’s beaten me to it.”
“Nathan. He’s got a right.”
"Ah. Nathan.” Wotan looked approving. “A bit of advice?”
“I need to learn to duck?”
Wotan smiled and brushed some dirt from Sleipnir’s saddle. “I know you had a donnybrook with Raziel last night, and then it looks like you went on back home and mixed it up with Nathan. Now, I don’t know Nathan well, but he doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who’d throw a punch unless it was called for.”
“Meaning what?”
“I have a bit of advice for you, son. If you’ll listen.”
Ofdensen bristled. “Son? I’m old enough to be-“
“You sort are not that much older than me. But, you know, we local gods, we go by many names, because we’ve earned them, over the years. It’s no doubt occurred to you that I’m All Father for a reason?”
“I thought it was because you had more halflings than Skwisgaar.”
To Ofdensen’s surprise, Wotan grinned. “That’s fair. Then maybe you could pretend this comes from somebody you respect. Like Bucky, Lord of the Rocks.” He looked up from his saddle to Ofdensen, who appeared to be actually stunned into silence. “I don’t need to tell you, there’s a lot of madness that runs with our sort, and I believe this goes for you and my Lady. You only have to think on your colleagues - sorry, your ex-colleagues - for a moment for examples. And that goes double for Your Father. If I ever get my hands on that one…. Well, it won’t be a pleasant conversation.”
“We’re all batshit. OK.” Ofdensen flicked ashes.
“Just before Uriah turned up, and you ran into my Raziel again, how much had you been using your powers?” Ofdensen appeared to consider for a moment, and then shrugged noncommittally. “Maybe not a whole lot? I suspect you had been living like a human for a number of years.”
“I guess so. I just…. I just used a bit. When I needed to.”
“And now? From what I can see, you pop up here because you don’t have time to dream, and then you magick up the swords to fence with Raziel.”
“Your point?” But Wotan instead kept his gaze for a time. “Power makes us nuts? OK, so, I quit using my magic? Or what?”
“Well, that one doesn’t have an easy answer, I’m afraid. Or what do humans say, a quick fix? Now, my friend Shiva, he’ll tell you some New Age nonsense about balance and suchlike. I don’t see creating a philosophy when I don’t have to. Now me, I need to take care of Sleipnir. I have my hunts. I told my Lady when I bought her a car, now, my pet, you must take care of the vehicle, washing, maintaining the engine….”
“Raziel does maintenance on the Ferrari?”
“She’s more mechanically inclined than I would have given her credit for. She fusses about her manicure, of course, but she had one of her Italian fashion people design her a pair of overalls.”
“OK, then, ‘Dad,’ I have absolutely no fucking idea how Raziel’s designer maintenance wear applies to me.”
“Don’t you? Power is a double-edged sword, Sariel. And you might not always have Nathan on hand to give you a quick punch when you need it.”
Ofdensen flicked some ashes. “OK, here’s one for you. When were you thinking of talking to Raziel about the binding spell?”
The king stopped cleaning the saddle and looked far off. “Well,” he said, going back to his brushing, “I didn’t think of it at first. I didn’t realize such as her would be affected. You sort are strange creatures.”
“She’s not a creature. Or your pet for that matter. And this isn’t a fucking hunt.”
Wotan looked stung. But he said, “Well, there are elements of the hunt to it. You know the Lady in question.”
“Yes. I know her. I have in fact known her since my Creation.”
“I think…. I think what she’s been doing, she’s simply not been offering any resistance to it. I think she’s just been letting it work on her.”
“You guys need to talk. Yes?”
Wotan nodded, a bit abashed.
Ofdensen stubbed out his cigarette, and went back inside, out of the cold. Yes, call Sariel, the Relationship Angel, he thought. He was so fucking tired of people. He was going to find a tropical island somewhere where there were just monkeys throwing their shit. It would be just like managing a rock band.
Raziel was there, holding some folded linens.
“Did you wanna crash here for a couple hours?” she asked.
“Oh, fuck yes.”
They walked along the corridors to a small room he’d used before, off in a quieter wing. Raziel made up the bed, and he kicked off his shoes and thought about how odd these guys were. They didn’t mind keeping the cook working for hours over their ridiculous breakfasts, but then Wotan would go off and clean his own saddle, and she’d put sheets on a bed by herself instead of simply calling one of the servants. He removed his jacket and tie, and then collapsed on top of the covers without even bothering to turn down the bed. A terribly spoiled wolf leapt up to occupy the foot of the bed.
“It’s not gonna eat me, is it?” he asked.
“Probably not. You can always yell at them in Swedish.”
“I don’t know fucking Swedish.”
“How can you not know Swedish?”
“Not everyone can do the language thing like you, Raziel.”
“Huh. They kinda fucked up in some ways when they made you guys.”
“Yeah. Take it up with Our Father.”
“That asshole.”
He placed his glasses on the end table. “So…. You got back to sleep OK? I mean, afterwards.”
“Yeah. I had Wotan and both the wolves there. He says not to let them up on the beds because you’ll spoil them, but I’ve told him they’re already spoiled.” She scratched Freki behind the ear, and he gave her a look of wolf bliss.
“Uh-huh.”
She grabbed a book from one of the shelves. “Um, maybe, if you don’t mind, I’ll sit here and read here for a bit? Just to make sure Freki doesn’t eat you or anything?”
He nodded and turned on his side, facing away from her. She curled up in a large chair by the window.
“Raziel?”
“Yeah?”
“I think I know who sent the dream.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
And then she was caught up in her story for a time. She looked up when she noticed there were two sets of snores. She replaced her book on the shelf, and, rising, leaned over the bed to make sure there were no terrible dreams. Nope. Those were pretty good. The wolf was having an especially stupid wolf dream, she thought. It was lead guitarist in a rock band. How the hell did a wolf think it could play guitar? Stupid things.
She threw a quilt over the both of them, and then quietly left, shutting the door behind her. Wotan had just come inside, and was wiping the saddle oil off his hands.
“My Lady,” he said. She nodded. They walked over to the cluttered room he used as his office. He shut the door, greatly annoying one of the spoiled wolves who got shut outside. He pulled up a chair so he could sit facing her. He held her small hands in his large ones.
Many years ago….
Sariel walked along the golden corridors, Raziel at his side, chattering away. To be honest, he wasn’t exactly certain what she was babbling about right now, having tuned out several twists and turns ago. They were at Headquarters, so she was inevitably bitching about how her robes itched and she didn’t look cute enough. He found the occasional “Uh-huh,” served to keep the peace. For whatever strange reason, Raziel seemed devoted to him, but she could be kind of a drag.
A group of Seraphim approached up ahead. Sariel figured Raziel was too caught up in her nattering to notice them, or else she would have ducked away, into another corridor.
She tended to steer clear of Uriah, for whatever mad Raziel reason.
Uriah and his many attendants strode by. Uriah never went anywhere alone. There were a few Seraphim, some Cherubim and Thrones, and even a few Dominions, who rarely made it all the way up to this Circle.
Sariel tried to watch Uriah out of the corner of his eye. To his surprise, Uriah turned to look towards him. For a brief moment, the two locked eyes.
And then Uriah had passed.
Sariel had walked for a few paces before he realized he was now walking alone. He turned back.
“Little Brother!” Raziel fumed. “Have you heard a word I’ve been saying?”
“What?”
She sighed. “I said they want me to stay here. To help Him work on The Book. The Secrets and Mysteries.”
“Yeah. So? It sounds like a big honor.”
“Sariel, I’m miserable here!”
“No kidding.”
“You know how He is with mind fucks! I can’t stand it.”
“Jesus, Raziel. Just don’t let it get to you.”
“If He shows me that blank fucking canvas one more time,” she said, waving a small finger, “I’m gonna fucking kill Him.”
Sariel laughed. “You know, you might be someone who could actually do that! I don’t think I can tell you the metaphysical consequences however.”
She was still a tiny ball of angelic fury. He rolled his eyes and continued walking. She did not.
“Uriah,” she said.
He stopped, and blinked. He turned around to face her.
“I can’t tell you to stay away from him, Little Brother. Because you won’t. I know you. I know you won’t. Just…. Just fucking watch out.”
Sariel had a seat at His table.
Their Father rarely attended any more. Which meant Raziel wasn’t there either. These days, she always seemed to be pattering along at His side, taking down the Secrets and Mysteries into The Book. It was amusing. She always looked so confused.
It meant Sariel hadn’t gotten to talk with her a lot lately. Which was probably just as well. She was always so fucking miserable when she was at Headquarters.
Archangel Michael was up at the head of the table, in His place, as he often was nowadays. Scuttlebutt said Michael was likely the next head of the Legion. And at Michael’s right hand, as he often was nowadays, Uriah. And arranged to his side, his usual attendants, apparently seated in order from the biggest Seraph to the smallest Dominion.
And at Michael’s left hand, in his usual spot, sat Lucifer, who Sariel couldn’t bear to call Morningstar. And he had brought along his usual retinue as well, mostly New Ones, but there were also Seraphim, Cherubim, Thrones, and Dominions. Lucifer’s smallest Dominion looked up at Sariel and smiled when he glanced over. He was a tiny, honestly angelic-looking blond, dressed all in white robes.
Sariel had been seated a bit farther away from the head of the table, in the middle of some Thrones. They were always chattering away about angelic law. It was dreary. He waited for a pause between courses and sneaked out to the balcony. On one of their last outings together, Raziel had dragged him off to a planet where the men rolled up dried leaves into small bundles and then smoked them. Raziel thought it a terrible habit, so of course Sariel tried it, mostly to annoy her, and became almost instantly addicted. He told her it was better than sex, also to annoy her, as she couldn’t seem to manage the trick without dissolving into a coughing fit. Anyway, it was certainly better filling his lungs with smoke than chatting with Thrones about contract law.
“Sariel. How charming.”
Sariel tried not to look as flustered as he felt. He nodded to Uriah. It was passing strange to see him alone like this.
“You are not here tonight with your enchanting little friend?” Uriah asked.
Sariel gawped. “What? You mean Raziel?”
Uriah chuckled. “Ah, that one. She has a bit of the spunk to her, doesn’t she?”
“Uh, I guess I’ve never heard it put quite like that.” He considered the big Seraphim for a moment. “She thinks you don’t like her.”
“What nonsense,” Uriah shook his head. “I do not know how these rumors get started. This place feeds on gossip. Do you not think so, Sariel?”
“People talk a lot. That’s true.”
“Speaking of conversation, you know, I have a salon. A gathering. Most every week. Some of us get together. Strictly for conversation. I am so terribly sorry I have been remiss in offering you an invitation prior to this, but, as you are always in attendance with the Lady Raziel. It is not a place in which, I think, she would be comfortable. For various reasons.”
Sariel had to nod. It was true. Having to sit and talk about something other than itchy clothes and pretty men would probably defeat the little Seraph.
“I try to keep the list of invited guests quite exclusive. Only the most special people. You realize how special you are, do you not, Sariel?”
“Aren’t you laying it on a bit thick, Uriah?” Sariel asked, scowling and leaning on the balustrade.
Uriah leaned over too. “I think we may dispense with false modesty, just between us, may we not?” He smiled. There was something in his smile that vaguely unsettled Sariel.
I’m just seeing him through Raziel’s eyes, he thought, frowning.
“Say you will come, will you not?” Uriah urged.
“Yeah, sure, Uriah.”
“That is excellent,” the big Seraph told him, gripping his shoulder. “I feel we shall be great friends, do you not, Sariel?”
“Uh. Yeah.”
Raziel was lying on a bench in the middle of the courtyard. Alone.
Sariel checked carefully to see if anyone else was around, and then went to sit down beside her.
She sighed dramatically.
“What do you want?” she asked. “A Secret, or a Mystery? Because that’s all I’ve got.”
“I dunno. A Secret?”
“I’m sooooooo miserable!”
“Here’s your Mystery: Why did I even fucking ask?”
“Come away with me, Little Brother! We’ll find a monster, and some pretty men, and we’ll drink some beer!”
“I can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Can’t. I have…. Appointments.”
“Appointments? Oh god. Please tell me you’re not hanging around with Morningstar’s crowd now.”
“No. Not Lucifer.”
She stared at him for a time. “No….”
“This could be good for us!”
“Us?”
“Imagine, sitting up at His right hand.”
“Little Brother. I spend the whole fucking day at His right hand.”
“Well. Then. I think I deserve some recognition as well. Don’t you even have a shred of ambition?”
“No. I want Him to finish this fucking Book already so I can get out of here and into some cuter rainment.” She scratched her neck to emphasize the point.
Sariel sighed and lit a smoke. “Raziel, you don’t understand. You’ll never understand. You’re a Seraph. You were made for glory on the battlefield. That’s what you do. Nobody gives a crap what I do out there. My eyes don’t even fucking work right.”
“If you’re such a nonentity, why is everybody scared of you?”
“They’re scared of me because of you.”
“I don’t think that’s true.”
“Raziel, I think here at Headquarters is where I can truly make my mark. Where I won’t just be your Little Brother.”
“You don’t wanna be my Little Brother anymore?”
There was something odd in her tone, but he wasn’t certain what it was. “You’re taking this too personally,” he scolded.
“How should I take it?”
“Raziel, for once in your fucking existence, this is not about you and your cute shoes and your pretty men and whatever the hell else is bubbling on your brain this week.”
Raziel glared at him for a time. She rose. “I need to go write down some Secrets,” she said, and stalked off.
Sariel hurried down the golden corridors.
Alone.
He came at last to a silver door. He looked up and down the hallways. No one. It seemed a bit out of the way. He pushed inside. To his surprise, Uriah was there alone.
“Uh, sorry, am I late?” Sariel asked.
Uriah smiled and closed the silver door behind Sariel.
“Sariel. How delightful that you have come.”
“I thought, uh, there would be others…?”
“You will forgive me, I thought to have a special session today. I do not think you realize how special you are. To me,” Uriah told him.
Sariel felt the wind knocked out of him. The floor rushed up and slammed into him.
And then Uriah hit him again. Harder.
The present day….
Ofdensen appeared in his office sometime in the late afternoon. It had actually been his best night's sleep in weeks, even if it hadn't exactly been night.
And of course he had an office full of Dethklok. Well, just Nathan.
Nathan was squinting at him with a funny smile on his face. "Whoa, did I do that?"
Ofdensen rubbed his left cheek. "Yes, Nathan you did this."
"I've got a good right, huh?"
"Yes, Nathan, you have a good right."
"Did Raz forgive you?"
"Yes. Yes, thank you. She was very impressed by your, er, testimonials."
“Did she like mine? I spent a long time on it!”
“Uh. I think she liked Toki’s best.”
“That fucking bear picture? Dammit. Women are nuts.”
“That they are.”
“OK. So. You know the guy with the silvery hair and fucked up eyes? I don’t think I like him.”
“They guy…? Oh. OK, Nathan, that’s not a different guy. Didn’t Raziel explain all this stuff to you? It’s just me. I just look different.”
“No. I don’t think that’s the deal,” Nathan said. His green eyes narrowed.
“It’s just me.”
“No. You’re different.”
“Nathan. OK. Just listen to me for once. No.”
“That guy goes and hits his friend-”
“I’ve told you, we’re NOT friends-”
“And then you look like you’re gonna kill me-”
“I would NOT…. Look, you know I would never…. Nathan. This is nonsense. I’ll just fucking show you!” Ofdensen irritably threw off his jacket and tie and then his shirt. And then he wasn’t Ofdensen anymore.
Nathan stared in stunned silence for a moment. Nathan was the lead singer of the most insanely popular death metal band the world had ever known. And, god knows, he had seen a lot of fucked up shit in his day. But this….
“Whoa. So you just flip like that?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s fucking cool.”
“Cool?” Stupid fucking human, Sariel thought. Human? The human was Nathan. Nathan.
And he was sitting in his chair, suddenly Charles Ofdensen again.
“Wait! Hey! Where the fuck do the wings go?” Nathan was asking.
“Huh? I don’t know. Nathan….”
“Wait! Go back and do that again! I didn’t get a good look!”
“Nathan….”
“What? You OK, dude?”
“No.”
Nathan was quiet for a bit.
“That’s kinda fucked up, huh?” he finally asked.
“Yeah. Yeah. It’s kinda fucked up.”
It was after Nathan had departed that Ofdensen noticed the small cardboard box on his desk. He picked it up. He couldn’t remember seeing it there when he entered the office. The package was addressed to him, but he didn’t recognize the return address. It was passing strange that one of the Klokateer admins hadn’t already opened it for him. He shrugged, prowled around in a desk drawer for a letter opener and cut through the tape. He dug through some foam packaging peanuts. And then he laughed and set the coffee cup down on his desk.
He frowned over at the ringing phone. What the fuck was up with his admins? He had clearly told them to hold all his calls. He picked up the receiver.
“Hello. Yeah, I got your message. Yeah, I got all your messages. We’ve been a bit … busy up here of late. I will attempt to arrange something. Yeah. Realize, this is just not my highest priority right now. No, I would actually say it is close to the bottom of the list, if not on the very bottom. Or below the bottom. Uh-huh. Look, Lucifer, take this advice. Take this advice…. You try to go around me, or I hear anything about you getting in touch with any of my band, or any of my people, or anyone who knows my people, or anyone who’s even fucking stood in a coffee line once with any of my fucking people, I will come down there personally and PULL YOUR FUCKING WINGS OFF. Yes, you can definitely consider that a threat. And then I will send Raziel down with a fucking FLAMING HACKSAW to carve up the pieces. I have a fucking box in my pocket with what’s left of fucking Uriah. Wait your fucking turn. Yeah, whatever. Bye.
He slammed down the handset, and then spent some time scowling at his phone. Angels, he thought, with a mental scowl. And then, flaming hacksaw. Huh. That actually wasn’t such a bad idea. He picked up the coffee cup again, rotating it in his hands, and then he grabbed the phone and dialed Raziel’s number.
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: In which things get dark and edgy. Also, Prequel!Sariel starts running with a bad crowd.
Warnings: Slash, non-con, AU, F-words, OCs, smoking.
Notes: Notes after the jump
This is a Metalocalypse AU. You have been warned. tiktaalikroseae gets credit for the name “Mythklok.” Here are the other bits, about an angelic visit (Chapter 1), a hunt (Chapter 2), a barbecue (Chapter 3), a ski trip (Chapter 4), a sword fight (Chapter 5), Bette Davis Movies (Chapter 6), a concert (Chapter 7), tall tales (Chapter WTF) and a trial (Chapter 8). Oh, and if you don’t feel like readin’, here’s amazing arts and more amazing arts by other people who are not me, as they are talented.
WAIT! WUT? Charles is a Fallen angel who used to go by the name of Sariel. He and his buddy, Raziel, used to kill other angels. For fun and profit. They were brats. Recently, Sariel had Raziel kill an Archangel. That sort of pissed off the other angels. So, this really officious Archangel named Michael made Charles and Raziel plus Nathan come to a trial, which Charles managed to turn into a circus. Complete with elephants. And monkeys. No clowns (that guy hasn’t shown up in this AU yet), but there was a dragon. Nathan had a great time, but I think the angels are pretty majorly pissed off now.
WARNING: This one is sort of grim. Like, Batman universe grim. There’s some cute stuff in the middle, but, yeah. So, if you’re having a bad day, this may not your best reading material. I promise this is not permanent creator breakdown stuff; the next couple chapters are back to more wackiness.
THE TOWER
They had struck at Asgard first, appearing out of nowhere one dark winter afternoon when the sun slanted low in the sky. The Legion, though said by many to be in a much diminished state, was still the most magnificent army in this or any universe. And the angels had the advantage of surprise. The warriors of Valhalla managed a valiant defense, finally beating back the attackers. But mounting a counterattack took time. Precious time.
The damage had been terrible.
He noticed that he could still smell the smoke. "Where is she, exactly?" he had asked. Though upon further reflection, the answer was obvious.
A depressing portion of Valhalla lay in ruins, but even amidst the shattered buildings, it was clear which wing the manservant was escorting him to. For a certain radius, every single plant - every leaf, every petal, and every single blade of grass - was dead. No birds nested, no lizards skittered across the path, no hares hid in the underbrush. He suspected if he had toed up some of the dead leaves, he would find no clusters of sucking maggots underneath.
The manservant had grown quiet. He stopped, and it was clear he would go no further. A chill winter wind picked up some dead leaves and sent them scudding across the grounds. It was the only sound.
This section of the once glorious hall had mostly crumbled. There was a tower that stood more or less intact, but it was completely surrounded by rubble.
"Sometimes," the manservant whispered, "she throws herself off the tower. She doesn't die though." And there was something about the way he said the last part that brought a chill, even in the dim winter light.
He nodded to the servant and set out alone towards the ruined structure. He lit a cigarette, more to have the company of the small ember than out of any real appetite.
He decided to try climbing the tower stairs, as it seemed she'd left them more or less intact. He found her at the very top, where the tower opened up. She was standing at the battlement, her back to him.
He walked up beside her and stood for a moment.
“He wouldn’t come with you, would he?” she said. She didn’t appear to have changed her clothes, nor brushed her long hair, since the attack.
“I didn’t ask him. But, yes, he seemed reluctant.”
“I think they’re scared of me now.”
“Yes.” He smoked for a while, considering. Finally, he decided. “I’ll have the servants gather your things. You’ll come with me.”
“No,” she said.
“I don’t think you understood. That wasn’t a question. You’re coming with me.”
“You don’t understand. I kill things. I can only kill things now.”
“Yes, I gathered that.”
“I will just kill stuff at your place.”
“Yes, you will kill things, and then we’ll replant them. So you can kill them again if you want. And you can destroy stuff, and we’ll rebuild it. We’ve reduced it before to a smoking ruin. Won’t be the first time. I’ve always had my problems with the South wing anyway.”
She had her hands on the battlement now. “You don’t understand. There’s only death in me now. It’s over.”
He sighed. “I suspect you think your grief is bottomless right now. Maybe it is. But I’m sorry, I just don’t have any other ideas. So, you’ll come destroy my stuff for a while, OK?”
She looked at him. He forced himself to meet her eyes. He wanted to be anywhere else, with anyone else. She finally looked away, and started to speak. But then stopped.
“Raziel, if nothing else, leave these people to their grief. I realize you cared for All-Father. But to these people, he was their father. He was their king. Let them…. Let them mourn him. And let them try to figure out what the fuck to do now.”
She nodded. He turned and descended the tower, and she followed, a silent shadow.
Then they traveled, across realms, to another castle. One located more or less in the world of men.
It was large and impressive. And worryingly quiet.
They walked across the lawns, the grass curling and turning brown as she passed, bringing death.
“You’re still living here?” she asked.
“Of course. Where else would I go?”
And they were quiet again.
They used the front entrance. She noticed the people wearing hoods. Not as many as before.
She noticed how they edged away.
She knew where they were going. She noticed he took a circuitous route. So he wouldn’t have to pass the empty bedrooms.
They were in his office.
He was fussing with something in his desk. “So many eventualities I planned for. I’m a planner. You know that. Every scenario. Where…. Where I might not be here for them. I didn’t…. I never…. For some reason, it never entered my head that I would be here….”
He brought out a long rectangular box. He opened the lid.
“So what I was thinking is, you know, I’m someone who would be hard to kill….” He stopped. “But, you’re someone who could do it. Yes.” He stopped again. And started again. “I know I would resist. I don’t know why. Maybe unconsciously?”
He brought out the sword, and placed it on the desk.
“I have just one request. Don’t make it merciful…. I know you know how. Please make me suffer.” He looked up at her. “Make me suffer.”
She was in the corridor, running. She knew where there was an open balcony. It was high. Maybe it was high enough. She was up on the balustrade in one leap, and then she was over.
Her eyes snapped open.
It was still dark.
She was under the covers, Wotan’s large warm body sleeping beside her.
She slid out from under the blankets, pushing herself frantically away from him. She grabbed a dressing gown, and, wrapping it tightly around her, fled outside to the porch, where she tried desperately to start breathing again. The dressing gown was thin against the cold, but that wasn’t why she was shaking.
She was surprised, but not surprised, to see him standing there. She could see the ash of his cigarette, see it reflected in his glasses.
“Can I have one?” It took him a moment to realize she meant a cigarette. And then her hands shook too badly to light it, so he ended up lighting it for her. She dragged the smoke in to fill her lungs.
“You too?” she finally asked.
He nodded.
She was huddled by a fireplace, under a quilt. A worried wolf had shown up and nosed her, and now slept partly wrapped around her. But she hadn’t been able to stop shaking.
He sat on a couch, smoking. He had been very quiet, very still.
“Who would have sent us something like that?” she said.
“Obviously someone who wanted to fuck with our heads.” he said.
“Well, they succeeded. You think it was Michael?” She grabbed the quilt tighter.
““We obviously … made an impression the other day. But do you really think he’s strong enough for that?”
“No, no, not really.” She looked into the fire. “I can’t lose him, you know. That’s true. But, I have to wonder if I’m putting Asgard in too much danger, being here.”
“You could leave,” he suggested.
“I’m not gonna be able to do that anymore. You know. Run away.”
“What? What do you mean by that?”
“This place,” she said, still staring into the fire. “Wotan doesn’t know that I know. It’s a very old magic. I didn’t recognize what it was at first. And…. I doesn’t work on everyone, I think.” He sat forward on the couch, staring at her. “It gets into your blood. It binds you here.”
He was standing.
“A binding spell?” he finally asked, a catch in his voice.
She nodded. ”If I stay here much longer, I’ll be stuck in this universe. For good.”
He was pacing, agitated. “Raziel. Oh, god Raziel. Christ, why didn’t you tell me before now? You can’t….” He suddenly flicked his cigarette into the fireplace. “OK. OK. Here’s what we’ll do. Pack some of your shit. Not the whole fucking wardrobe. Come with me now. Tonight. Now. You’ll…. You’ll stay with us. We’ll figure this out.”
“What? No.”
He stopped pacing and stared at her. “What do you mean, no?” There was a warning in his tone.
“Sariel. This is my home now. I can’t just pick up and leave every time I have a bad dream.”
“You can’t let yourself be trapped here!”
“It’s not trapped-”
“If you can’t fucking leave, it’s called being trapped. What the fuck would you call it?”
“Sariel. Calm-”
“Have you fucking gone insane?” He had her by the shoulders now.
“I’m not going.”
“If you won’t fucking come I swear to God I’ll drag you away!”
“I said no.”
He hit her. Hard. The wolf was on its feet now, growling low.
He was standing above her, trembling with anger. His eyes were grey. Like a knife blade. “I’m here because I can’t fucking leave this shithole. And you’re letting yourself be trapped? By some stupid pagan crap?”
She rubbed her cheek thoughtfully. She had finally stopped shaking. She reached out and grabbed the wolf by the scruff of its neck, and its hackles slowly lowered. “Sariel. I think I’m in love with Wotan. I know it’s not something I’m supposed to be able to do. But, I am. It’s not something I expected. It happened.” She looked up at him. “I think this is where I’m supposed to be now. I’m sorry what happened to you. I’m sorry … in so many ways. But this isn’t about your situation.”
“My fucking SITUATION? Is that what you call this?” His hair had gone grey.
“Sariel. Get your wings down.”
“I. Will. Not. Put my wings down.”
And he was back in his office. He’d thrown himself back. Because he was going to kill her to save her.
“What the fuck is up with you?”
“Nathan. GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE.”
Of course, Nathan blithely ignored his manager and wandered into the office. The dude looked really weird. His hair had turned white. He was old and all, but this seemed a little odd. “What the fuck man?” he said, a bit more softly.
“Get the fuck out of here,” Sariel whispered.
Nathan only needed one look into his eyes. Meltdown. So he applied his usual counseling methodology. He punched him. Hard.
Sariel reeled, but didn’t lose his footing. He took a step towards Nathan. Just one punch. Just one punch.
And he would break Nathan’s neck and kill him.
Terrified, he put the desk between himself and the other man. He put his palms flat on the desk and, gasping, forced himself back to full Court Form.
Curious, Nathan watched his hair change from the funny silver-grey back to hair color.
“Can you make your hair go other colors? That’s kind of cool.”
Ofdensen looked up and gave a small laugh. Trust Nathan to turn the most dire situation ridiculous.
“You OK dude?” Nathan figured he was supernatural, so he’d given him an extra hard smack. But he was now hoping he hadn’t scrambled the guy’s brains. They needed him for stuff.
Ofdensen bent over to pick up his glasses, which had been thrown to the floor. “I had a dream. Raziel and I both had the same dream.”
“You had a bad dream?”
Ofdensen sunk down into his chair, peering through his glasses. They seemed to have survived OK. “Yeah. I know. It sounds lame. But it was very realistic. And terrifying. And I went up to talk to Raziel. And…. And we had a really bad argument. And….” He looked at his own hand, now a bit mystified by it all. “And I hit her.”
There was a silence. It was a funny kind of silence, like the sound had been sucked out of the room. Ofdensen looked up at Nathan.
“You don’t hit girls.”
“Yes, I know that Nathan. Just. Look. Raziel is a 50-foot Seraph-” but he cut off, because Nathan had a fistful of his shirt in one hand and one mighty finger poking his face and he was looming over him and his look was really pretty fucking terrifying.
“You. Don’t. Hit. Girls. You never hit girls.”
Ofdensen actually gulped. “I…. I know. I’m sorry. I know.”
Nathan released his grip. “You need to go tell her you’re an asshole!”
“Yeah. Yeah. I know. I’ll do that.” He sat back in his chair. “It was a scary fucking dream. I went up to Valhalla, and it had been destroyed, and Wotan had been killed, and Raziel was suicidal. And then we were back here. And all you guys were dead.”
“Whoa. That would be bad, being dead.”
“Yes, that would be bad. And, I gave Raziel a sword. And told her to kill me.”
“Wow.” Nathan considered. “You know, dude, you can kind of be an asshole in your dreams.”
“Yeah. Yeah I guess so.”
“Hm,” Nathan considered. He looked at the smaller man. “But Valhalla is all OK? And Wotan is OK?”
“Yes. Yes. Everything up there is all OK.”
“And, I’m not dead.”
“No. No, you’re not, Nathan.”
“Have you checked the others?”
“What?”
“Have you checked to make sure everybody else is OK?” Nathan demanded.
“No. I don’t think-”
“We need to check. You guys always have weird shit happening. So, we need to check. And, we can all figure out how you can tell Raziel you’re an asshole. Maybe flowers or some shit. C’mon!”
He could smell the breakfast cooking. Wotan and Raziel were sitting at their kitchen table, piled with enough food for at least 10 people, and what looked like every single major metropolitan newspaper on earth.
A wolf nosed Ofdensen, and then apparently decided it would be better off with falling table scraps, so it crawled back under the table to where Raziel was feeding bits of toast to a raven.
“Good morning,” she said, glancing up from Yoimuri Shimbun. She must have put a bit of makeup on her cheek, he guessed.
“Would you care for some breakfast, Sariel?” Wotan asked.
He found that he would, especially as the boys had decided to retire to a strip club for the conclave of the past night, as that was apparently where they did their best thinking. The breakfasts at Valhalla tended to be a good bet, as there was the least likelihood of any foodstuffs originating from some horrible grub-eating monster. The scrambled eggs were particularly amazing. According to Raziel, Wotan evidently kept some crazy rare breed of hen, and of course the eggs had all just been laid hours before they were cooked. He ended up eating probably rather more than he should have, shoveling it in with several cups of coffee while reading a pink Financial Times.
“I need to see to my tack,” Wotan said, rising. Raziel smiled across her coffee mug at him.
Ofdensen squinted at her coffee mug. It had printed letters on it. He moved across the table to sit next to her, and grabbed the mug. It said, “WHERE’S MY FUCKING COFFEE.”
“Where the hell did you find this, and why didn’t you get me one?” he asked.
“Oh, in your Etsy shops! Etsy is very addictive.”
“It’s not my Etsy shop. You should ask Toki about that though.”
“Parvati swears by it!”
He put down the mug. “I’m an asshole.”
“Yes. Yes you are.”
He started emptying his jacket pockets. There were cocktail napkins. About a dozen cocktail napkins.
“What is this?” she asked. She picked one up. There was writing on it.
“They all decided - the boys - I needed to write out, in detail, exactly how much of an asshole I am. With examples. But then they decided it wasn’t nearly extensive enough, so they all did their own.”
Raziel had started picking up napkins and reading through them. “Oh, I see. Who wrote this one here? With the very small writing?”
“Oh, that’s Dick Knubbler. He’s our record producer. He was re-recording a bass line, so they brought him along too. He seems to be having a lot of trouble with that fucking bass line.”
“It’s very eloquent! I especially like this passage here!”
“Uh-huh.”
“Scarl Offingsdon?”
“Uh, yeah. They’ve started forging my name. They, uh, don’t always get it quite right.”
“And what’s this stamp?”
“Oh. Uh. Murderface is a notary public.”
“And a drawing?”
“Yeah, I think Toki was sad they were saying so many mean things, so he drew a picture of a bear.”
“Oh, that’s very cute!”
He watched her for a while, her raven evidently reading over her shoulder as well.
“Raziel?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you going to say you forgive me, or something?”
She smiled. “Yeah. Yeah, I forgive you.” She squinted at him. “Nice shiner, by the way.”
“Oh.” He touched his own left cheek. “Nathan.”
“He’s got a good right.”
“Yeah. That he has. Raziel?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re gonna talk to Wotan? About the whole binding spell thing?”
She was carefully folding cocktail napkins. “I guess I should, huh?”
He stood. “Yeah, I guess you should.”
She shrugged. “I will.”
“You promise?”
“Yes.”
“Soon?”
She nodded. “Yes.” She finally looked up at him. He held her gaze for a moment. She held up the stack of napkins. “Thanks for these. By the way. And…”
“And what?”
“”Situation’ was a really stupid…. I don’t think…. I know we never talked about….”
“That was kind of a fucked up time. I guess.”
“Yeah,” she said, nodding.
“We should talk. But not now. Just, not now.”
She nodded.
“I’m going out for a smoke.”
“Sariel?”
“Yeah?”
“If you could leave,” she started. “Right now. Would you?”
“In a heartbeat,” he told her.
The door banged behind him. He lit up, and looked over to where Wotan was cleaning Sleipnir’s elaborate saddle. A chill wind was blowing. He should have thought to bring a coat. He was getting as stupid as his band.
The god king looked up. “Sariel,” he said.
Oh, shit, not again.
He walked over closer.
“I’ve talked to Mimir. We think your dream was a warning, not a prophecy. I’ve increased my sentries, regardless. And, seen to other security measures. I’d suggest you do the same, if you haven’t already.”
Ofdensen nodded. “Yeah, already done.”
“You realize,” Wotan continued, “I try not to interfere with what goes on between you two. I figure it’s family matters, or near as such. So, I don’t know exactly what went on last night. But as you know, Raziel is Consort now. There are certain things I’m simply not going to be able to ignore.”
“It won’t happen again.”
Wotan eyed him. “I’d sort of like to give you a smack right now. Only it looks like someone’s beaten me to it.”
“Nathan. He’s got a right.”
"Ah. Nathan.” Wotan looked approving. “A bit of advice?”
“I need to learn to duck?”
Wotan smiled and brushed some dirt from Sleipnir’s saddle. “I know you had a donnybrook with Raziel last night, and then it looks like you went on back home and mixed it up with Nathan. Now, I don’t know Nathan well, but he doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who’d throw a punch unless it was called for.”
“Meaning what?”
“I have a bit of advice for you, son. If you’ll listen.”
Ofdensen bristled. “Son? I’m old enough to be-“
“You sort are not that much older than me. But, you know, we local gods, we go by many names, because we’ve earned them, over the years. It’s no doubt occurred to you that I’m All Father for a reason?”
“I thought it was because you had more halflings than Skwisgaar.”
To Ofdensen’s surprise, Wotan grinned. “That’s fair. Then maybe you could pretend this comes from somebody you respect. Like Bucky, Lord of the Rocks.” He looked up from his saddle to Ofdensen, who appeared to be actually stunned into silence. “I don’t need to tell you, there’s a lot of madness that runs with our sort, and I believe this goes for you and my Lady. You only have to think on your colleagues - sorry, your ex-colleagues - for a moment for examples. And that goes double for Your Father. If I ever get my hands on that one…. Well, it won’t be a pleasant conversation.”
“We’re all batshit. OK.” Ofdensen flicked ashes.
“Just before Uriah turned up, and you ran into my Raziel again, how much had you been using your powers?” Ofdensen appeared to consider for a moment, and then shrugged noncommittally. “Maybe not a whole lot? I suspect you had been living like a human for a number of years.”
“I guess so. I just…. I just used a bit. When I needed to.”
“And now? From what I can see, you pop up here because you don’t have time to dream, and then you magick up the swords to fence with Raziel.”
“Your point?” But Wotan instead kept his gaze for a time. “Power makes us nuts? OK, so, I quit using my magic? Or what?”
“Well, that one doesn’t have an easy answer, I’m afraid. Or what do humans say, a quick fix? Now, my friend Shiva, he’ll tell you some New Age nonsense about balance and suchlike. I don’t see creating a philosophy when I don’t have to. Now me, I need to take care of Sleipnir. I have my hunts. I told my Lady when I bought her a car, now, my pet, you must take care of the vehicle, washing, maintaining the engine….”
“Raziel does maintenance on the Ferrari?”
“She’s more mechanically inclined than I would have given her credit for. She fusses about her manicure, of course, but she had one of her Italian fashion people design her a pair of overalls.”
“OK, then, ‘Dad,’ I have absolutely no fucking idea how Raziel’s designer maintenance wear applies to me.”
“Don’t you? Power is a double-edged sword, Sariel. And you might not always have Nathan on hand to give you a quick punch when you need it.”
Ofdensen flicked some ashes. “OK, here’s one for you. When were you thinking of talking to Raziel about the binding spell?”
The king stopped cleaning the saddle and looked far off. “Well,” he said, going back to his brushing, “I didn’t think of it at first. I didn’t realize such as her would be affected. You sort are strange creatures.”
“She’s not a creature. Or your pet for that matter. And this isn’t a fucking hunt.”
Wotan looked stung. But he said, “Well, there are elements of the hunt to it. You know the Lady in question.”
“Yes. I know her. I have in fact known her since my Creation.”
“I think…. I think what she’s been doing, she’s simply not been offering any resistance to it. I think she’s just been letting it work on her.”
“You guys need to talk. Yes?”
Wotan nodded, a bit abashed.
Ofdensen stubbed out his cigarette, and went back inside, out of the cold. Yes, call Sariel, the Relationship Angel, he thought. He was so fucking tired of people. He was going to find a tropical island somewhere where there were just monkeys throwing their shit. It would be just like managing a rock band.
Raziel was there, holding some folded linens.
“Did you wanna crash here for a couple hours?” she asked.
“Oh, fuck yes.”
They walked along the corridors to a small room he’d used before, off in a quieter wing. Raziel made up the bed, and he kicked off his shoes and thought about how odd these guys were. They didn’t mind keeping the cook working for hours over their ridiculous breakfasts, but then Wotan would go off and clean his own saddle, and she’d put sheets on a bed by herself instead of simply calling one of the servants. He removed his jacket and tie, and then collapsed on top of the covers without even bothering to turn down the bed. A terribly spoiled wolf leapt up to occupy the foot of the bed.
“It’s not gonna eat me, is it?” he asked.
“Probably not. You can always yell at them in Swedish.”
“I don’t know fucking Swedish.”
“How can you not know Swedish?”
“Not everyone can do the language thing like you, Raziel.”
“Huh. They kinda fucked up in some ways when they made you guys.”
“Yeah. Take it up with Our Father.”
“That asshole.”
He placed his glasses on the end table. “So…. You got back to sleep OK? I mean, afterwards.”
“Yeah. I had Wotan and both the wolves there. He says not to let them up on the beds because you’ll spoil them, but I’ve told him they’re already spoiled.” She scratched Freki behind the ear, and he gave her a look of wolf bliss.
“Uh-huh.”
She grabbed a book from one of the shelves. “Um, maybe, if you don’t mind, I’ll sit here and read here for a bit? Just to make sure Freki doesn’t eat you or anything?”
He nodded and turned on his side, facing away from her. She curled up in a large chair by the window.
“Raziel?”
“Yeah?”
“I think I know who sent the dream.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
And then she was caught up in her story for a time. She looked up when she noticed there were two sets of snores. She replaced her book on the shelf, and, rising, leaned over the bed to make sure there were no terrible dreams. Nope. Those were pretty good. The wolf was having an especially stupid wolf dream, she thought. It was lead guitarist in a rock band. How the hell did a wolf think it could play guitar? Stupid things.
She threw a quilt over the both of them, and then quietly left, shutting the door behind her. Wotan had just come inside, and was wiping the saddle oil off his hands.
“My Lady,” he said. She nodded. They walked over to the cluttered room he used as his office. He shut the door, greatly annoying one of the spoiled wolves who got shut outside. He pulled up a chair so he could sit facing her. He held her small hands in his large ones.
Many years ago….
Sariel walked along the golden corridors, Raziel at his side, chattering away. To be honest, he wasn’t exactly certain what she was babbling about right now, having tuned out several twists and turns ago. They were at Headquarters, so she was inevitably bitching about how her robes itched and she didn’t look cute enough. He found the occasional “Uh-huh,” served to keep the peace. For whatever strange reason, Raziel seemed devoted to him, but she could be kind of a drag.
A group of Seraphim approached up ahead. Sariel figured Raziel was too caught up in her nattering to notice them, or else she would have ducked away, into another corridor.
She tended to steer clear of Uriah, for whatever mad Raziel reason.
Uriah and his many attendants strode by. Uriah never went anywhere alone. There were a few Seraphim, some Cherubim and Thrones, and even a few Dominions, who rarely made it all the way up to this Circle.
Sariel tried to watch Uriah out of the corner of his eye. To his surprise, Uriah turned to look towards him. For a brief moment, the two locked eyes.
And then Uriah had passed.
Sariel had walked for a few paces before he realized he was now walking alone. He turned back.
“Little Brother!” Raziel fumed. “Have you heard a word I’ve been saying?”
“What?”
She sighed. “I said they want me to stay here. To help Him work on The Book. The Secrets and Mysteries.”
“Yeah. So? It sounds like a big honor.”
“Sariel, I’m miserable here!”
“No kidding.”
“You know how He is with mind fucks! I can’t stand it.”
“Jesus, Raziel. Just don’t let it get to you.”
“If He shows me that blank fucking canvas one more time,” she said, waving a small finger, “I’m gonna fucking kill Him.”
Sariel laughed. “You know, you might be someone who could actually do that! I don’t think I can tell you the metaphysical consequences however.”
She was still a tiny ball of angelic fury. He rolled his eyes and continued walking. She did not.
“Uriah,” she said.
He stopped, and blinked. He turned around to face her.
“I can’t tell you to stay away from him, Little Brother. Because you won’t. I know you. I know you won’t. Just…. Just fucking watch out.”
Sariel had a seat at His table.
Their Father rarely attended any more. Which meant Raziel wasn’t there either. These days, she always seemed to be pattering along at His side, taking down the Secrets and Mysteries into The Book. It was amusing. She always looked so confused.
It meant Sariel hadn’t gotten to talk with her a lot lately. Which was probably just as well. She was always so fucking miserable when she was at Headquarters.
Archangel Michael was up at the head of the table, in His place, as he often was nowadays. Scuttlebutt said Michael was likely the next head of the Legion. And at Michael’s right hand, as he often was nowadays, Uriah. And arranged to his side, his usual attendants, apparently seated in order from the biggest Seraph to the smallest Dominion.
And at Michael’s left hand, in his usual spot, sat Lucifer, who Sariel couldn’t bear to call Morningstar. And he had brought along his usual retinue as well, mostly New Ones, but there were also Seraphim, Cherubim, Thrones, and Dominions. Lucifer’s smallest Dominion looked up at Sariel and smiled when he glanced over. He was a tiny, honestly angelic-looking blond, dressed all in white robes.
Sariel had been seated a bit farther away from the head of the table, in the middle of some Thrones. They were always chattering away about angelic law. It was dreary. He waited for a pause between courses and sneaked out to the balcony. On one of their last outings together, Raziel had dragged him off to a planet where the men rolled up dried leaves into small bundles and then smoked them. Raziel thought it a terrible habit, so of course Sariel tried it, mostly to annoy her, and became almost instantly addicted. He told her it was better than sex, also to annoy her, as she couldn’t seem to manage the trick without dissolving into a coughing fit. Anyway, it was certainly better filling his lungs with smoke than chatting with Thrones about contract law.
“Sariel. How charming.”
Sariel tried not to look as flustered as he felt. He nodded to Uriah. It was passing strange to see him alone like this.
“You are not here tonight with your enchanting little friend?” Uriah asked.
Sariel gawped. “What? You mean Raziel?”
Uriah chuckled. “Ah, that one. She has a bit of the spunk to her, doesn’t she?”
“Uh, I guess I’ve never heard it put quite like that.” He considered the big Seraphim for a moment. “She thinks you don’t like her.”
“What nonsense,” Uriah shook his head. “I do not know how these rumors get started. This place feeds on gossip. Do you not think so, Sariel?”
“People talk a lot. That’s true.”
“Speaking of conversation, you know, I have a salon. A gathering. Most every week. Some of us get together. Strictly for conversation. I am so terribly sorry I have been remiss in offering you an invitation prior to this, but, as you are always in attendance with the Lady Raziel. It is not a place in which, I think, she would be comfortable. For various reasons.”
Sariel had to nod. It was true. Having to sit and talk about something other than itchy clothes and pretty men would probably defeat the little Seraph.
“I try to keep the list of invited guests quite exclusive. Only the most special people. You realize how special you are, do you not, Sariel?”
“Aren’t you laying it on a bit thick, Uriah?” Sariel asked, scowling and leaning on the balustrade.
Uriah leaned over too. “I think we may dispense with false modesty, just between us, may we not?” He smiled. There was something in his smile that vaguely unsettled Sariel.
I’m just seeing him through Raziel’s eyes, he thought, frowning.
“Say you will come, will you not?” Uriah urged.
“Yeah, sure, Uriah.”
“That is excellent,” the big Seraph told him, gripping his shoulder. “I feel we shall be great friends, do you not, Sariel?”
“Uh. Yeah.”
Raziel was lying on a bench in the middle of the courtyard. Alone.
Sariel checked carefully to see if anyone else was around, and then went to sit down beside her.
She sighed dramatically.
“What do you want?” she asked. “A Secret, or a Mystery? Because that’s all I’ve got.”
“I dunno. A Secret?”
“I’m sooooooo miserable!”
“Here’s your Mystery: Why did I even fucking ask?”
“Come away with me, Little Brother! We’ll find a monster, and some pretty men, and we’ll drink some beer!”
“I can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Can’t. I have…. Appointments.”
“Appointments? Oh god. Please tell me you’re not hanging around with Morningstar’s crowd now.”
“No. Not Lucifer.”
She stared at him for a time. “No….”
“This could be good for us!”
“Us?”
“Imagine, sitting up at His right hand.”
“Little Brother. I spend the whole fucking day at His right hand.”
“Well. Then. I think I deserve some recognition as well. Don’t you even have a shred of ambition?”
“No. I want Him to finish this fucking Book already so I can get out of here and into some cuter rainment.” She scratched her neck to emphasize the point.
Sariel sighed and lit a smoke. “Raziel, you don’t understand. You’ll never understand. You’re a Seraph. You were made for glory on the battlefield. That’s what you do. Nobody gives a crap what I do out there. My eyes don’t even fucking work right.”
“If you’re such a nonentity, why is everybody scared of you?”
“They’re scared of me because of you.”
“I don’t think that’s true.”
“Raziel, I think here at Headquarters is where I can truly make my mark. Where I won’t just be your Little Brother.”
“You don’t wanna be my Little Brother anymore?”
There was something odd in her tone, but he wasn’t certain what it was. “You’re taking this too personally,” he scolded.
“How should I take it?”
“Raziel, for once in your fucking existence, this is not about you and your cute shoes and your pretty men and whatever the hell else is bubbling on your brain this week.”
Raziel glared at him for a time. She rose. “I need to go write down some Secrets,” she said, and stalked off.
Sariel hurried down the golden corridors.
Alone.
He came at last to a silver door. He looked up and down the hallways. No one. It seemed a bit out of the way. He pushed inside. To his surprise, Uriah was there alone.
“Uh, sorry, am I late?” Sariel asked.
Uriah smiled and closed the silver door behind Sariel.
“Sariel. How delightful that you have come.”
“I thought, uh, there would be others…?”
“You will forgive me, I thought to have a special session today. I do not think you realize how special you are. To me,” Uriah told him.
Sariel felt the wind knocked out of him. The floor rushed up and slammed into him.
And then Uriah hit him again. Harder.
The present day….
Ofdensen appeared in his office sometime in the late afternoon. It had actually been his best night's sleep in weeks, even if it hadn't exactly been night.
And of course he had an office full of Dethklok. Well, just Nathan.
Nathan was squinting at him with a funny smile on his face. "Whoa, did I do that?"
Ofdensen rubbed his left cheek. "Yes, Nathan you did this."
"I've got a good right, huh?"
"Yes, Nathan, you have a good right."
"Did Raz forgive you?"
"Yes. Yes, thank you. She was very impressed by your, er, testimonials."
“Did she like mine? I spent a long time on it!”
“Uh. I think she liked Toki’s best.”
“That fucking bear picture? Dammit. Women are nuts.”
“That they are.”
“OK. So. You know the guy with the silvery hair and fucked up eyes? I don’t think I like him.”
“They guy…? Oh. OK, Nathan, that’s not a different guy. Didn’t Raziel explain all this stuff to you? It’s just me. I just look different.”
“No. I don’t think that’s the deal,” Nathan said. His green eyes narrowed.
“It’s just me.”
“No. You’re different.”
“Nathan. OK. Just listen to me for once. No.”
“That guy goes and hits his friend-”
“I’ve told you, we’re NOT friends-”
“And then you look like you’re gonna kill me-”
“I would NOT…. Look, you know I would never…. Nathan. This is nonsense. I’ll just fucking show you!” Ofdensen irritably threw off his jacket and tie and then his shirt. And then he wasn’t Ofdensen anymore.
Nathan stared in stunned silence for a moment. Nathan was the lead singer of the most insanely popular death metal band the world had ever known. And, god knows, he had seen a lot of fucked up shit in his day. But this….
“Whoa. So you just flip like that?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s fucking cool.”
“Cool?” Stupid fucking human, Sariel thought. Human? The human was Nathan. Nathan.
And he was sitting in his chair, suddenly Charles Ofdensen again.
“Wait! Hey! Where the fuck do the wings go?” Nathan was asking.
“Huh? I don’t know. Nathan….”
“Wait! Go back and do that again! I didn’t get a good look!”
“Nathan….”
“What? You OK, dude?”
“No.”
Nathan was quiet for a bit.
“That’s kinda fucked up, huh?” he finally asked.
“Yeah. Yeah. It’s kinda fucked up.”
It was after Nathan had departed that Ofdensen noticed the small cardboard box on his desk. He picked it up. He couldn’t remember seeing it there when he entered the office. The package was addressed to him, but he didn’t recognize the return address. It was passing strange that one of the Klokateer admins hadn’t already opened it for him. He shrugged, prowled around in a desk drawer for a letter opener and cut through the tape. He dug through some foam packaging peanuts. And then he laughed and set the coffee cup down on his desk.
He frowned over at the ringing phone. What the fuck was up with his admins? He had clearly told them to hold all his calls. He picked up the receiver.
“Hello. Yeah, I got your message. Yeah, I got all your messages. We’ve been a bit … busy up here of late. I will attempt to arrange something. Yeah. Realize, this is just not my highest priority right now. No, I would actually say it is close to the bottom of the list, if not on the very bottom. Or below the bottom. Uh-huh. Look, Lucifer, take this advice. Take this advice…. You try to go around me, or I hear anything about you getting in touch with any of my band, or any of my people, or anyone who knows my people, or anyone who’s even fucking stood in a coffee line once with any of my fucking people, I will come down there personally and PULL YOUR FUCKING WINGS OFF. Yes, you can definitely consider that a threat. And then I will send Raziel down with a fucking FLAMING HACKSAW to carve up the pieces. I have a fucking box in my pocket with what’s left of fucking Uriah. Wait your fucking turn. Yeah, whatever. Bye.
He slammed down the handset, and then spent some time scowling at his phone. Angels, he thought, with a mental scowl. And then, flaming hacksaw. Huh. That actually wasn’t such a bad idea. He picked up the coffee cup again, rotating it in his hands, and then he grabbed the phone and dialed Raziel’s number.