Notes: Originally a Tumblr roleplay with moralitystrikes. Title and chapter quotes come from "Du spielst Gott" by Oomph!

This is an extremely dark fic featuring a very evil Wyatt Halliwell. In this particular verse, Wyatt's faceclaim is Matthew Lauria. This was originally a verse between myself and moralitystrikes's evil version of Wyatt, and Wyatt's FC there is Matt instead of his canon FC Wes Ramsey.

Content Warnings: Abuse of authority, evil!Wyatt Halliwell, anal sex, sexual slavery, extremely dubious consent, rough sex. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.


Chapter One

Niemals werd ich deine Hölle akzeptiern.
Niemals wirst du jede Zelle infiziern.
Du spielst immer wieder Gott mit deiner Macht.
Du spielst immer wieder Gott, der mich verlacht.

~~ "Du spielst Gott", OOMPH!

Damon's upper lip curled back in a snarl as he turned his head from where he was crouched down to glare up at Wyatt Halliwell: the Twice-Blessed turned thrice-cursed, the Source of All Evil. Ruler of both the magical and mortal worlds, with San Francisco in ruins. „Sie können die Quelle des Bösen sein, aber ich gehöre nicht zu Ihnen. Jetzt gehen Sie zurück."

"Oh, but you do," Wyatt pointed out, stepping close. His hand reached out in a fast almost blurry gesture and grabbed the other's neck in his hand. Eyes turned pitch black, glowing with dark and light orbs as he raised him up in the air. Blocking Damon's orbing ability, first he began to trigger the other's death touch inside of him, beginning to burn him from the tip of his fingers upwards, very painfully slow. "Every little creature belongs to me. I'm King Wyatt. Not the Source." He added, "Du bist meine Schlampe." As he said those words, his lips curled into a smirk, fingers tightening around the other's throat. "And King Wyatt is not just the Source, but Elder of Elders. The leader of Demons. The Slayer of Warlocks. The doom made a person. And quite dramatic if I may say so."

Scheiße. It was all Damon barely had time to think before the Darklighter was being lifted up, choked, beginning to burn with his own death-touch. Hands came up, tried to claw at Wyatt's fingers even as he gasped for breath.

„Bitte, mein Herr Meister," he choked out. „'tschuldigung. Ich—ich bin Ihre Schlampe. Lassen Sie mich los."

"See? It wasn't that hard, was it?" Wyatt countered with a grin, putting him down although he didn't quite stop channeling the death touch of the other. Instead he let it reach his shoulders and then pulled it out like a power thief demon would, letting a dark sphere of red and darkness float. "This is your punishment," he added, ruffling his hair and pecking his cheek. "You'll have to earn it back, cutie pie." Hand patted the other's cheek as he absorbed the power onto him.

"Now, who is going to tell the other Darklighters to respect their Elder?"

Damon's knees were shaking slightly from adrenaline, and it was all he could do not to collapse when Wyatt set him down. He gasped, grimaced in pain seconds later when he felt his power being torn from him, saw it floating above the dark witch's hand in a black-and-red sphere and then be absorbed. He didn't have the energy to answer the Elder's earlier, taunting question.

Resentment flashed briefly in his eyes when Wyatt ruffled his hair, patted his cheek—and then it was gone as he lowered his gaze in submission. „Ich." Gods, this was humiliating—he would never have had to do this for the previous Source—but Damon felt himself leaning into Wyatt's touch before he could stop himself. Let his gaze slowly drift back up Wyatt's body to his face.

He swallowed hard before asking in English, "What else do you want from me?"

Wyatt's hand shook, apporating a list of names and hovered it in front of him. Arm around his shoulders, he let him take in his scent and form as he signaled one name. "Well, Damon since you've been defiant, you're going to be my literal bitch. Call yourself a messenger," He pointed out, ruffling his hair comfortingly, as he knew he had taken a toll on the other.

"These three names are warlocks. This one has the power to boil blood, this other secretes acid through his touch, and the third can create illusions. I want you to kill them," he added, whispering against his ear a simple word, "Ashiel," causing the other's apportation to be triggered and thus, call in for a different crossbow with a glowing arrow, "with these, and bring me the arrow." He added, "Be good, and you'll get back your power. Be better after, and I might use my plan to make that death touch of yours a good on death glare for mortals and lesser beings," he promised.

Damon didn't dare refuse him, so he nodded. „Ja, mein Herr." He took the list, carefully folded it up, and stashed it in his pocket. It wasn't as if he hadn't assassinated warlocks or other demons before; Darklighters were assassins-for-hire, after all. The crossbow with the glowing arrow he apportated back to where he kept his normal crossbow and arrows.

But between Wyatt's hands on his shoulders, ruffling his hair in a gesture of comfort, Wyatt whispering in his ear and standing way too close, the Darklighter's body was beginning to react—and he hated that he couldn't help it. "Now, or later?" He wet his lips with the tip of his tongue, slightly tilted his head back. "Since I am, as you pointed out, your bitch." In more than one sense of the word, but just for clarification he added, "And your whore."

He leaned in to that question, his hand moving slow from the shoulder down to the bottom, holding it. "Now," Wyatt added, his hand glowing like it would under the death touch, and simply marked Damon's ass with his palm, leaving a red shadow and leaving behind a gentle pleasuring tickle. "And fast. The faster you come, the faster you can satisfy that need that has gotten into you, Darklighter."

Turning around, projected them onto his throne room, and sat over the chair, legs spread, watching him. "You have permission to orb inside here. Bring me the arrows. And feel free to collect anything else you want to. I won't care. After all, one of them is a multimillionaire. I suggest you take some gold with you. Oh! OH! Oh! And make it look ritualistic. They're warlocks; the Cleaners won't do much to take it out and I had Libris executed. So."

Damon really should have been expecting it, but it was still a surprise when the Source's—the King's, whatever—hand slid down his body to cup his arse and then brand him. He flinched, reflexively grit his teeth, and tried not to make any sarcastic comments that would land him in any more trouble.

When Wyatt projected them to his throne room and then sat over the chair, watching him, Damon carefully kept his eyes on his face while the Underworld's leader issued his orders. He inclined his head in acknowledgement, then black-orbed out.

As Wyatt had said, the sooner he completed this, the sooner he could return.


German Translations:

Sie können die Quelle des Bösen sein, aber ich gehöre nicht zu Ihnen.: You might be the Source of All Evil, but I don't belong to you.

Jetzt gehen Sie zurück.: Now get back.

Du bist meine Schlampe: You are my slut/whore.

Scheiße: Shit.

Bitte, mein Herr Meister: Please, my Lord (Master).

'tschuldigung (Entschuldigung): Sorry

Ich—ich bin Ihre Schlampe: I—I am your slut.

Lassen Sie mich los: Let me go.

Ja, mein Herr: Yes, my lord.