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The stench of death was revolting. It clung to everything like a sickly sweet blanket. The survivors of the Depths had only been able to find solace in each other, and locked themselves in a tangle of trembling limbs. Toki dug half-moons into her arms and buried his face in the crook of her neck. Abigail planted her chin atop his head and balled up the back of his tattered shirt. Once she finally understood that she'd been saved, all of the fight left her body - the producer had fallen into a deep and dreamless sleep. Her friend had no such luck. His eyes were glazed over like a frosted mirror, seeing everything and nothing all at once. A sluggish trail of drool crept out from his cracked lips.
Skwisgaar flattened back against his seat like a frightened cat - nose wrinkled, teeth bared in a snarl as he watched maggots burrow into his friend's infected wounds. Murderface plunged a knife into his own seat and watched the stuffing gush out like foam guts.
''...he'sch like a zombie.''
''Ja, it ams just like that times when hims father gets the big K.''
That comparison put neither of their minds at ease. Murderface stomped over to his catatonic friend and shook his shoulder. Toki moaned (good god he really was like a zombie falling apart at the seams) and that was all.
''Hey! Toki! We schaved your ass! Wake the fuck up!''
You can go back to being normal!
''...just stops, Moidaface. You know he amn't's hearings you like this.''
The bass player's face twisted with hot fury. His face had gone red like a tomato. If this was a cartoon, steam would billow out from his ears.
''No! Toki, wake the fuck up! We schaved you! It's all good! That dirty piece of schit isn't gonna hurt you anymore! We're gonna...''
''...kill that fucking bastard!''
''NO! NATE!''
Pickles was always a step behind. The frontman of Dethklok, the one meant to guide them and protect them, had already disappeared into the darkness. The drummer stumbled over a piece of scrap metal and slammed into the ground, erasing the skin from both elbows as he skidded across the coarse gravel. Nathan didn't stop, hadn't even looked back to see if he was alright - no, he just kept running back into the hell they'd just escaped from. How do you even reason with that?
''NATE! COME BACK HERE! HE'S DEAD!''
That gave him pause. Nathan whirled around and growled at him, frothing at the mouth like a rabid dog.
''HOW DO YOU KNOW?!''
''I JUST KNOW , OKEY?! THE BAND NEEDS YOU RIGHT NOW! I NEED---''
A howl straight from hell shut him up. The look of desperate hope in his friend's eyes made his blood run cold, and he scrambled to beat him there.
''What ams you doings now, you dildo? Why amn't's you just lets the sleepings dog lies?''
Skwisgaar had already weighed his options and decided the best course of action was to do nothing at all. Everybody knew Toki's final line of defense against stress was to shut down - and he always came back. Always . So, he wasn't concerned, and would have bitten off anybody's head for suggesting as much. They just needed to pump Toki full of drugs, patch his wounds up, and let him return to reality... right?
Right?
Murderface dug a lighter out from his pocket and flicked it on.
''Schut up. I heard even if a guy'sch all zombiefied like thisch, he'll move if you put a fire in front of his eyesch.''
''...no shits? That amn't's a bad idea. Lets me does it, though.''
Skwisgaar crossed his arms and regarded Murderface with a cold and collected gaze. He didn't trust the bass player not to burn Toki's eyelid off by mistake or something, not even in the slightest... but, it really wasn't a bad idea. Getting their rhythm guitarist up and running was vital to their continued success as the best death metal band in the world. That, he told himself was the only reason he'd even consider trying something this stupid. The desperate need to see his friend back to the land of the living had never been a part of the equation.
''Yeah, schure... hey, come on, Toki. Move.''
Murderface nudged his friend. Nothing. He grabbed Toki's shoulder and pried him off of Abigail. The guitarist's face crumpled like a piece of tissue paper and his entire body shook with ugly sobs.
Shit.
Magnus Hammersmith was dead before he hit the ground. The skin that clung to his gaunt frame was still warm. His mouth hung open in a silent scream and his eyes had begun to fill up with rain. Nathan crouched over him, lips pressed into a wire-thin line beneath dark eyes, and watched fresh blood spurt from an open wound in the center of his chest.
''...We gotta go.''
''Fuck this.''
Nathan, who could no longer offer forgiveness nor take revenge, had never felt so lost. The singer's lips kissed his teeth in a wild snarl. His nails drew shallow beads of blood from his palms. Every muscle in his body clenched with directionless rage. He brought his boot down hard on the chest of the man he'd once called a friend - no, not just a friend but a mentor, a man who set him up among the stars - and screamed into the black sky. Bones snapped in half and folded like dead branches under his foot.
''FUCK THIS.''
He stormed off, cleared the gravel lot in long strides, and disappeared into their getaway truck. Pickles cupped his bloody elbows, spat on the dead man's face, and ran after his friend.
Excerpt from a message delivered to Mordhaus in 20XX, roughly translated from Norwegian:
My dear son,
I pray this letter finds you happy and healthy. Forgive me for my delay in writing to you; I have deliberated upon what to say for many days and many nights. Know that every word has been chosen with care.
You were given a test from God, and while you have escaped with your life, I pray the lesson is not lost on you - lest your struggles be in vain. Hiding away in your den of filth will only hasten your descent into hell; as you have seen first-hand, this sort of lifestyle puts your life on the line. Give this up and come home to me, so that when it is your time, your father may welcome you at the gates of Heaven with open arms, and you may truthfully say that you have strived to redeem yourself.
Anja O. Wartooth
''...and they all lived happily ever after. The end.''
Nathan put the book down. It was yet another in a haphazard stack of bedtime stories he'd read to his friend. Winnie-the-Pooh, Peter and Wendy, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland... you get the idea. Toki hadn't spoken once since his rescue. He slammed his fists against the bedside railing when he needed something, laughed with childish glee when he got it, and whimpered under the blankets when he needed to be alone. That was the extent of their communications. Nathan often wondered if Toki would ever be able to speak again, but he never voiced those concerns with the rest of the band - it was his job to be strong, to boldly declare that everything would be okay and to make it so.
''See you later, Toki.''
Nathan took off his reading glasses and stifled a sigh of relief as the world shifted back into a comfortable blur of shapes. It's better this way, he thought. No sense in seeing the shape of his friend's ribs beneath his bruised skin, or all of the colorful wires sticking out from his body like candy strings, or the way he shivered even when Nathan cranked the heat all the way up.
''...Nathan.''
He paused at the door to his friend's hospital room and looked back, unable to stifle the hope that rose in his throat.
''Yeah?''
Tears pricked at Toki's eyes. His gaze was fixated on a spot just above Nathan's shoulder, not looking at him but behind him.
''I talks with Magnus last night.''
''He's dead.''
''I sees him. I talks to him. Whats of that does you thinks?''
''Fuck... Okay, fine. What did he say?''
Toki's smile didn't reach his eyes. He dug into the scabbed-over skin of his neck without a care in the world. Fresh blood oozed between his fingers. Shit, how long has he been doing this? Nathan cursed himself for not seeing it sooner, for refusing to even look at Toki - why? Fear? Disgust? Guilt? All of that and more. He rushed over and pried the Norwegian's hands away from his neck.
''What the fuck did he say to you, Toki?''
''He says he wants you dead.''
''We need you, dood! You got no fuckin' idea. Dis kid just ain't right.''
''Ja, he amn't's knows how to play the guitars no more.''
''We can't do anything! He juscht freaksch out if we even raische our voicesch! It'sch like we're in fuckin' prischon!''
''...he keeps saying really fucked up shit.''
Charles took a deep breath, composed himself, and let the frustration slide off his shoulders like water. They all cared for Toki even if none of them would admit it, that much was clear, but they had no idea how to care for their spiraling brother. The crunchy video quality made his monotone voice sound even more robotic.
''I've got his first therapy session booked for this Friday. Until then, I want you guys to talk with Toki. Ask him what's going on, and let him know that you're here to help. Can you do that for me?''
Before any of them could object to such a sentimental proposal and beg Charles to do their dirty work, the sounds of shattered glass and screaming put a stop to it all.
''Gotta go.''
Nathan cut the feed, and Charles was left wondering if he'd made the right decision.
Toki had been released from the hospital under a list of restrictions so long you could write a fucking book about them. Every wound on his body was bound with thick gauze and his nails had been filed down into blunt crescents. A team of Klokateers watched him from a live feed, ready to spring into action if there was even a question of trouble. And, worst of all, Twinkletits had taken it upon himself to make his room safer. All of his knives were gone, and so was the flamethrower, and his beloved spiked bat. No more ropes and chains, either. You can have them back when you're feeling better, he said. Toki felt like he was trapped in a prison for crazy people.
''...hey, Toki.''
That was Murderface. A thick strand of drool stretched from his open mouth to his thumb. He burrowed deeper into the blankets like a bear preparing for winter.
''Goes away.''
''We gotta talk.''
''Don't wanna.''
''Too bad.''
Rage flared in his brain like an explosion of poisonous gas. Too bad? Didn't anybody care about what he wanted? Couldn't he go one fucking day without being poked and prodded? He flung an empty protein shake bottle at the bass player's head.
''HEY! Don't fucking throw schit at people'sch headsch!''
''Gets the fucks out my rooms! Goes away! Fucks off!''
''No!''
Murderface charged at him like a bull that saw red. Bitter protests died on Toki's lips when the bass player grabbed his wrists and pinned him down. His veins flooded with ice. Words failed him.
''You and me. Rock talk.''
''...lets me go, please.''
He did. Toki rubbed at his eyes and sniffled. His friend pretended not to notice.
We all need something to keep us sane. As much as they'd love to say otherwise, Dethklok was no different from the regular jackoffs on this point. Nathan found solace in the bottom of chip bags. Pickles greeted the bottle like an old friend. Skwisgaar didn't go anywhere without his guitar. Toki clung to his stuffed bear like a life raft.
...unfortunately for William Murderface, knives were strictly forbidden around Toki Wartooth until further notice. He picked at the skin around his nails and sighed - so full of fire when he arrived, now ice cold and hiding from the mess he'd gotten himself into.
''What ams you want to says to me, William?''
''Hey.''
A radioactive green thunderstorm raged in his eyes. He wrenched the words out like they hurt to say.
''I'm only gonna schay this one time, okay? So fuckin' lischten and learn... Alscho, if you blab about thisch to anybody elsche, I'm gonna kill myschelf and then you. Okay?''
''...okay.''
''...me and Magnusch had a thing, right, and I don't wanna hear a fuckin' word about how I'm gay. It schucked and I only go for hot sluts now. What the fuck am I tryin' to schay here... oh, yeah. It fucking schucked assch. Scho don't even bother thinkin' about that crazy piece of schit, okay? I don't and I'm fine.''
And if I'm fine, then you can be fine, too.
Toki's mind was buried in a thick cloud of fog. Anything he wanted to say dissolved before he could even begin to process the words. So, he just smiled and laid his head on the bass player's shoulder, who crossed his arms and grumbled, but made no real move to stop him.
For the first time since his rescue, Toki lived in peace. He watched the model planes suspended above his bed catch the moonlight and squeezed his Deady Bear, sick with a smile he'd caught from his favorite bass player.
A cold hand closed around his ankle.
''...you's dead, Magnus. You dies. You amn't's supposed to be here no mores.''
The space under his blankets swelled. Magnus shoved his knee between the Norwegian's legs and flashed him a hungry smile. Butterfly. I ams like the butterfly what gets pinned behind the glass. A fit of hysterical giggles made his eyes water. Maggots tumbled out of the dead man's empty sockets and onto Toki's bare chest. Everybody swore up and down that Magnus wasn't real, and that hadn't done jack shit for him, but William had approached it with a far more appealing prospect - So what if it's real? Tell him to fuck off. Don't let him fuck with you.
''...hey, that's no way to greet your old buddy. Come on.''
The predator squished his bloated stomach against his prey's. He absolutely reeked of wet soil from the unmarked grave he'd undoubtedly clawed his way out from.
''Just fucks off, Magnus. I amn't's cares what you gots to say no mores.''
''Look at me.''
Magnus pinched Toki's chin between his thumb and index finger - his nails were gone and the beds were a mess of bloody shredded meat - and made him look.
''I get it. I really do. You think I'm the douchebag here - but, hey. I spent a fucking decade planning my revenge and fucking died for it. That's a load of bullshit.''
''You deserves it.''
Magnus carried on like he hadn't even heard Toki.
''You're gonna help me.''
''No.''
''No? I didn't fucking ask.''
''What if I says no? What of thats does you thinks?''
''I'll slit little Willy's throat.''
That wiped the shit-eating grin off Toki's face. His confidence melted away. The silence between them grew pregnant with doubt. Would he? Could he?
''You can't does shit to hims, or to me. You ams just a figskment of mines imaginaskons.''
''Wanna bet?''
Magnus let go of Toki, rose the knife high, and drove it deep into the guitarist's chest.
(no no NO HE'S REAL O GOD HE'S REAL NOOOO-)
Toki's eyes bulged out of their sockets. He thrashed around like a headless chicken. His entire body was on fire. Magnus dragged the knife down until it reached his navel, yanked it out so hard that his body momentarily rose off the bed like a man possessed, and plunged his fingers into the gaping wound.
''I AMS SORRIES! SO SORRIES! FORGIVES ME!''
Harsh laughter spilled from his lips as he tore flaps of skin away from Toki's body.
''Way too late for that.''
''What does you WANTS? I gives it to you! Anything!''
''I want you.''
''...me???''
The face of his tormentor shifted in and out of focus. His exposed rabbit-heart pounded against the inside of his ribcage.
''I wanna see with your eyes, and taste with your mouth... and kill with your hands.''
His bony fingers sunk into Toki's guts. Blood sprayed them both as he chomped down on a fistful of intestines. Toki's eyes rolled into the back of his head. His legs spasmed into empty space. He smacked Magnus and the guitarist's teeth (sharp, had they always been that sharp?) gnashed against him, crunched down on bone, ripped off chunks of skin and swallowed them whole. Toki understood that Magnus really meant to eat him until nothing remained, and he screamed.
''Sire, are you sure that you wish to watch this? It could be disturbing.''
''...schut up. You work for me, right? Let me schee.''
Murderface squinted at the camera. It was black and white and so grainy he could barely make out the sleeping figure of his best friend, like the scene of a cheap and cheesy paranormal flick.
''Thisch camera isch schitty. Buy a better one.''
''Yes.''
From what he could tell, his friend was fast asleep - comfortable and safe. He almost felt confident in calling it quits for the night, but a bitchy little voice at the back of his mind convinced him to stick around, and he was glad he did. Toki frowned and began to thrash around, mouth opening and closing in a string of silent screams. Murderface's feet carried him there before he could even think about it. He grabbed Toki by the shoulders and screamed in his face.
''Toki! TOKI! Fuckin' beat his assch! He ain't real!''
Toki was going to die. He'd long since accepted it. His own intestines were spread out around him, bloody and riddled with bite marks like the world's most fucked up charcuterie board.
''...Magnus. I wants... I wants...''
His murderer leaned in, the front of his bare chest streaked with blood, and held Toki's head up by the hair.
''Chin up, buddy. I'm almost done.''
Tears burned in his eyes. He choked on his own blood.
''...I wants... to eat my sugarsfree pudding... and buys dumb shits on the intranets... and climbs a tall hill and feels the wind in mine hairs... I wants to love and be loved... I wants to live.''
He sunk his teeth into the dead man's throat, ripped it out, and fell into the arms of William Murderface, where he sobbed until he could sob no more. Magnus never came to visit him again.