Charles eyed the interloper for a long time. Or maybe it wasn't. With the silence and the practically electric tension in the air, it seemed like a long time.

He was huge, seven feet if he was an inch. His hair was long and silver and his face was lined with ancient wisdom, his beard neatly kempt. The eyes were cold flames. Despite his immense stature, he almost seemed to float, though the CFO knew this to be ridiculous.

He was more than what he seemed. Charles knew for certain that much.

He asked again. For some reason, his voice seemed to shrivel in the back of his throat.

"What do you want?"

"I already told you. I want to give you what you most desire, Charles Foster Ofdensen."

His voice was deep and somewhat rough, and had almost a slow and deliberate pacing. There was something commanding in it too, something that, like the first time he'd heard it, demanded attentiveness from the listener.

It made sense then. Charles looks the stranger in the eye, firmly.

"I know who you are."

"Do you, now."

The stranger's voice took on a flicker of amusement. Charles himself remained rock-steady, cool and serious, almost as if he was dealing with a business proposal.

"I do. You're the devil."

A silvery brow is quirked.

"The devil? I? And what, Charles Foster Ofdensen, brings you to that conclusion?"

"You know my name before I even said it. You come to me here, in my darkest hour, and offer me what I desperately want- we both know what that is, by the way- very likely at a price that under normal circumstances I wouldn't even consider."

"The devil. Frankly, I am rather insulted. I am nothing of the kind. What I AM is far beyond mortal comprehension, even a mortal as clever as you. If I told you my true name, your mortal mind would likely destroy itself with the mere effort of trying to fathom it. You may call me Selactia. Mr. Selactia."

"Selactia, then. If you aren't the devil, then what do you want with me? If you're as powerful a being as you say, what would you care? What concern would me getting my boys back be to you?"

Charles folds his arms. This was all really quite confusing, but he isn't about to say so aloud.

"It's alright to be confused. You're only human."

The smug smile on Selactia's face told the CFO that yes, he could indeed read his thoughts.

"To start, though... they aren't YOUR boys. They're MINE. And there's no sense getting angry, it's the truth. Though I must thank you for taking such good care of them... up to this point, anyway. As humans go, you're quite remarkable."

"..."

Charles quivered in anger. Possessive as it may have been, he was not going to let someone else lay claim to what was his.

"Furthemore, there is something you need to know. If you want me to resurrect Dethklok, I can do this. It will cost you, but I can do this. But should you choose to, you should know that you are bringing about the end of the world as you know it. This..."

He makes a sweeping gesture across the corpse-strewn wasteland.

"...is but a taste of the fate that awaits humankind, a fate that will be brought forth by Dethklok. All of man will despair, and none more than you. Do you still want me to bring them back to life, Charles Foster Ofdensen, knowing all that?"

It only caused the manager to pause for one moment.

"...yes."

"Then what will you give me? I have no need for things material, and your money means absolutely nothing to me."

"...then I will give you my life. My life for theirs."

"So quickly you offer such a thing to me! Do you really consider your life not being worth living without them? Quite melodramatic, especially for someone so sensible."

Charles folds his arms. He could very well be negotiating a promotion deal.

"My reasons are my own, and that's my offer. Bring them back, and then strike me down. In that order- I would like to have a few moments with them first. That is the price I'll pay. Are you satisfied, Mr. Selactia?"

Selactia seemed a bit taken aback. No mortal at least partially aware of his true nature had ever spoken to him in such a manner. He chuckled, though- it was a bit refreshing, and he somewhat admired the manager's spirit, even after it had been all but broken.

"I am. Come here, then. There's something I need to be sure of first."

He moves forward, his stride even, and places his hand on Charles' forehead. Immediately, the manager has the strangest feeling. It was nice at first, calming, as if he's sunk into a steaming bath, wrapped in a cocoon of warmth without any sight or sound penetrating, and for a moment he forgot completely what was going on. And then, he felt a sharp jolt, and heard a whispering in a tounge he didn't understand... and something in him began whispering back. And though he didn't know the words, he realized to his horror that everything he'd ever kept hidden was being revealed. Everything he had seen and done and thought, things about himself he'd never even considered telling another living soul. He wanted to stop it, tear it away, tear it back, but he didn't know how.

When he was finally released, he could not look the being in the face. He felt naked, violated... the word 'rape' kept coming to mind, though nothing of the sort had happened. The other only chuckled.

"I have spoken to your soul, Charles Foster Ofdensen. It has told me much of you. You are a killer, ruthless to the core and exceedingly adept, and yet you abandoned your nature. You hid yourself away behind honor and duty, your true self only emerging in hints and spurts. And it is because of this barrier of nobility that I cannot help you. Not yet."

Selactia knelt, and whispered into Charles' ear.

"Rid yourself of it. Tear down your facade, this disguise you have of being a decent individual. I will return to you in seven days. If your barrier of nobility is gone and you stand before me in your true, bloody skin, then I will make the deal with you."

The CFO trembles.

"How do I..."

"You're a clever little thing. Figure it out on your own. Seven days. I shall return."

And, with a wicked smile, Selactia vanished- not in a plume of fire, but a shade of white mist.

...now what

Charles turned from where the other once stood, and looked upon the five graves.

do what must be done, as you always have.

He strode once more to the ruins, and paused at a strange whimpering sound and the feel of something brushing against his leg. He glanced down.

A pup. A little yard wolf. Perhaps it had been left behind, or perhaps its mother had died to save it.

The noble thing to do would be to take it in. Scavenge the kitchen, see if there was anything left in the refrigerators or the pantry. Eat what you can, share with the pup, and release him once he's strong enough to survive.

That would be the noble thing to do.

...this is what I give

Without hesitating further, Charles raised his foot and brought it down as hard as he could.