These copyrighted characters don't belong to me. The First Evil belongs to the writers of BTVS, and Oma Desala belongs to the writers of SG-1.
They met in the dark, in the ineffable spaces, as they always did. Perhaps the meeting was accidental, but neither would have said so: both believed, or professed to believe, in Destiny.
Oma Desala glistened softly, as if to illuminate the dimensional interstice, while the First faced her in the guise of a slight, blond-haired girl. Cocking one hip, the original evil smirked at her.
“You never stop trying, O. D. Just thank your intangible stars I like a drawn-out meal.”
“And if you didn’t?” Oma parried in a contralto like distant bells.
“When I get tired of your meddling, I’ll crush you like a bug. Like that little solar system last year.”
“You cannot stop me, any more than I can harm you. And all the lies and threats you make only show me how effective we are.”
A slight frown marred the First’s pretty face. “You always cheat, but they’ll catch up with you eventually. Someday, your oh-so-pure fellow Ascendeds or maybe that piquant Anubis creature you made will take you out.” Her frown spread into an ugly smile. “And then all that will be left for you is the memory of failure – or perhaps an eternity of watching my progress across the cosmos, unable to do a thing about it.”
Oma’s glow intensified, so it was impossible to tell whether she frowned in return. She spoke in a near whisper. “They haven’t stopped me yet.”
“Not yet,” the First agreed. The form she’d taken vanished with a sudden nova-like flash. A distended pair of lips floated in her place for a single breath, if either had breathed. “But soon.”