A/N: All the usual disclaimers. I don't own the rights to Stargate Atlantis, and all characters belong to those who created them. As for this story, it's complete and utter whimsy that came to me when I was sitting around and - for some reason - thinking about Kolya. Who, for the record, I thought was a damn fine bad guy...! This whole one-shot is probably completely implausible, but was fun to write nevertheless. Tell me what you think!

"Destiny is no matter of chance. It is a matter of choice. It is not a thing to be waited for. It is a thing to be achieved."

- William Jennings Bryan.

Acastus Kolya was dead.

He knew he was dead without the shadow of a doubt. He'd seen the look on Sheppard's face; he'd felt the shot rip through him. He'd killed enough people in the past to know what it looked like. And he'd been close enough to death before, to know what it felt like. Oh, yes, Kolya was dead and Kolya knew it.

That was why he was here.

Not, on the other hand, that he was entirely sure where here was, or when he had arrived. But those seemed like small problems compared to the fact that he was dead - dead at Sheppard's hand - dead and no way to avenge himself.

Still, even if he wasn't sure where he was, he was more than clear about what needed doing.

'Ori!' he shouted.

At first, he hadn't been entirely sure that he would be able to shout. He had rather supposed that not having a body would have put a little dampener on his vocal abilities. But he'd found that it worked surprisingly well, so long as you took it for granted. Though his voice was a little hoarser than even he was used to.

'Ori!' he shouted again and this time he heard it pass through the whiteness that surrounded him like a veil of mist, and echo oddly off into the distance.

It wasn't that Kolya had ever really believed in anything much except himself. But like many naturally cautious people he had made the effort while he was alive to ensure some kind of stability in case that said aliveness should ever come to an unexpected and inconvenient halt. In his time he had heard of many gods, many false gods, many absent gods, and many ex-gods, but he had not chosen to call on any from his own personal experiences. They had, after all, so far as he could judge, never been of any assistance to him when he was alive, and he couldn't see that changing just because he wasn't.

'Ori!'

Nor, for that matter, did Koyla have any doubts about the status of the particular deities he had chosen to call upon. Sheppard and his people in Atlantis might be his enemies, but he didn't doubt their honestly – at least, amongst themselves – and he'd been intercepting their radio messages for long enough to know everything about the Ori that he needed to know. He recognised them for what they were: power hungry, powerful, ascended intergalactic bullies.

In other words, exactly the sort of thing he needed under the current circumstances.

'Ori!'

How long had he been here, crying out? He didn't know, but given that he was dead, time didn't seem to be all that much of an issue. Except, of course, so far as his acute need for vengeance went. Vengeance was best served cold, yes, but it was also best undertaken while those you wanted to wreak vengeance upon were still alive.

Unless he could hunt them here. Thus far, however, he had had no evidence of that.

The worst thing about death was the way it disrupted a man's carefully laid plans.

'Ori!!'

A movement of whiteness. A breath that wasn't a breath, a breath like a warm evening breeze in a place without evenings. Sensation upon his being that had felt no sensations since his heart ceased to pound. Something – something yet nothing – neared him and he inclined his spirit in respect with the instinct of a man accustomed to self-preservation at any cost.

WHY DO YOU CALL THE ORI, UNBELIEVER?

Hot breath against him like a scalding oven.

'I seek vengeance. I seek the life of the man that took mine.' I seek John Sheppard's death.

SUCH MATTERS ARE OF NO INTEREST TO US.

'I offer my soul in exchange.'

YOU ARE ALREADY DEAD, UNBELIEVER. YOUR TIME IS OVER. YOUR SOUL IS ALREADY FORFEIT.

'But I'm still here!'

The whiteness glowed orange with heat around him. Part of him wondered, irrelevantly, why he still thought of himself in terms of a man. He had nothing for the head to surround. It was an uncomfortable thought. Perhaps he was only still here out of pure stubborn will. Maybe all that was left of him was his will. Will and vengeance, but no Kolya.

'I will fight for the Ori! I will give my allegiance to those who help me! I know what you want, I know your plans, I know your hunger. But I also know another whole galaxy that has been kept from you. I can show you it, I can give you many willing disciples who would welcome you in the face of their current trials!' Better the Ori than the Wraith.

He felt the heat press against him, but knew it would not find what it sought. Knew, with triumph, that they would not obtain the location of his home by force. Not from him. You cannot read the mind of a dead man.

YOU ARE AN UNBELIEVER.

'Does it matter? If it gets you what you want? I may have no god but I can accept your superiority. You can do things I can't. Call yourselves gods if you want, I don't care. But if you can't have my soul – if you say it is already forfeit – well, then, I offer you my strength and my force. Offer you my desire for vengeance. Give me life and I will use it for you.'

THE VENGEANCE OF THE JUST IS RIGHT IN THE EYES OF THE ORI.

'Is that a yes?'

COME TO US, KOLYA. LET US SPEAK OF YOUR RESSURECTION…