Thor and Gore

The kiwi-sized pustules on his arms, the surgical staples in his face, the gray discoloration of his skin, and the snot-colored slime in his hair, they did no favors in making Thor exit his house that evening. Only the raw and intense voice of Kyle Houston and his metal band Resistance could serve as his gravity towards public life. Dressed in little more than a Pantera T-shirt and black jorts, Thor ventured into the arena and kept track of the nasty facial expressions he was getting from people walking past him.

These people were on the verge of vomiting themselves inside out. They shivered as though they swam in the Arctic Ocean. They spit out their beer and coughed like drama queens in a viral ward. Few of these patrons spoke to Thor, but when they did, it was in hushed tones about how “fucking ugly” and “goddamn sickening” he looked. Even ears that have been treated to grinding heavy metal music for god knows how long could pick up on these intense whispers. A stream of green slime rolled down Thor’s eyeball and splashed onto the pavement below.

The giant zombie swore he wouldn’t get into trouble that evening. He imagined the scenarios with law enforcement playing through his head like a depressing movie. He could toss and chomp on as many cops as they want, but even he was no match for bullets and tasers. Thor was a human zit ready to explode. When he passed into mosh pit, his rage was ready to explode when somebody from the upper deck poured beer on his head and laughed with his friends. He thought maybe coming to this Resistance concert was a bad idea. Maybe life would be better in his house underneath the sewers. The rats wouldn’t judge him. The bums would be in even less condition to judge. But these fucking metal heads who thought they were badasses…ugh…

As Thor lumbered through the crowd, he earned more disgusted looks and varsity jock laughter from everyone around him. He breathed heavily in and out to calm his nerves, but all that did was get some slimy saliva on those who worked so hard to back away. “Fuck it,” he thought to himself. “I just want to listen to some goddamn music.” Ask and ye shall receive. The minute he shimmied towards the center of the pit, the lights went out and the crowd went ape shit for their favorite metal band. Thor cheered and roared along with them, not giving a damn about the red saliva dripping from his stapled lip.

The neon orange stage lights shone down upon the crowd and they cheered even louder than before. The guitarists (rhythm and lead), bassist, and drummer appeared onstage wearing Guy Fawkes masks and black hooded robes, true to their band name. The crowd and Thor along with them nearly had a verbal orgasm when the lead singer Kyle Houston approached the microphone wearing camouflage khakis, black combat boots, a backwards ball cap, and a sadistic grin. “What the fuck is up, Paulson City?!” he shouted into the microphone, which earned him a huge pop from the crowd.

The drummer tapped the high hat three times in succession and then the adrenaline-pumped music boomed throughout the arena. The crowd bumped and shoved each other with such intensity that they resembled dominos when they fell. Three hundred pound bouncers in black T-shirts swarmed in on the scene to eject troublemakers by way of full nelson. Kyle Houston’s dirty vocals were indecipherable through the shitty speakers, but Thor secretly never cared as long as the music was good.

The guitars continued to grind, the double bass continued to pump, and Kyle’s vocals sounded like a horror movie monster was ready to devour its victims alive. Speaking of horror movie monsters, as the mosh pit intensified, Thor found himself being shoved around and knocked to the floor a few times. When the music got louder, Thor began feeling elbows, fists, and feet against his already explosive skin. He bled like a fire hydrant and the bouncers did nothing to stop these rowdy patrons. “I won’t get into trouble,” Thor said to himself. “I won’t get into trouble….I won’t get into trouble…” As soon as a sharp elbow connected with his cheekbone, he yelled, “Fuck it!” and moshed right back.

Except Thor’s version of moshing was much more destructive than an elbow to the face and more violent than a kick to the patella. These people had one chance to behave themselves. They had one chance to accept Thor for who he was. They had one chance to keep Thor from feeling lonely in a world that type-casted the ugly as villains. They blew it. They blew it big time. Thor never held back. He took big bites out of patrons’ arms and painted the floors with blood. He grabbed them by the neck and tossed them around like small children. He head butted one three hundred pounder and sliced himself open worse than he did his victim. Thor even stuck his muscular arms out and spun around in circles, clotheslining anybody who came in contact with him. For his reward, Thor was treated to faster, heavier, and louder music from the fine young men of Resistance.

Before the mosh pit could resemble a bombed slaughterhouse, the chubby bouncers finally decided enough was enough and swarmed in on Thor. They grabbed him by his bloody arms and legs and held on like boa constrictors. But the harder they pulled, the harder Thor pulled as well. He sent them rolling around on the floor like three hundred pound bowling balls. The heavy metal zombie even took a bite out of a bouncer’s shoulder, causing the would-be tough guy’s girlish screams to echo louder than Kyle Houston’s monstrous growls.

Playtime was over for these pieces of heavy machinery in black T-shirts. They punched, kicked, and elbowed Thor in every part of his body imaginable. One guy even went for a groin kick and doubled the zombie giant over. The bouncers continued to beat the shit out of this giant and spread his pus-infused blood all over the dance floor. Whatever was left of the crowd cheered on like wild animals as the bouncers grabbed a physically and emotionally wounded Thor by the ankles and dragged him toward the exit.

“I said I wouldn’t get in trouble tonight,” Thor thought to himself. “I said I’d be a good boy…What happened to me?...Where are these men taking me?” Slimy tears poured from the zombie’s eyes like a schnoz suffering from an allergic cold. The laughter and cheering from the heartless crowd pumped even more viscous fluids from his eyeballs. And then the music stopped and Kyle Houston shook his head in disgust.

“Let him go!” he shouted into the microphone. Everyone in the room, including the bouncers, went quiet and doe-eyed at this strange request. “Are you fucking retarded? I said let the poor guy go! Do it! I have no interest in pressing charges!” As ordered, the bouncers reluctantly let go of Thor’s ankles and slowly backed away with their hands defensively in the air.

Kyle scratched his head in mock confusion and asked the crowd, “What in the hell is wrong with you people? You think I didn’t see how you guys treated this poor son of a bitch the minute he came in here? If you guys pulled that shit with me, I’d want to cannibalize your sorry asses too!” The crowd booed lightly, but were quickly silenced with a grating, “Shut up!” from the lead singer of Resistance.

“So this is what humanity has come to, huh?” asked Kyle while pointing an accusatory hand at his patrons. “This is how we treat people who are different from us? I’ve always thought the whole reason for heavy metal was to escape that bullying bullshit. I know that’s why I got into it. Yeah, the guy’s got some…not so desirable features, but then again, I’d rather rock out with a slime-covered motherfucker than a bunch of close-minded dip-shits like you anyways. And just so you fuckers know, I had a cleft lip when I was a kid. I had to have surgery to fix it and the hospital bill nearly wiped out my family’s savings. My dad walked away shortly after. So when I see even the least attractive looking guy being treated like this, I take it fucking personally.”

Tears and snot slithered down Thor’s face as he slowly stood back up on his feet, no worse for wear. The blood and slime on his body was all in a day’s work. Kyle asked him what his name was and he answered with a monstrous growl, “I am Thor!”

“Nice to meet you, Thor. If I got beaten up as badly as you, I’d be Thor too!” joked Kyle, which got a modicum of laughter from the neutered crowd. “I’m just kidding, man. Come up here to the stage, buddy. I’ve got something for you.” The zombie trudged across the goop-covered floor and gazed into his heavy metal hero’s eyes like a typical fan boy.

Kyle placed a hand on his shoulder with no regard for the hygienic hazard before him. He said, “You did a sweet job defending yourself against these morons over here. It took a whole gang of fat asses to bring you down. I’ll bet you not even one of these bastards could do the shit you did tonight. That’s because they can’t walk in your big ass shoes, my friend. I’ve got a job offer for you. I’ll pay you a five-figure salary to travel all over the world with me as my bodyguard. Are you in or are you in?”

Even more sludge poured from Thor’s eyes as his stapled lips formed the biggest shit-eating grin imaginable, revealing his buttery yellow teeth and serpentine tongue. “Anything is better than living in the sewers!” which was Thor’s way of saying not only yes, but fuck yes.

“Nobody should have to live in the sewers no matter what the hell they look like. Congratulations, you’ve got the job! Now get your big ass onstage and shake my hand!” grinned Kyle. Thor launched himself onstage with one step and hugged his new employer rather than shaking his hand, getting slime all over Kyle and acquiring a lot of awkward looks from bouncers and moshers alike. “Grow the fuck up, people, it’s nothing a long shower can’t fix.” As soon as the sloppy embrace ended, Kyle said, “Your first day on the job starts right now, buddy. Help me and my band get the fuck out of this dumpy arena. And by the way, your first hour on duty is also your lunch break if you know what I mean.”

Thor drooled with delight and whispered, “I know exactly what you mean.” One guy in the crowd shit his pants so badly that he became just as disgusting in appearance as Thor.

Demon Axe, Chapter 11

One month of peace and quiet was all it took. Not one terrorist attack from Roger Zee took place in Paulson City, yet there were no media reports about his capture. Was he simply biding his time until his next wave of assaults? Did he actually get captured but nobody’s talking about it? Did his master plan hit a snag along the way? Everybody was feeling the anxiety of not knowing where the next attack would come from. Surely there had been concerts and events during this time. Why not attack those?

Every time Daniel Mercer felt the anxiety, he remembered the EMDR technique that Raven Triscloud taught him. But every time he used it, he couldn’t help but think of how bitter their dissolved friendship had become. A month of silence all because they disagreed on how to catch Roger Zee. Lives were on the line, sure, but this month-long reprieve seemed to quash those disagreements. Then why wasn’t Daniel talking to her? Was he too proud? Was he so busy with his new project that he completely forgot about the friend who helped take away his pain? He knew it was wrong to avoid her, but what else could he do? She was pissed off. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

By the end of this one month of peace, Daniel Mercer had donned his Lord of the Pit persona in time for another concert, face paint, cloak, leather armor, and combat boots. The crowd in this new outdoor venue didn’t seem anxious to him from where he stood backstage. Eager would have been a better word. Excited would have been much better than that. They screamed, hollered, shot off fireworks, moshed with each other, and this was long before the Lord of the Pit was ready to come onstage with his new band mates.

The four musicians stood backstage in a circle surrounding…a pan of marshmallow brownies. It wasn’t he bubbling witch cauldron Demon Axe was used to, but these were new times. Demon Axe was a distant memory. All that remained was Demon Death Juice. The last word in that new band name made the three hooded figures hungry for the liquidy chocolate and melted marshmallows that laid before them.

The first to take a bite out of the luscious brownies was Tarantula Man, whose mask featured the disgusting creature spreading its legs all over his face and part of his turban. While his visage was covered, his euphoric trance couldn’t be hidden after the gooey bite. He scarfed his brownie down and licked his fingers clean like a dog. He leaned backwards as the high of whatever was in the brownies took over. He asked in his Arab accent, “What the hell is in these things? I can’t even remember what that elf asshole’s name is now.”

“What elf asshole? I don’t see one around here. All I see is a big chunk of chocolate and goddamn I’m taking it!” exclaimed Lady Killer, who buried her mouth into her portion of the drugged dessert. She was lucky enough not to get any chocolate on her Hannibal Lecter-esque hockey mask. Blood would have looked a hell of a lot better. Mmmmm, blood.

“Save some for me, sweetheart!” whispered Bear Man before shoving the gooey piece of heaven in his mouth and sucking his fingers afterwards. The teeth in his polar bear mask drew a little bit of blood, but he licked it off like it was a more delicious treat than any Betty Crocker dessert.

The last one to take a brownie bite was the Lord of the Pit, who was patient in his eating style, but no less entranced. He threw his head back and let out a celebratory “Woo-hoo!” after letting the drugs surge through his veins. “Goddamn, I love weed. Don’t tell anybody what’s in here. I don’t think weed’s legal in Paulson City yet.”

Tarantula Man placed a hand on the lead singer’s shoulder and said, “After everything you went through, you can have all the drugs you want. We’re Demon Death Juice. We go hard!” He accentuated that last line by slapping his band mate on the back.

“Did you hear that guys?!” shouted the Lord of the Pit in a motivational tone. “Who are we?!”

“Demon Death Juice!” screamed his band mates.

“I can’t hear you, goddamn it! Who are we?!”

“DEMON DEATH JUICE!!”

“And don’t you forget it! It’s show time, bitches! Woo!”

The newly christened heavy metal band marched out onstage to a thunderous applause that made actual thunderstorms sound like pins dropping. The fans jumped up and down chanting “Demon Death Juice!” while the band took their positions at the sage. Tarantula Man grabbed the electric guitar and strummed a few deafening chords. Bear Man took hold of the bass guitar and slapped that bitch like a pimp who wanted his debt. Lady Killer sat at the drum kit and beat on those things with enough violent energy to make desert wars look like cat fights.

Waiting for the Lord of the Pit at center stage was his custom-made, beautifully magical axe microphone. It drooled with golden dust and with just one poke of the mouthpiece excited the crowd beyond an orgasmic, riotous rage. He never forgot where he came from or who brought him to the dance. G-Pac, Vulture Man, and Pig Man burned in his memory like a branding iron, but his adrenaline and passion was much hotter.

The Lord of the Pit grabbed his magical instrument of badassery and shouted, “What’s up, Paulson City!” which earned him a tidal wave of cacophonic cheers and lion roars. He looked down at the bottom of the stage and gave a nod of acknowledgment to Johnny Vega and Sonia Marquez, who donned black security T-shirts and got their own version of cheers from the fans.

Four beats of Lady Killer’s symbols later and all of the instrumental rage took over. Tarantula Man and Bear Man dueled on their electric and bass guitars respectively while Lady Killer assaulted the drums and the Lord of the Pit danced around stage like a rock and roll lunatic. When the action got too hot and heavy in the crowd, Johnny and Sonia weren’t afraid to put the violent ones in headlocks and judo holds while carrying them out of the venue. Whatever they were being paid, they deserved the salary of a one-percenter that afternoon.

“This is called Rise and Shine, bitches! Let’s go!” yelled the Lord of the Pit. He began growling the lyrics with unrelenting aggression and no pity for the weak. “Rise and shine for your fucked up mind / There’s no more time to relax and unwind / Get your ass out of bed, Mr. Sleepyhead / Rise like a zombie coming back from the dead / Rise and shine or your ass is mine! / Rise and shine, don’t fucking whine! / Rise and shine for the dollar signs! / Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!”

Everybody was wide awake after that nuclear explosion-style heat. Johnny and Sonia had to headlock and full nelson even more rowdy customers, who in turn shouted drunkenly about how cool it was to be manhandled by two badass wrestlers. Some of the fans weren’t nearly as happy and tried to beat down the two bouncers only to get punched in the stomach and dragged away nonetheless. Demon Death Juice looked on at the scene with dragon-like smiles on their faces, all while delivering ruthless aggression on their instruments of chaos.

Before the Lord of the Pit could continue the next verse of “Rise and Shine”, he noticed police cars piling in from the back of the arena. He figured they were there to provide additional security for Johnny, Sonia, and the rest of the bouncers. When he saw a downtrodden and bruise-faced Shawn Henry exit one of the vehicles, he dropped his microphone and the band stopped playing. There were way more cop cars here than were necessary and they were hauling out concertgoers whether they were rowdy or not.

“What the hell’s going on here?! You can’t arrest these people! They came to see a show!” protested Tarantula Man.

By this time, Shawn Henry and his crew of cops had made it to the stage and started slapping handcuffs on all four members of Demon Death Juice, to which the Lord of the Pit interjected, “Hey, what are you doing, man?! Get these fucking things off of me!”

“Daniel Patrick Mercer? You and the rest of your band mates are under arrest for inciting terrorism,” said a solemn and almost unwilling Shawn Henry.

“What?! That’s bullshit! You guys are fucking dicks!” screamed Lady Killer, who got a face full of mace for her protests. Tarantula Man and Bear Man also rebelled while in handcuffs and were thrown down on the floor like common criminals.

Daniel looked on at the scene with horror on his face while his magical microphone was taken away. Shawn whispered in his ear, “I’m sorry, Daniel. My orders come from somewhere else. I wish there was something I could do about this.”

“I’m sure you’ll be sorry the next time it happens,” whispered Daniel angrily as he, his band mates, and even Johnny and Sonia were hauled away unceremoniously.