Roger stabbed his machete into the ground at the sight of
various vehicles pulling up to the bottom of the mountain. Police cruisers and
SWAT vans, pickup trucks and SUV’s, and finally an eighteen-wheeler parked
sideway in the far back to make plenty of room. What it was making room for,
Roger didn’t know. All he knew is that these people were worthy of his most
venomous scowl with folded arms to boot.
Shawn and Raven on the other hand looked down at the
multi-car scene with a mixture of confusion and relief. Was this some kind of
cavalry or were these people going to be more innocent victims of Roger’s mad
slashing? Arthur didn’t seem too worried about it judging from the grin on his
elderly face and the words, “I told you my new friends would come,” to his
nemesis.
And sure enough they did. Cops got out of their cruisers,
pro-wrestlers wearing their gear got out of their gas-guzzling vehicles, and
heavy metal fans with Demon Axe T-shirts joined their newfound brethren in the
open space between the semi and the other cars. Once they all assembled with
their arms folded and their game faces on, the police captain tested his
bullhorn like a roadie would a microphone: “Check, one, two, check.”
Roger’s look of disdain turned into a mocking grin. He even
pulled his machete out of the ground to drive home his next talking point. “Is
this what you call a cavalry, Arthur? I don’t see toughness from any one of
these bastards! I see a bunch of walking corpses ready to get their heads
chopped off!” Pointing his blade at the crowd below, he barked, “Don’t even
bother drawing your pop guns, because you’ll be dead before you have the chance
to use them!”
“We’re not here to arrest you, Roger Zee, no matter how much
you deserve it,” said the captain through his bullhorn. “We’re not even here to
pick a fight, again, no matter how much you deserve it. We’re all here for one
reason: to see a goddamn heavy metal show. We bought our tickets and we’re
ready to rock and fucking roll. You see these people, Roger? These are all of the
people you’ve pissed off by killing off their friends and family for political
bullshit. Did you think these rasslers were going to forget that you murdered
Johnny Vega and Sonia Marquez? Did you think these men and women in uniform
were going to forget that you turned a respectable police department into a
slaughterhouse? Did you think these metal heads in Demon Axe shirts were going
to forget what you’ve put the Lord of the Pit through? Hell no! And yet, all we
want to do is listen to some goddamn rock and roll! You know, the kind of music
that gets us through our day with our sanity intact.”
The captain turned his head and nodded at the driver of the
semi, who flipped a switch inside the cab and raised the side compartment like
a garage door. Roger’s eyes nearly popped out of his head as he saw what the
truck was delivering: an entire stage of musical equipment. A bass and electric
guitar stood at opposite sides of the stage while a drum kit was nestled in the
back. A microphone stand took center stage sans an actual microphone.
Slowly emerging from behind the curtain were three black
robed monks with their faces hidden by their massive hoods and their ancient
chants haunting the elven landscape. The monks took their positions at the bass
guitar, electric guitar, and drums respectively. They stood there languidly for
a moment while Roger Zee swung his machete around in the air like he was ready
for combat. “More victims? Sure, why not! Thanks for saving me the trouble of
having to find you assholes!”
The three monks growled like animals at Roger’s insult
before removing their hoods to reveal their masked faces. Just like any member
of Daniel Mercer’s band, their masks sent chills up the spines of anyone who
dared mess with them. One by one they revealed themselves to their audience,
machete-wielding and otherwise.
The tiger-masked drummer said in an Arabian accent, “I am
Tiger Man. I was once part of a metal band called I Am Death before you took
our guitarist away from us, Roger. He was a brother to us. He represented
everything that was right with both our religion and our music. You stole him
from us, you sadistic piece of shit!”
The skull-masked bass player, also using an Arabian accent,
pointed his elongated finger at Roger and said, “I am Bone Warrior. I too was a
member of I Am Death. Everything Tiger Man just said is Allah’s honest truth,
right down to the moment where he called you a sadistic piece of shit. I have a
whole list of disgusting insults I’d like to use right now to describe you, Roger,
but instead I’d rather play the bass and get this show on the road.”
And then there was the zombie-masked guitarist with demon
horns and a Santa hat who said, “I am Snowball. I am the last surviving member
of the LGBT metal band Juice. Roger, there’s nothing I’d love more than to wrap
these guitar strings around your neck and take every last ounce of oxygen from
that pathetic body of yours. But that’s not what guitar strings are for.
They’re for playing badass music with badass people. Daniel, get your butt down
here so that we can get this show started!”
Roger mockingly chuckled at Snowball and said, “I’m sorry,
did you say you wanted Daniel to get his butt down there? I’m afraid he can’t
do that right now. Let’s just say I did to him what you LGBT motherfuckers do
to men’s asses on a daily basis. Besides, he can’t sing to you right now
because his ribs look like a fucking jigsaw puzzle. Look at him! He’s
easily-triggered! He’s pathetic! He’s a snowflake, Snowball!”
Slowly stirring from his traumatized state, Daniel pulled
his shorts up, spit out blood on the side of the mountain, and clutched his
broken ribs while making it to his feet. He stared fire and poison through
Roger’s goofy gaze before snatching his rightfully owned microphone out of the
zealot’s hands. Daniel leaned his face close to Roger’s and said, “I’m not your
victim anymore!”
With mind-blowing pain in every step, the Lord of the Pit
dragged his feet down the side of the Holy Mountains
Feigning concern with more goofy facial expressions, Roger
said, “Oh, look at you, Daniel. Are you having a little bit of trouble getting
down the mountain? Here, let me give you a boost!” The elf zealot planted the
toe of his steel boot into Daniel’s butt cheek and sent him rolling down to the
bottom of the mountain in a crumpled heap.
“You fucking bastard!” Shawn bellowed. “I ought to blow your
face off right fucking now!” The detective raised his shotgun with his trigger
finger itching for some blood.
Raven lowered the barrel while screaming, “No, don’t! You’ve
seen what Roger can do with that blade! This is not the way we’re ending this!”
“He killed my wife and daughter! He deserves to have his
head blown the fuck right off!” shouted Shawn.
“Listen to reason, Detective Henry,” said the police captain
through his bullhorn. “You’re one of the best cops we have on the force. Don’t
throw away everything you’ve worked for. Come on down here and mosh with us.
It’s a rock concert, damn it!”
Shawn gazed at his police brethren and back at Roger while
contemplating the voice of reason’s talking points. As much as he wanted to
blow the terrorist’s head off with a well-placed shotgun shell, his wisdom
dictated that getting murdered himself wouldn’t do a damn thing for his family.
He stood there for a while with fists clenched and his trigger finger pulsating
with rage. He finally dropped his shotgun and allowed Raven and Arthur to take
him by the hands down the side of the mountain.
“You made the right call, Shawn,” said Roger. “Not that it
really matters since I’m going to turn this so-called concert into a
battlefield of dead bodies, not unlike the one I left behind back at the elven
city.”
The threesome ignored Roger’s immature insults and knelt
down to help Daniel to his feet. The Lord of the Pit groaned and whined as he
struggled with his equilibrium. His ribs felt like he just ate a Halloween
apple full of razorblades and spikes, yet he brushed his friends away and said,
“It’s okay, guys. I got this. Trust me.”
Shawn, Raven, and Arthur joined the mosh pit congregation
while trusting Daniel to gingerly make his way to one of SWAT team members. He
spit out more blood and said, “Give me a goddamn flak vest. Now!”
“A flak vest? You really think that’s going to help you get
through an entire set? I’d say you’re delusional, but you probably already know
that from being an easily-triggered snowflake,” laughed Roger.
Daniel no-sold the insult as he strapped the flak vest
around his ribs and limped his way to the makeshift stage. Snowball and Bone
Warrior reached down and gently pulled Daniel up to his microphone stand, where
he placed the axe-decorated piece of equipment into its rightful slot. Roger
clapped like a little child and mockingly cheered Daniel as he made it to the
stage.
“Keep clapping, buddy!” said Snowball. “But before you think
you’ve won anything, check this shit out!” The demonic Christmas enthusiast
picked up his guitar and flipped it around to reveal it had the same magical
runes as Daniel’s microphone. Roger’s eyes bulged out of their sockets in
horror as Bone Warrior revealed the same thing with his bass guitar and Tiger
Man did so with his drum sticks.
“No…No…NO!” shouted Roger as he clutched his head in while
rocking up and down.
“in the same way that Daniel’s microphone carries the lost
souls of Pig Man, Vulture Man, and G-Pac,” explained Arthur, “These newly christened
members of Demon Axe had their instruments imbued as well. The game is up,
Roger. It’s over!”
After whining angrily through gritted teeth, Roger pulled
his machete out of the ground and roared, “Nothing is over until I say it’s
over! My reign as king will last forever and you sons of bitches are fucking
dead! Do you hear me?! DEAD!” The zealot charged down the hill twirling his
blade ready for yet another terrorist massacre.
Without regard for his battered ribs, Daniel screamed into
the microphone, “One, two, three, four!” Just when Roger had entered the mosh
pit and he was ready to bring his blade down on his first victim, he was sent
flying backwards by the sound waves of “Fucking Hostile” by Pantera.
For the first time in a long time, everyone appeared to be
having a good time. They didn’t have to worry about death and politics like a
constant case of anxiety. They didn’t have to listen to their traumatic voices
tell them what to do. They didn’t even have to pay their overdue bills until it
was all over. It was just a mosh pit full of angry motherfuckers shoving each
other and getting down to the classic Pantera sound as presented by Demon Axe.
Even Raven, Shawn, and Arthur got in on the aggressive fun, bouncing off
everybody in sight and getting tossed around like sacks of potatoes themselves.
The sound waves continued to assault Roger’s mind while his
traumatic ghosts haunted him with the loudest voices. Every innocent he has
ever killed, every living being who despised him in the present, they all gave
this scumbag terrorist the brain fuck of the century. Roger clutched his ears
and pounded his head against the ground until he couldn’t take it anymore. By
the time “Fucking Hostile” came to a close, his head exploded like a hand
grenade and got pieces of brain and skull all over the audience. This wasn’t
traumatic violence. This was putting the death in death metal.
The audience roared like lions in a cage and chanted Demon
Axe’s name, giving the performers onstage a reason to bow. Daniel, on the other
hand, bowed for a much different reason. Even with the flak vest stabilizing
his ribs, he clutched his chest and fell to the ground unconscious. His
newfound band mates rushed to his aide while Raven fought her way through the
crowd to try to do the same. “Daniel, no! Don’t die on me!” she shouted.
No matter how loud the screams were or how energetic the
noise was, Daniel wouldn’t wake up from his final nightmare. He was carried
offstage like a baby in Snowball’s arms while Tiger Man and Bone Warrior hung
their heads following him. Raven tried to climb the stage, but the crowd swept
her away and all she could do was allow tears to rain down her face like a
thunderstorm of emotions. Was this the end of the elven kingdom? Had Roger Zee
taken an entire world to the grave with him? Was it all too late? Worse, was it
all for nothing?
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