AN: Oh no… oh god no. Why is this happening? Why are my fingers typing this? What have you done, Kasumychan and Karitasa?

WARNING: What may very well be the first-ever (and I hope only) Controlchior fanfic is beyond this point.

Disclaimer: I accept zero responsibility for mental scarring inflicted by this story. Also, I don't own anything you see here. Thank god.

Books and Television

Malchior of Nall waited. He had become exceedingly good at it, over the course of a millenium.

It had been a relative blink of an eye since the witch had given him a taste of freedom and then wrenched it away once more. Oh, how he hated her for that. Far kinder would have been to destroy the book and put free him from this eternal ennui. She knew the spell that would scour the tome from existence; he had taught it to her, and she had practiced on a small rock. The universe did not take kindly to the utter destruction of matter, but a book weighing a paltry few pounds would have no major backlash.

She had no reason not to grant his wish apart from her twisted sense of morality. The poor, deluded child seemed to believe she could live a righteous life in spite of her heritage, but Malchior knew the bitter truth.

There was no heaven awaiting demons or dragons.

The little trollop deigned to visit him from time to time; perhaps she thought her intrusions a reprieve. Their sole achievement in Malchior's reckoning, though, was to punctuate and prolong an otherwise bearable silence.

She was due for another appearance soon. The dragon fumed at the realization that however much he loathed the little witch, he still anticipated her arrival. He looked forward to the day with smoldering embers of hatred awaiting a fresh breath of air to ignite them… but nonetheless, he looked forward to it.

It only enraged him further, and his hatred for Trigon's daughter grew ever stronger.

Hence, it was with some surprise that he found an unfamiliar face staring into his leather-bound prison. A chubby, pimply face, whose owner squealed and sent the book soaring into the air.

Summoning a bit of magic, Malchior appeared in his standard paper body. "You are most certainly not the person I've become unfortunately accustomed to seeing. Who might you be?"

The boy— and boy he was, cowering near the doorway— stiffened, puffed out his chest, and announced in a voice that cracked and squeaked, "I am the greatest adversary the Teen Titans have ever faced— Control Freak!"

Only Malchior's utter shock kept him from laughing outright at the statement. It wouldn't do to offend this strange child yet; he might prove himself useful… however doubtful that prospect might be. "I… see," he said, attempting to keep the mirth from his voice. "And I am Malchior of Nall, wrongfully imprisoned by the wizard Rorek, and of late, by the demonspawn who calls herself Raven."

"Ouch. Totally get where you're coming from," the brown-clad figure said, leaning an arm up against a pair of comedy and tragedy masks. Predictably, they tumbled from their pedestal to shatter on the floor. "Oh crap," he muttered, eyes wide. "She's gonna kill me. I'm so dead when Raven comes back and finds these here. I hope the Titans stay in the Amazon long enough for me to skip town…"

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about the little witch," Malchior soothed, bringing his magic to bear on the fragments. The pieces melded together, leaving the masks in pristine condition once more. He savored the look of awe on Control Freak's face… and then smashed the priceless antiques into the wall. "If you can find a way to free me from my enchanted prison, I shall be delighted to take care of her for you. Do you know any magic, boy?"

"Psh, of course!" the youth exclaimed. "I'm a level 75 warlock with every epic mount and armor piece except for the Tanathargian Hydra, which everybody knows is total B.S. because there's only one in existence and it got snapped up by the lead developer's buddy within three minutes of spawning."

Malchior had lived for millennia. His knowledge of magic was encyclopedic, his grasp of history far beyond the ken of any mortal. And he was completely lost. "Level seventy-five? Tanathargian? What on earth are you…" He let out a growl as his patience waned, and stepped toward the acne-scarred teenager. "Hold still."

What followed could best be described as the magical equivalent of sucking someone's thoughts through a straw, rinsing, gargling, and spitting them back into the person's head. It was an unpleasant experience for both of them, but it was mercifully quick.

"You have no knowledge of magic," Malchior muttered, the words bitter in his mouth. "And yet…" He tilted his head, considering the information he had received. "You have some power that you believe could be of use. Explain."

Control Freak's eyes rolled about his head wildly as he gasped for air. Reaching in his pocket, he pulled out a small blue apparatus, placed it in his mouth, and inhaled deeply. After a moment, his breathing returned to normal. "I have a remote control that can do crazy things," he said.

Remote control. The word was familiar, at least in some context; the demon child had complained of her two male friends arguing over the possession of such a device. "And with this, you believe you can free me?"

"Yup," the boy said, that awful bravado once again settling into his skin. "I can do anything with my remote… but the question is, what's in it for me?"

A wicked smirk came over Malchior's paper features. He had gleaned enough knowledge from his earlier trick to play this boy like a rotund little cello. He slid a finger along the teenager's cheek. "Oh, there's more in it for you than you can imagine, dear boy. I've been trapped in this book for so very, very long. No companionship… and a near-infinite library of books to read, including several hundred tomes dedicated to the pursuit of physical pleasure."

Control Freak stiffened. "Hey, I'm not like that. I like girls—"

"Oh, come now, there's no need to pretend. We both know that's only half the story. You've been pining for the green one, though you disguise it as hero worship."

"He played Ensign Tork on Space Trek! That show changed my life! But that doesn't mean I'm—"

"No, no, of course not. Whatever you say, child." A moment later, Malchior's features had taken on a more elfin cast. "I should let you know, though… A simple change of form is all too easy. Anyone you want…" He shifted again, this time into a handsome Atlantean hero. "Yours. Think about it."

Control Freak swallowed hard, a sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead and dripping off of the many pustules. After a moment of consideration, he nodded. "Okay, you got me." A hand went inside his coat and produced a strange device.

Malchior smiled. "And you, me."

Sorry, so sorry. Also, I think I just accidentally explained how Malchior showed up in Homecoming Part 2/Titans Together. Also also, the cover picture you see is from Kasumychan. Check out her art!