Demon Axe, Epilogue

Every night since Demon Axe’s final concert, all Daniel Mercer could see was the same creature chasing him down the Holy Mountains. His assailant’s face was dripping with blood that was lapped up with a lizard tongue. The creature’s wings were metallic with blade tips at the end of every feather. His fingers were spikes wrapped in barbed wire.

Despite having all of these weapons at his disposal, the creature always carried a bloodstained machete, a weapon that has claimed thousands of lives and traumatized even more. This blade did more damage than any nuclear bomb ever could. In the face of such a brutal tool of destruction, all Daniel could do was run as fast as he could while struggling for fresh oxygen. He tasted his own blood each time he gasped for air. His ribs crackled and popped like he was running on bubble wrap. His anus burned from sodomy and was a constant source of yuk-yuk humor for the blade-wielding beast.

One night, Daniel couldn’t run anymore. He tripped over his own exhausted legs and laid on the gravely ground heaving and spitting up blood. He was ready for death to take him away to a far better place. This version of hell was more painful to him than the pyrocosm certain religions imagined. “Take me now,” begged Daniel. “Kill me, damn it!”

The creature slowly and mockingly stalked its prey with the machete raised high in the air. One slash would be all it took to send Daniel to a more peaceful backdrop. One painful slash that would last all but a few seconds before eternal darkness swallowed Daniel’s vision. And then the creature tossed its weapon to the side while ripping away at its face, sending bloody chunks every which way and making the Holy Mountains more hellish than they needed to be.

Underneath all of that rancid horror was the loveliest, most beautiful face Daniel had ever seen. Long black hair, cherry-colored lips, creamy green skin, and radiant eyes that only an angel could possess. It was the pointed ears that gave this woman away, however. Not even the blindest of the blind could mistake those quirky ears. And that voice…”Hello? Hello? Is there anybody in there?”

A flood of white light brushed across Daniel’s field of vision and the scene changed from diabolic torment to waking up in a hospital bed. The Demon Axe leader screamed as he sat up in his bed, but breathed more calmly once he realized where he was. The room was dark, but he could still see the rows of flowers left behind during his time of slumber. He lifted up his hospital gown and saw a nasty-looking surgical scar across his torso. With a delicate touch, he felt his ribcage and noticed there were metal plates and screws where his bones used to be. Breathing heavily didn’t hurt as much then as it did when Roger broke his ribs.

Daniel plopped backward in his bed and breathed continual sighs of relief. The nightmare was over. The trauma would last longer once the initial relief wore off, but for this moment, he truly felt safe and relaxed.

There was a gentle knock on the door before Raven let herself in. Instead of wearing her battle outfit, she was dressed in royal red robes adorned with runic symbols and an emerald-encrusted crown atop her head. Daniel had naughty thoughts about his girlfriend’s new look, but tried not to get too hung up on it given the circumstances. Raven whispered, “Daniel, you’re finally awake. Thank goodness you’re okay, my love.” She tiptoed up to him and gave a warm hug, but lightly enough so as not to aggravate the metal singer’s injuries.

Daniel hugged her back and didn’t want to let go of his newfound queen. But when he finally did, he asked, “How long have I been asleep? It feels like forever.”

“You were in a coma for a whole year. The doctors didn’t think you were going to live through the surgery. But you’ve proven what my father knew about you all along: you’re a fighter, Daniel. You’re a no-nonsense warrior with so much left to do,” said Raven with a beautiful smile.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” said Daniel with a sheepish grin. “But seriously though…how am I supposed to rule a whole kingdom when I can’t even get out of bed? What the hell’s been going on while I was asleep?”

Raven sniffled a little bit before saying, “Father finally passed away. I knew it was going to happen sooner or later, but it still hurts to this day. I’ve taken over the throne in his absence, but also in yours. Daniel, I can’t do this by myself. You’re the one who gave my people hope. You’re the one they trust the most. You were directly responsible for ending the nightmare that was Roger Zee.”

“Come on, Raven, you knew I had help,” said Daniel with another sheepish expression.

“Yes, you did have help, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t play a huge part in the outcome. Everybody needs help whether it’s with saving the world or getting over psychological trauma. And now I’m asking you, Daniel, to help me run the elven kingdom. I understand you need more time to recover. But this elf society is a team effort. We’re all in this together. We have to rebuild our structures and bring peace to the land once more. I’d love for you to be a part of that, Daniel.”

The Lord of the Pit stared into Raven’s gorgeous eyes with so many pros and cons to consider. Was he really ready for this kind of responsibility? Was he ready to exchange his role as a victim for that of a courageous leader? These questions weighed more heavily on his heart that the metal plates protecting his surgically-reconstructed ribs.

Another light knock on the door later and a whole host of friends came to see Daniel had finally awakened. Tiger Man, Snowball, and Bone Warrior were still dressed in their monk robes and terrifying masks while Shawn Henry wore metal armor with a sheriff’s badge emblazoned on the chest.

The detective smiled at Daniel while carrying a plate of hospital food that looked too good to have come from such a place. “Danny boy, what’s up? Glad you’re finally awake! Here, have some dinner.”

The singer gave an awkward look to the contents of the plate once it was placed in his lap. Mashed potatoes and asparagus weren’t the most triggering thing on the menu. It was when he picked up a rack of barbecued beef ribs that he chuckled nervously and uttered a squeaky, “Thanks?”

Shawn asked, “What’s wrong, Daniel? Too soon?”

Holding his thumb and forefinger together, the patient said, “It might be just a little bit too soon.”

Bone Warrior opened his robe to reveal a full skeletal suit underneath and asked, “So this isn’t cool either?”

The entire room busted up laughing, including a weak attempt at a chuckle from Daniel, who said, “Actually, that’s fucking awesome.” His smile grew wider when he said, “You guys are the best. I wouldn’t trade you for the world.”

Snowball leaned on Daniel’s bed and asked, “So when are you getting out of this damn thing? We’ve got an album to record and a kingdom to run. That’s two jobs at once, buddy. We’ve already got the guitars, bass, and drums recorded. We just need those sweet ass vocals of yours. Are you up for doing two jobs at once?” After shrugging silence from Daniel, Snowball said, “Come on, big boy! You killed Roger Zee like the badass you are! You can do anything!”

The Lord of the Pit gazed around the room with so much responsibility in his hands. He took in the scent of every lavender flower left behind for him, no doubt from fans and/or elf constituents. He looked at his soon-to-be wife with a combination of love and lust in his eyes. He nodded at Shawn as a sign of confidence for his newfound role as elven sheriff. The only three people left to consider were the ones staring him in the face with those evil, vile masks. These three guys looked every bit as awesome as Daniel’s band mates of the past, most notably from the first incarnation of Demon Axe to the short-lived Demon Death Juice. They also looked tough enough to hang in a wrestling ring with Johnny Vega and Sonia Marquez, may they rest more peacefully than Daniel did in his coma.

Taking everything into consideration, Daniel P. Mercer a.k.a. The Lord of the Pit had one last request: “Get me my goddamn face paint. We’ve got lots of shit to do and little time to do it in. Fuck it, I’m ready!”

Demon Axe, Chapter 22

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 with Shawn, Raven, and Arthur stabilizing him along the way. Raven whispered in her boyfriend’s ear, “You can do this, Daniel. You’re not a victim anymore. You’re our next king.”

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?

Demon Axe, Chapter 21

Arthur Triscloud stared at Raven and Shawn with intense neon fury, his sword gripped tightly by his side, his other hand stretched out like a monster’s claw. His daughter and her cop friend held their ground with their own weapons in hand, though they secretly hoped they wouldn’t need them in this unnecessary battle of family bloodlines. The elf princess and the cop nodded at each other and made a mad scramble towards the once noble king.

Arthur held them back with quick and technical swings of his sword, but Raven swung back even harder in an attempt to knock the weapon out of her father’s hands. Shawn tried circling around his opponent, but he was met with wild slashes as well, which he barely dodged. The only thing Mr. Triscloud managed to hit was a piece of Shawn’s black T-shirt. A conservative amount of blood trickled down, but the hardnosed detective brushed it off all the same.

Raven tried to enter her father’s range with more aggressive swings of her blade, but her weapon was chopped in two by the king’s mighty sword. The zombie-like warrior held his blade against his daughter’s throat with her hands high in the air. Shawn ran in from behind and bear hugged Arthur around the middle of his arms.

“Get the crown! Get it off his head!” shouted Shawn, who was being tossed from side to side by Arthur’s thrashing. Raven rushed up to her father with her chopped up blade in hand in an attempt to pry the thorns loose. After one lethal spin from the monstrous king, both of his assailants were chucked through the air and down the steep hill. The two of them lost their weapons along the violent roll down, which left them with bumps and cuts everywhere. They didn’t stop rolling until they were halfway down the hill, where the animal skeletons halted their momentum.

The two fighters felt sore enough to barely move after such a rough tumble. Shawn slowly reached for his shotgun, his lack of speed the result of not wanting to aggravate his injuries. He had his fingers on the barrel when Arthur appeared out of nowhere and stomped on Shawn’s hand, creating a cluster-fuck of popping sounds and getting a painful cry out of the detective’s voice.

Arthur picked up the shotgun and aimed it at the fallen cop, still with his foot on Shawn’s hand. A resounding pump-action later and Raven yelled, “Stop! Stop it, Father!” The king looked at her with deadly hatred in his eyes, but she stood firm with a human arm bone in hand. “That look you’re giving me doesn’t mean shit right now! Roger Zee is out there somewhere and you’re just halting progress!”

“Progress? Progress?!” bellowed Arthur in his demonic voice. “Master Roger hates that word. It’s a word associated with fruity values. It’s a word associated with reverse discrimination. It’s a word associated with disdain for traditional beliefs. Come to think of it, I hate that word just as much as he does!”

Raven raised her bone club and threatened in a low voice, “If you hurt my friend, I swear to god, I’m going to…”

“You’re in no position to be making threats, my dear daughter!” shouted Arthur. “I am the king around here and Roger is going to be my successor! If you take another step closer, I’m going to blow this faggot’s head clean right off his shoulders! Your friend knows exactly what kind of danger he’s in. Look at him shivering like a little bitch!”

Shawn had had enough of being talked down to by a guy who was clearly brainwashed by a torture device. He wanted to restore the dignity of the Paulson City Police Department to its former glory. He wanted to be the hero that he couldn’t be to his wife and daughter. With clenched teeth and trembling muscles, Shawn whispered, “Go fuck yourself, you demagogue piece of shit!”

With one jerk of his hand, Shawn pulled King Triscloud off his feet and caused the shotgun to fire a round into the sky. Raven used this opportunity to run up to her fallen father and perform a body splash on his torso. Both Raven and Shawn pinned the corrupted politician to the ground while the former lodged the bone club into the base of the thorns. The more she pried, the louder Arthur’s screams became. Thrash around with newfound strength he might, he still couldn’t get all of that weight off of his chest and legs.

Arthur managed to free one of his legs and kick Shawn in the face hard enough to break his nose. With nobody to hold his legs and the detective grunting in hardcore pain, the king’s leg thrashing gave him more power to toss around Raven while he was on his back. And then the sound of wood snapping echoed across the Holy Mountains. As Arthur laid still and bellowed in agony, Raven jammed the bone club in further and pried even more pieces out of his head until the crown was completely broken.

With a bloody ring around his skull, Arthur’s demonic eyes slowly began losing their glow. Raven stood back with Shawn as her father made the transformation from brainwashed zombie to regal king once more. His eyes dimmed some more and he tossed and turned until he ran out of energy and passed out. His body was as limp as lifeless as any corpse found on the mountainside. For the longest few seconds, he didn’t move a muscle.

With Shawn still holding his broken nose, he and Raven approached the elven king for fear that they might have inadvertently killed him. “Come on, Dad! Breathe! Breath, goddamn it!” roared Raven with tears in her eyes. Her father still didn’t move and even more tears poured down her cheeks while Shawn used his free hand to comfort her shoulder. Another death in Roger’s long and torturous campaign of slaughter.

And just as the sun rose over the mountainside, Arthur’s fingers twitched slightly. His eyes slowly opened. He stretched out as if he had taken a long nap. Raven and Shawn pulled him up in a seated position and then the elven princess hugged her king with all the tightness and tears she could muster.

“Raven, I’m sorry for any pain I’ve caused you, my dear. I never would have dreamed of doing this to my own flesh and blood,” said Arthur in his warm and loving elderly voice. The father and daughter duo hugged it out for the longest time while Shawn stood up and watched with a smile on his face despite blood pouring down his lips. Arthur then broke the embrace and asked, “Where’s Daniel? Did Roger take him?”

“He pulled Daniel underground once the battle began,” explained Shawn. “Where the hell’s my shotgun; I want to blow this cocksucker’s head off!”

“Did you say you were looking for a cocksucker?” asked Roger, who appeared out of nowhere with a sick grin on his hideous face, his machete in one hand, and Daniel’s microphone in the other. Shawn, Raven, and Arthur gazed at the zealot with horrified eyes as he reached down and pulled Daniel out of the ground by his hair like a vegetable. “Your cocksucker is right here.”

Though still alive and breathing, Daniel was curled up in the fetal position with his shorts and underwear around his ankles and white and red fluids coming out of his mouth and anus. The once intense heavy metal singer was reduced to a thumb-sucking mess who rocked back and forth and held his broken ribs like a mother cradling a child.

While Shawn and Arthur’s eyes grew even bigger and more horrified than before, Raven had a new reason for tears to pour from her eyes like waterfalls. “What have you done to him, you monster!” she shouted at Roger before rushing up to cradle Daniel’s traumatized head in her arms.

“Nothing you wouldn’t have done on your honeymoon, sweetheart,” said Roger in a cold tone. Raven could do nothing but sob for her sodomized boyfriend and rock him back and forth like the baby he felt like being. Even Shawn and Arthur had tears in their own eyes after watching such an evil display of control.

Roger lifted his machete over his shoulders and said nonchalantly, “Well, I had my fun for the day. Should I just kill all four of you now or should I wait until your so-called friends get here, my liege? Heh, some friends they are. What kind of people leave their bestie high and dry like this? Reminds me of someone I know, someone who’s weapon of choice was the almighty Demon Axe. But hey, Daniel, don’t worry about a thing; I’m sure your old band mates forgive you, right? I bet those two blowhard wrestlers forgive you too, considering they come from an industry that just bathes in friendship and love.”

Daniel didn’t respond to these slanderous accusations. He just curled up and allowed Raven to mother him during his moment of psychological numbness and infinite terror. Right or wrong, Roger Zee made more sense to him than anybody telling him it wasn’t his fault. It was always his fault. Anybody who said differently was a bigger liar than any politician on TV.

The sun continued to peak over the horizon, but none of the four heroes felt like fun in the sun. They could do nothing but stand there and watch Roger laugh like a psychotic hyena. They could have just as easily picked a fight with the guy, but what power did they really have? They were just four guys and Roger was the ultimate fighting machine with a penchant for rape and “fun”.

By the time the sun flooded the clouds with intense color, Roger’s laughter mysteriously came to an end as he saw something in the distance. He didn’t know what it was, but he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to like it.

Demon Axe, Chapter 18

This heavy metal opera had to end somewhere and Daniel Mercer pictured all the possible ways it could in his sick and twisted mind. He rode in the back of the SWAT van staring daggers into his magical microphone as his imagination ran wild. Was it as easy as screaming in Roger Zee’s ears and making his head explode? Did there have to be a special message behind the song? For all Daniel knew, he could sing the elf zealot a lullaby and slit his throat in his sleep.

Since it was the life of Raven’s father at stake, perhaps she could be the one to finish him off. Slice his head off his shoulders like a circumcision (because he was such a dickhead). Sodomize him with the blade. Cut his legs off and watch him crawl away. Such thoughts brought a wicked smile to Daniel’s face. Watching his newfound love sharpening her blade with a whetstone brought a flutter to his heart that not even a cocaine high was capable of.

Daniel snapped out of his violent fantasy when the SWAT van took a huge bump and bounced his head off the roof. The heavy metal god growled in pain and clutched his head while unleashing a horde of colorful swear words. Raven patted him on the shoulder to see if he was okay and he said in no uncertain terms, “I’m fine!”

Shawn Henry, the driver of the van, slammed on the brakes and caused Daniel and Raven to lurch toward the front, almost like being taken for a nickel ride. The Lord of the Pit shouted, “Hey! Quit driving like a fucking drunk! You got to be careful, damn it!”

Through the partition, the rock and roll couple could hear the door slamming shut and booted feet sloshing in the mud while Shawn appeared to be yelling, “No, no, no, no!” Daniel and Raven looked at each other with confusion and concern before exiting the vehicle themselves to see what was going on.

Shawn stood over two corpses with his muscles tightened, his fists clenched, and a shaking complexion reminiscent of tears. One of the dead bodies was a grown woman in a sundress about Shawn’s age. The other was a small child who looked barely old enough to register what was happening to the Henry clan. Deep gashes covered their bodies to where bones were showing. Organs poured out of those wounds like rotten milk. Their groins and inner thighs had bruises the size of mountains. Shawn Henry had seen a lot of death in his career, but nothing prepared him for this: the sight of his wife and daughter discarded on a muddy rode like common trash.

Raven tiptoed toward Shawn and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, to which the sobbing detective waved it away and shouted, “Don’t touch me! Please, don’t touch me!” She honored this by slowly backpedaling in the arms of Daniel. The detective dropped to his knees and held the heads of his wife and daughter against his chest before letting out a combination of a lion’s roar and a sorrowful burst of tears. Even a brave warrior like Raven couldn’t help but shed a tear or two.

For Daniel Mercer, watching death never got any easier. He had been exposed to so much of it over the course of this quest. He even glorified it in his music, hence the genre death metal. All he could do was wrap his arm around his girlfriend and stare blankly at the emotional trauma Shawn Henry was going through. When would enough be enough for someone like Roger Zee? How many people had to die because of his strong beliefs? What was the point of all this? Whatever joy Daniel felt fantasizing about Roger’s death was blown away like ashes in the wind at the sight of this honorable cop in a vulnerable moment.

“Great plan, Einstein,” said a familiar voice in Daniel’s head. With wide-eyed hyper-vigilance, he scoped the muddy forest for the source of the voice and saw the mangled ghost of Bear Man haunting his mind. “Complete disregard the safety of someone’s family and now look what happened to them. Nice job, buddy. Sounds familiar to me.”

“You shut the fuck up! I’ve had it up to here with you!” bellowed the Lord of the Pit.

“Daniel, who are you talking to?” asked Raven in a worried tone.

Lady Killer was next poltergeist to invade Daniel’s mind. “Why should we shut up, Daniel, are we saying things that you don’t like to hear? But isn’t that what you’ve been doing this whole time? Didn’t you make your living that way?”

“I’m sick of you motherfuckers blaming me for everything! You want to blame someone for all of this, blame Roger Zee! He’s the one who’s doing this to us! Go torture him instead of me! I’m the one trying to help you guys!” screamed Daniel.

“Daniel, stop it!” cried Raven.

The rest of Daniel’s band mates, Demon Axe or otherwise, floated in a circle around him and barked insults at him to deafening levels. Daniel held his ears and groaned loudly while Raven was trying to shake him out of it. “Daniel, please! Stop it! You’re scaring me!”

“That’s right, Lord of the Pit!” said the ghosts in a unified demonic voice. “You’d better stop it before you drive another loved one to their death!” The ghosts snorted and snickered while bathing in red electricity and purple smoke.

Even more lights began to flash in Daniel’s mind, much like the strobe pattern of when he was tortured with his own music. Right then he was being tortured by people he thought were his friends. True friends didn’t pass blame or judgment. Shawn’s wife and daughter would never blame him for their deaths. Neither should these band mates.

Daniel released his head and shouted into the skies (sans microphone), “Shut up! Shut the fuck up!” The electricity and smoke faded into nothingness and the ghosts were silent with shame. “Nobody put a gun to your heads and made you join my band! You came here on your own volitions! But I can tell you guys don’t want to have anything to do with me anymore! If that’s what you want, then give me your masks! You’ve lost your right to play music with me! Come on, fork ‘em over! I’m sick of this goddamn shit! Hand ‘em over, now!”

The ghosts barely gazed at each other with hung heads before shrugging their shoulders and floating over to Daniel to do what they were told. One by one, the masks came off as the spirits floated away into smoke and dust. As the Lord of the Pit collected the masks, he gave them in return their old identities.

“You’re not Vulture Man. You’re Roman John. You’re not Pig Man. You’re Chris James. You’re not G-Pac. You’re Donald Brock. You sure as shit aren’t Bear Man. Phil Charles you’ll be. Fork it over, Lady Killer. Your real name is CJ Bill. Fuck you, Tarantula Man. Your name is Ahmed Tehran.” Once the last of the masks was collected, Daniel cast his finger off and angrily whispered, “Get the fuck out of my head!” The dust and smoke swirled into a vortex and was sucked into the dark gray skies. The Lord of the Pit threw the masks out in the distance and watched them fizzle out as well.

A solitary tear ran down the singer’s face as his traumatic anger played out in front of him. Whether or not this was a permanent solution for closure was answered when he heard the soothing, opera-style voice of Raven singing into the magical microphone. He snapped out of his trance and gazed at his girlfriend with loving and damp eyes. She sounded beautiful. Where did she learn to sing like that? Did the elves care that deeply about music? Every note of that operatic chant felt as soothing as a warm breeze in a field of flowers, a far cry from the muddy and corpse-ridden forest they had been driving through.

Daniel hugged his girlfriend tightly and said in an emotional voice, “I love you, Raven. Don’t ever forget that.”

“I love you too, Daniel. You’ll always be the Lord of the Pit to me,” she whispered as she hugged him back.

Also snapping out of his traumatic outburst was Shawn Henry, who was now standing over the corpses of his family with vicious confidence on his face instead of sorrow. “I’m going to kill that son of a bitch. I’m going to kill him badly. Daniel, you better not act like that in the middle of battle or that shotgun shell will be meant for you. You’d better scream your fucking head off until Roger can’t stand it anymore.”

“You don’t have to worry about me anymore, Shawn. I want that piece of shit as much as you do. Let’s go!”

Demon Axe, Chapter 15

As lovely as listening to new age music during traumatic stress was, Daniel Mercer knew he couldn’t live in angst forever. The kind of therapy he needed would have lasted longer than one measly stay at a hospital. But Daniel had a job to do. He had people who depended on him. He had the souls of his dead friends to atone for.

The burden was weighing so heavily on his shoulders that he wasn’t sure his spine could hold it all. As soon as he gripped his sonic weapon with the tightness of a chokehold, his spine didn’t feel like ordinary bones. It felt like solid steel. His muscles felt like impregnable armor. His heart was pumping diesel and jet fuel.

With one victorious scream into his microphone, the straps on his bed snapped like the bones of anyone who dared put their hands on Raven Triscloud. The door tumbled over like the dead corpses of anybody who desecrated the memory of Daniel’s friends. Nurses, doctors, and even Shawn Henry himself fell over like a biblical tidal wave knocked them down.

Daniel’s breathing was raspy and vigorous as he stepped out of bed and changed into the fresh clothing Shawn brought form his apartment, not giving two shits if anybody saw him naked. Everyone knew what he represented when the came out in a red Demon Axe T-shirt, black jean shorts, and black combat boots with gray socks.

The doctors and nurses gazed upon him with a hodgepodge of amazement and fear. Even Shawn was taken aback by this newfound level of power.

The Lord of the Pit grinned his evilest grin as he tapped his microphone into his palm for rhythmic effect. He could hear the electric guitar playing in his head and it filled him with the true definition of demon death juice. In no uncertain terms, he shouted into the instrument of destruction, “I am Iron Man!”

Even though Shawn and Daniel were minutes later riding in a cop car, they preferred the adrenaline-fueled rage of a Demon Axe CD over the standard police radio. Communicating with other cops was out of the question since Shawn couldn’t tell who was on who’s side. He could have asked for backup and got a machete to the throat instead.

Shawn and Daniel banged their heads to the grinding guitars, thunderous bass, deadly drums, and throaty vocals the first Demon Axe CD was known for. Daniel even screamed along to the lyrics while Shawn flashed a smile at him. This wasn’t musical torture. This was the second coming of a rock and roll god.

It didn’t matter that the cop car’s ultimate destination would be the same outdoor arena where Roger’s first strike took place. Even as the road signs and landmarks looked familiar to Daniel, he didn’t cower in fear any longer. He just kept rocking and rolling to his own music, same as he did when he rode the tour bus to this concert with his old friends from young years.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” said Shawn as he pulled up to the parking lot of the outdoor arena and saw that an entire squadron of cops and cop cars were guarding the portal to the elven world. There they were with shotguns locked and loaded looking as stoic and mean as if they were actually guarding something important. Never mind the fact that they were clearly working for a “higher power”, or a certain elf with a blade who thought he was everybody’s deity.

The music stopped, but Daniel never lost his sniper-sight focus. If his facial expression could kill, this arena would have served as the site of a secondary massacre. He even managed to look scarier than the cops, giving Shawn a little bit of a nervous vibe. “Are you ready, Daniel?”

“I’m always ready when it’s show time. Let’s do this shit!” he growled before pounding the dashboard and stomping out of the vehicle with authority. Shawn was hesitant to follow knowing what these cops might do to him and Daniel, but he trudged along anyways.

“Halt! Don’t come any further! This is private property!” shouted the leader of this squadron while his underlings aimed their shotguns in Shawn and Daniel’s directions.

“I’m a cop, you idiots!” yelled Shawn. “If you shoot me and my friend, you might as well be committing treason! Hell, you’re probably doing that anyway knowing who’s beyond that portal!”

The captain turned his attention to Daniel and roared, “Drop the weapon before I…”

“No, dip shit!” bellowed Daniel into his microphone, the tsunami-like sound waves forcing the cops to drop their shotguns and cover their ears. Regardless of what political power they were serving, they were going to listen whether they liked it or not.

The Lord of the Pit jumped on top of Shawn’s car and unleashed a firestorm-like speech upon his audience through the devastating microphone. “When I was growing up in Paulson City, I was always told that the cops were the good guys! That they were here to protect us! That they actually gave a shit about our lives! And then I start paying attention to the news and I see you guys shooting unarmed civilians and beating the shit out of minorities! Just when I thought you fuckers couldn’t sink any lower, you start working with Roger fucking Zee!”

Instead of curling up with their ears covered, the cops slowly stood at full attention as if they actually gave a damn about what Daniel was saying. The heavy metal god screamed into the microphone some more. “Yeah, I know, I know. Roger Zee has the entire police force by the balls! He’s got dirt on each and every one of you! He’s targeting your families and friends! You’ve got no choice! I’ve heard this pile of crap for far too long now! You do have a choice! You just make the conscious decision to give up your freedom in exchange for comfort! And here I thought I was the pussy because I couldn’t get over my trauma!”

Monstrous breaths echoed across the arena and Daniel’s fiery eyes scorched the souls of everyone he spoke to. To further his point, he pointed down at Shawn and growled, “You see this motherfucker?! You see him?! He did something that all cops should aspire to do! He saved somebody’s life even when the pressure was mounting against him! He raged against the machine and brought justice to an already unfair exchange! He saved my life! And if he hadn’t shown up when he did, I would be goddamn dead! Just so you morons know, he too felt Roger Zee’s blackmail! He too had his family and career threatened! He did what was right anyways! Imagine that: cops actually doing their jobs!”

The cops’ facial expressions morphed back into intense anger, not at Daniel’s harsh criticisms, but at the fact that he was right all along. One of them even yelled, “Preach!” while throwing his fist in the air.

“You want me to preach?! You want me to fucking preach?!” roared Daniel. “Here’s the deal, nimrods! You can either clear a path to the elven world or I can keep shouting in this microphone until your ears and assholes are both bleeding like crazy! What’s that shit you macho men like to say?! Lead, follow, or get out of the way?! I think it’s time you start practicing what you preach! You want to be the good guys?! You want to serve and protect?! Then grow a backbone and some testicles and do it!”

The captain’s face turned solemn as he broke harsh news to Daniel and Shawn. “That was a hell of a speech, Mr. Demon Axe. But if you go flying through the portal right now, you’ll be smack dab in the middle of a war. We can listen to you talk all day long. But I’m not so sure our guys beyond the portal are going to be so receptive. We’ll see if your rage-a-holic oratory is going to be enough to pull my men out of a fight. And when I say fight, I mean bloody ass massacre. Elves vs. humans in a big ass battlefield. But hey, you’re used to controlling wild crowds, right?”

Daniel frowned and lowered his microphone before dropping to his knees. “We’re too late, Shawn. We’re too damn late. I spent too long in the hospital when I should have been doing my goddamn job!”

The Lord of the Put repeatedly punched the top of the car with the blade end of his microphone aimed at the metal, to which Shawn bull rushed him and yanked him off the car by his ankles. Daniel unleashed a colorful burst of swear words while Shawn had his arms wrapped around the singer in an attempt to calm him down. The detective even slammed Daniel on the hood of the car and that finally got the musician’s attention.

“Listen to me, damn it!” bellowed Shawn. “Up until now you’ve had a hot streak of aggression and rage! Don’t throw it all away just because you think we’re too late to stop anything! We’re pretty fucking far from late, my friend! So buck up, put your big boy boots on, and let’s march through that goddamn portal together! Move it!”

Demon Axe, Chapter 14

In traumatic situations, doctors were supposed to provide delicate care so as not to trigger raw emotions. But when Daniel Mercer thrashed around in his hospital bed punching and kicking anything that moved, he had to be held down by the toughest of the tough. Three different nurses held his left arm. Two doctors held his right arm. One of the bigger nurses laid across his shins.

The Lord of the Pit roared and screamed his head off with his most demonic voice, but the medical staff’s pressure on his limbs increased even more. He got so cantankerous that they had to strap him in bed with leather buckles. Even in bondage his head bounced off the pillow as he howled like a wounded animal.

All it took was one jab in the arm and a press of the plunger. Daniel felt coldness running through his veins to sooth his burning anger. The volume of his possessed screams got lower as his breathing intensified. His eyelids became heavier than dumbbells. His clenched jaw relaxed to where his tongue was hanging out like a dog. While he wasn’t completely knocked out, he was drowsy enough that the doctors and nurses could wipe the sweat off their foreheads and breathe sighs of relief.

“I’ll take it from here, guys. Thank you very much,” said a familiar male voice. The medical staff huffed and heaved their way out of the semi-private room after such an exhausting struggle. Even with blurry vision and a relaxed mind, Daniel could make out the cue ball head of Detective Shawn Henry, the man who brought him to this hospital in the first place.

As the delirious snoozer tried to form words, Detective Henry placed a gentle hand on his shoulder to signify that he’ll be the one who does the talking. “You’re in a safe place now, Daniel. You were a pain in the ass to get here, but that just goes to show how much of a fighter you really are. I can only imagine what kind of pain you were in when Roger Zee tortured you. It’s one thing to use musical torture on somebody else. But to a man who built his entire life around that genre of music…it’s unacceptable. It’s like A Clockwork Orange for the good guys.”

Daniel once again tried to form a coherent sentence, but he ended up sounding like a drunken stroke victim. He seemed to get Shawn’s message with little nods here and there.

The detective placed a hand on Daniel’s knee and said, “You may not realize it right now, but we need you now more than ever. Roger Zee has the entire police force under his control. I should have never let him get to those computers. Even so, there’s still a chance we can put him away once and for all. I have a pretty good idea of where he’s taking his newfound forces.”

“…Lay-len…Lay-len!” said Daniel with a swollen tongue.

“Yes, Daniel, you’ve mentioned this Raven girl to me before. Is she your girlfriend?” asked Shawn, to which the Lord of the Pit flashed a retarded grin. The detective flashed a small grin himself and said, “Whoever she is, we’ll find her before Roger can hurt her. I know it seems like we’re wasting time in this hospital, but trust me, you’re in no condition to be chasing bad guys right now. You might be better in the morning, depending on just how long you spent at that black site. Either way, you’re the only one who can stop this madman. With that microphone of yours, you might even be able to talk some sense into my colleagues.”

Daniel shook his head and allowed his tongue to dangle from side to side like a pendulum of spittle. His attempts at “Uh-uh” grew stronger the more he realized what he was being asked to do.

“I know you don’t think much of your music right now. I know you think that you can’t do this without your band mates. But like it or not, you’re a huge part of this puzzle. While you’re not even close to being the one to blame for Roger’s violence, he’s taking a huge interest in your vocation, not to mention everything your music stands for.”

Shawn leaned in closer with this next sentence. “You are the creative force behind every music group you’ve been a part of. Even with traumatic nightmares, you’re one of the most imaginative people I’ve ever known. That scares Roger. He doesn’t like creativity. He shuns individuality. He wants this world to be just as boring and dull as him. You can’t let that happen. You’ve got to put a line through that.”

Daniel made a whiny groan in his throat while slamming his head on the pillow in disbelief. Shawn patted his knee and said, “I know we’re asking a lot of you. But this is a responsibility you were custom built for, my friend. Don’t think of these civilians as mere strangers. Think of them as audience members. They’re gathering around you so that you can put on a show for them. Not just any show, but one that will fill them with positive memories. Memories that will make them want to come back for more. Even with your most violent lyrics, you inspire an entire generation of listeners to face the hardest parts of life.”

The Lord of the Pit had a flat tire hiss and shook his head. Breathing a sigh of relief, Shawn knew he had to pull out the big guns to get this reluctant hero’s attention. He reached in his pocket and pulled out something that made Daniel’s eyes light up like Las Vegas.

“You see this, Mr. Mercer? This right here is the very first Demon Axe album. I bought it after the two of us met for the very first time. I admit, it was a god-awful interview at your house, but if it wasn’t for that, I would have never known about your music. I have to say, this is a pretty goddamn good album. I don’t claim to be the biggest metal head on planet earth, but even I think this is pretty fucking good. You and your band mates put a lot of hard work into every song on this CD. Your band mates gave you their lives, now it’s time to finish the job.”

Tears rolled down Daniel’s cheeks as he made little whimpering noises through his nose. Shawn grabbed a paper towel from the counter and wiped them away ever so delicately. He said, “I can tell you’re still not convinced. You somehow have it in you that you let everyone down by allowing yourself to be tortured. You didn’t let anyone down, Daniel. Some things in life are beyond our control. But this road that lies ahead of you, this road to recovery, it begins and ends with putting Roger Zee in his grave. To help you along the way, I brought another surprise for you.”

Shawn motioned toward the doorway and two nurses wheeled a gigantic radio into the room. The detective pulled out yet another CD, though Daniel’s eyes widened when he couldn’t tell what the album was. The Lord of the Pit made loud whining noises in anticipation of more torture. He thrashed around in his straps, but no amount of white hot rage could set him free.

The gentle piano music, on the other hand, could, at least psychologically. The pianist’s fingers danced lightly and gracefully across the keys, especially near the lower octaves to provide the sweetest lullaby to a pain-wracked Daniel. The whining and whimpering was reduced to silent drooling and a spaced-out look in his eyes. With his hands at his lap, he performed the one technique that got him through the death of his Demon Axe brethren. He tapped his left leg, then his right, then his left, then his right, almost in perfect harmony with the tranquilizing piano music.

“Lay-len…Lay-len…Lay-len…”

Shawn smiled at Daniel and said, “Raven was the one who taught you that technique. That’s called EMDR. I’d definitely say she’s a keeper, my friend. If you don’t do this for anybody else, do this for her. She’s depending on you.”

Daniel formed another stupid-looking grin on his face while his eyes danced in different directions. Shawn covered his own face as he noticed a sizable lump growing in Daniel’s shorts. The detective jokingly said, “Too much information, buddy! Too much information!”

The Lord of the Pit chuckled in his moment of quasi-embarrassment and kept tapping his thighs until his eyelids closed for the final time of the night. Daniel’s face fell to the side of his pillow and he ended his evening with a combination of frothing drool and lawnmower snores.

Shawn smiled again and shook his head. Meanwhile, one of the nurses produced Daniel’s magical microphone and asked, “Where do you want me to leave this?”

The detective took it and said, “I’ve got a nice place for it when he’s ready to wake up.” Confident that the singer was lost in dreamland, Shawn placed the microphone handle in Daniel’s hand and closed his fingers around it. The cop was careful not to allow the mouthpiece near his drooling sewer hole, but it was right there when he needed it. Even in his subconscious’s theater, Daniel Mercer had a decision to make: run away and never turn back or fight like the warrior he was always meant to be.

Demon Axe, Chapter 6

Paperwork: the biggest reason why Detective Shawn Henry had kinks in his neck and back the size of potatoes. He sat at his desk with his head slouched over and his shoulders sagging. The dark circles under his eyes made him look like he was in a brutal boxing match; in this case, he went all twelve rounds with Mr. Sandman. The other cops at the station had gone home for the evening to their spouses and children. Shawn scribbled a pen across a mountain of paper while on autopilot. As he let out a cyclone of a yawn, the lights above him dimmed out and all he could rely on was his desk lamp.

So many dead bodies left behind by Roger Zee in the past few days, so many papers to fill out. Shawn put the pen down for a moment and let out another grizzly yawn before standing up and stretching his limbs out. He briefly held onto his tailbone and shifted his legs around to get some blood pumping back into them. It was during this moment of intense relief that he eyeballed a picture of his wife and daughter sitting in a golden frame on his desk. Seeing their sunlit faces brought a small grin to his own. “Don’t worry, papa’s going to be home soon,” Shawn said to the two members of the Henry Clan.

“I wouldn’t count on that if I were you,” said a raspy voice before a dagger was thrown into the picture, shattering the glass and knocking the frame to the floor. Shawn turned around with his fists clenched at his sides and a venomous stare saturating the shadowed frame of Roger Zee. With the other cops gone for the day, this was a strictly private conversation between the long arm of the law and the machete that wanted to chop it off. Roger showed off his razor sharp pearly whites in a sadistic grin underneath the glow of a fiery torch he held in one hand.

Shawn made a quick grab for the gun at his side, but Roger threw another knife and shattered the weapon as easily as the picture frame’s glass cover. Detective Henry let out a sharp hiss as a gash opened where his gun used to be. He pressed some of the paperwork against the wound and the bleeding was slowly stopping.

“Is there another magic trick you’d like to try?” asked Roger with sarcastic politeness. “Perhaps a shotgun? A knife? Your own shoes? Please, go ahead and keep delaying the inevitable. I love screwing around when there’s an important business matter to be discussed. It really throws a nice twist on the whole thing.”

In a wolf’s growl accompanied by heavy breathing, Shawn said, “The only business you have in my precinct is in a holding cell waiting for a fucking trial! You’re in no condition to be negotiating with me, you bloodthirsty freak! If I have to die fighting for what I believe in, then so be it! Kill me now and get it over with!”

Roger chuckled while slowly advancing toward his “business partner”. He waved the flaming torch around like he was getting ready to perform a pyromantic ritual. “Die for what you believe in? And what exactly do you believe in, Detective? Oppressing races? Claiming land as your own? Destroying longstanding traditions? By pursuing this case against me, you’re doing all of those things. And somehow, your media circus has labeled me the zealot.”

“So that’s what this is about?” asked Shawn. “You’re mad because somebody built an outdoor arena over your so-called sacred land? You would kill hundreds of people over something stupid like that?”

“This is more than a battle over some silly heavy metal venue,” explained Roger, waving the torch dangerously close to nearby desks. “This is about respect. This is about principles, honor, and tradition, something your human race knows nothing about. You allow those people to play obnoxious and offensive music after our land is long forgotten about. You’re spitting on the graves of those who came before you. Then again, your kind isn’t really a stranger to taking things that don’t belong to them. History tells that story over and over again.”

With one hand waving in confusion, Shawn said, “Well, what are you waiting for? You’ve got the machete. You’ve got the torch. What am I going to do: run away? Perform sick kung fu moves on you? Seriously, why are you making me wait for my own demise?!”

Roger laughed evilly and spun around with the flame, causing Shawn to almost fall on his desk in anticipation of being burned. The elf said, “You? No, this isn’t about you, Detective. You’re merely a cog in the machine. I want the whole damn machine. Listen carefully, my friend. What I’m about to propose to you will be the difference between a free country and a dystopian hellhole.”

Roger leaned his face close to Shawn’s and ejected foul breath as he said, “I want access to all of your police resources. I want your computers, your weapons, your military equipment, and even a few of your fellow cops’ cooperation. In return, your family and friends, each and every one of them, will live happily in my new world while everyone else burns down.”

Shawn tensed his muscles and shoved Roger back a few steps before asking, “What have you done with them? Where’s my family?! They better be alive or I’m putting your head on a fucking spear, bitch!”

Roger slapped his opponent across the face and knocked him to the floor, leaving him fading in and out of blackness. A burning red impression was left on the cop’s face and his eyes felt like they were going to burst out of his head. “Believe it or not, that slap I just gave you is the least of your worries. Your family is being kept in a safe place of my choosing. You can have them back as soon as you give me everything I want whenever I want it.”

The elf kneeled next to Shawn and stroked his thinning brown hair in the most sarcastic gesture of gentleness imaginable. “And when you get them back, be sure to give them all the psychological counseling you can afford with a cop’s salary….because some thoughts were never meant to be forgotten. They don’t just fly away like little birdies. They don’t soar through the clouds with heavenly angels. The kind of memories I gave them…are forever!”

With the last of his fading strength, Shawn reached his hand up and wrapped his beefy fingers around Roger’s throat, though any indication of the elf’s pain was once again masked by sarcastic gestures. The elf flicked the cop’s hand off of him like an annoying fly and said, “I expected much more strength from a guy who just learned that his family…well, there’s really no nice way to say this…actually, I don’t really have to say anything. The trauma speaks for itself!”

“When I regain consciousness…” said Shawn with a throaty voice. “I’m going to torture the shit out of you…I’ll make water boarding feel like a sponge bath….I’ll make electrocution feel like a back rub…and if you think heavy metal music is offensive to you now…wait until you hear it on full blast…twenty-four hours a day…seven days a week…until you go bat shit crazy! Then again…you’re already a nut job! Take your rightwing splooge and go to hell!” That last sentence was punctuated with bloody spit in Roger’s face.

The zealot smiled as he wiped the red saliva off of his face with his two forefingers. “I’m going to be the bigger man and let that go. After all, it’s what tyrants like you expect from your people: peacefulness in the face of military force. You can get that kind of cooperation from a lot of people. But from me, you’ll only get violence, hatred, and your own personal hell! I’ll give you some time to think about our little deal. Take as much time as you’d like. It’s not like your family is depending on you.”

Roger stood up and looked around at the police station with amazement on his flame-lit face. “Of course, if you’d rather I burn your police resources to the ground with you at the forefront, then I’d hate to waste this lovely torch. Pyromancy was once an ancient form of magic with sagely wisdom behind every flickering flame. Now you and your moronic race have made a mockery of our mysticism by inventing flamethrowers and drone bombs. You’ve used our own powers against us and expect us to be peaceful about it. Like I said earlier, you have some time to think about our deal. Go home. Get some sleep. Then again, your traumatized wife and daughter have a better chance of dreaming of unicorns and rainbows than you do. Toodles!”

The nationalist blew out the torch and little more could be heard than light footsteps pattering out the back exit of the precinct. It didn’t matter if there was a glowing light or not, because Shawn’s vision was already darker than the inside of a coffin. Tears welled up in his stinging eyes and aggravated the burn on his cheek from Roger’s slap. In Shawn’s mind, it mattered not if the building was full of cops or not: he was screwed.

In a way, he was glad no more human lives had to be sacrificed during Roger’s stealthy path to Detective Henry. It was only a modicum of relief for the now numb-minded cop. He still felt like screaming. He still wanted to murder and torture Roger Zee in the worst way. He was helpless to do either, so he blacked out into a dream that was definitely not about unicorns and rainbows.

Demon Axe, Chapter 2

The Lord of the Pit bathed in darkness once again, though he was all alone and everything looked hazy to him. In this state of mind, he could finally relax and pull the plug on his emotions even if only for a little while. All he did was float in space with a numb body, a numb mind, and a dead soul. But the thing about temporary relaxation was that it was temporary. The jolt he felt in his head wasn’t enough to snap him out of this trance, but his heart raced at a million miles an hour.

The decapitated heads of Vulture Man, Pig Man, and G-Pac, with their spinal columns dripping with blood, floated into view with their eyes glowing neon purple. Every harsh stare was intended for their former comrade. Every word they spoke was in a unified, devilish tone. “Where were you, Dear Lord? Where were you when we needed you? You boasted the warrior spirit of the Demon God and then you ran like a coward!”

The Lord of the Pit’s dry mouth tried to form words, but he was too exhausted to lace together a coherent sentence. He had so much explaining to do, but the disembodied heads of his brethren shouted, “Silence! We don’t want your logic! We don’t want your apologies! We want you to suffer the way we suffered! It’s the only way we shall find justice in this netherworld!”

The floating heads glowed a brilliant orange aura as they withdrew from their superior positions. A hooded figure standing behind them waved his clawed fingers as if he was the one controlling these necrotized spirits. The figure jerked his hood back and revealed the pointy-eared, evilly grinning face of the concert slasher. The Lord of the Pit’s heart beat even faster than before while condensation moistened his flesh. He even felt a warm sensation across his groin, though the smell was anything but comforting.

The slasher said, “You heard them yourself. You’re a coward. You’re a thief. You stole their chances at freedom right from underneath. You took something from them that they’ll never get back. You took something that means more to them more than you ever will. What about their families? Their children? Their wives? What will you tell them once they demand answers? Who will come to your rescue when you have to answer for your cowardly sins?”

The Lord of the Pit tried to fire back, but his numb state wouldn’t allow such rapid-fire lip movement. All he felt was more condensation, this time in his eyeballs. The slasher frowned sadistically at his prey and said, “Pathetic. You can’t even string together a reasonable sentence when a simple apology would have worked nicely. But you heard your friends say they don’t want an apology. They want revenge. They want justice. So now, band mates, I ask you this question: what shall we do with this offensive scoundrel?”

The heads floated in front of the slasher and chanted like demonic monks, “Put him in a box! He’s a tard! Put him in a box! He’s a tard! Put him in a box! He’s a tard!” No matter how his already weak body resisted, the Lord of the Pit felt suffocated as he was forced into a wooden box and the lid closed over him with steel chains wrapping around the deathly container. With so little oxygen and not enough power to fight back, the Lord felt his heart beating faster and faster, possibly for the last time. He never had a chance to say goodbye to his friends and now he was going to be locked away for all eternity.

And then the man known as Daniel Mercer screamed his way out of his trance and sat up in bed. He was pouring with sweat, his sleeping shorts (which were thankfully dark) reeked of urine, his eyes were burning with salt, and his head felt like it was being crushed underneath a steamroller. The rock star rubbed his temples and moaned in a low voice, as if either of those things was capable of curing his hangover from last night.

Wearing nothing but a wife-beater tank top, his drenched sleeping shorts, and a pair of wool socks that were too big for him, Daniel slowly stood up from his bed and asked himself, “What the hell happened last night? What the fuck?”

The sound of a doorbell ringing send a lightning storm of pain throughout Daniel’s head as he clutched his hair and sat back down screaming and swearing in agony. He wondered who the hell would come to his house at this time of day. His neck creaked as he turned his head to see on his digital clock it was one o’clock in the afternoon. “Son of a bitch,” he said to himself as he gingerly got back up and staggered toward the front door of his house. The bell rang again and he screamed in agony before shouting audibly, “I’m coming, damn it! Jesus Christ!”

Slowly but surely, he trudged to the front door and opened it to see a balding, middle aged man in a black leather jacket and blue jeans. “Are you Daniel Mercer?” Upon getting an answer in the form of a slow nod, the man pulled out a police badge and said, “I’m Detective Shawn Henry with the Paulson City Police Department. I’m here to get a witness statement from you regarding what took place at the Demon Axe concert last night.”

Daniel squinted his eyes at the morning light and softly said, “Can’t you come back another time? As you can see, this isn’t really…you know…”

“I understand you’re not feeling well, Mr. Mercer,” said Detective Henry. “But the sooner we get a witness statement from you, the sooner we can find whoever did this.” The cop was met with a weirded-out stare, to which he responded, “Look, I don’t like being here any more than you do. But to tell you the truth, police work is a bureaucratic nightmare. There’s paperwork, there’s processing, the whole nine yards. I’m sorry you’re feeling bad today, but you’re going to feel even worse if we don’t catch the son of a bitch who did this.”

Daniel sighed and reluctantly said, “Come on in. Let’s get this shit over with.” The sickly rock star and the by-the-books detective made their way into the living room, which had little more than a flat screen TV, some heavy metal posters, and two leather loveseats. Daniel and Shawn sat oppositely of each other and allowed the conversation to begin once the cop pulled out a notepad and a pen.

“I’m going to be frank with you, Mr. Mercer,” said Shawn. “My department has already gathered witness statements from concertgoers and security enforcement and they all say that an elf, yes, an elf was responsible for all of the terrorism that took place last night. I know you’re all out of sorts today and I really caught you at a bad time, but please tell me that the terrorist was simply a guy with pointy ears.”

“And now I’m going to be frank with you, Detective Henry,” said Daniel as he leaned in closer. “I don’t give a shit what this slasher asshole was. All I know is that he took away three of the best band mates I’ve ever had. Demon Axe is no more because of this jerk-off with a machete. It wouldn’t be right to continue without them, especially since I basically ran away from the whole thing and left them to die. You want a witness statement from me? There it is, Columbo. A pointy-eared motherfucker slashed my audience to pieces, decapitated my best friends, and I’m the one who actually survived because I was cowardly enough to take off in the other direction.”

“Obviously, you’re suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress, Mr. Mercer.”

In a raised voice uncharacteristic of someone with a pounding headache, Daniel said, “You think? Is that what it really is, or did I just piss my shorts this morning because I’m forty years old and already need to be shoved in a nursing home?”

“There’s no need for hostility. I completely understand the pain you’re going through. I can set you up with a counselor and you can pour your heart out until you’re ready to move on,” said Shawn.

Daniel’s slightly raised voice evolved into a full scale scream. “There is no moving on! Didn’t you just hear me say that Demon Axe is over?! No more heavy metal! No more sex, drugs, and rock n’ roll! It’s over! Done! Finished! Adios! Sayonara! Unless your state-funded counselor is capable of reaching inside my aching-ass fucking head and pulling all of my bad memories out, then there’s not a whole lot he can do for me! I’ve taken every pill there is to take and my mind is still laughing at me and making me its bitch!”

After that oratory, Daniel clutched his head even harder and allowed tears to stream down his cheeks. Detective Henry continued to stare at him with a stoic attitude, though even he knew that his interviewee was beyond help. “You know what, Mr. Mercer?” said Shawn as he put away his pen and notepad. “I agree with you when you say this is a bad time to talk. I could sit here and tell you that the red tape nightmare will actually lead to something, but we don’t know for sure. This terrorist should be easy to find due to the pointy ears and green skin alone, but if that were true, he’d be in custody right now.”

“He must be a really good fucking fighter,” said Daniel with his head in his lap.

“That he is. We’d love to have him locked up for life, but there’s one last question I need to ask you before I go and…leave you to your devices. Can you think of any reason whatsoever why anybody would want to commit violence against a concert attendance of this size?” asked Shawn.

Daniel picked his head up and said through quivering lips, “Why does anybody do anything violent these days? Is it because one of the bands that played before us was all-Muslim? Is it because the curtain-jerker band had an openly gay guitarist? Was Demon Axe’s dark fantasy shit really that offensive? Take your pick, Detective Henry. It could be politically motivated. It could be just a bunch of nationalistic garbage. But if this pointy-eared motherfucker really is some Dungeons & Dragons freak, then we’ve got to seriously rethink the way we approach terrorism. I mean, where are you going to find an expert on this shit? Who actually knows anything about this asshole’s culture? Is he just a mental case with a blade? I don’t know. Nobody does.”

Shawn stood up and said, “That’s actually the most poignant statement I’ve received all day today and you’re not even in any condition to do a damn thing. I’ll tell you what, Daniel, let me and my department handle the media and news crews. You just focus on getting some sleep and wrestling with your…I don’t want to say demons for obvious reasons, but you get what I’m saying. I really do think you should see a counselor.”

“And I really do think that necromancy should be a real thing and that my band mates should rise from the dead. Until that day comes, there’s not a whole lot a counselor can do for me,” said Daniel.

“The offer is still on the table if you decide to change your mind. You can go back to bed now. I’m done for right now.”

“Okay, first you don’t want to use the word demon and then you tell a traumatized person to go back to sleep, probably hoping that he doesn’t have nightmares again. This politically correct garbage isn’t working out for you, Detective. If you want to give me some comfort, take away the voices in my fucking head. That’s all I’m asking anybody to do. I don’t need sympathy. I just want my voices to shut the fuck up and my band mates to come back from the fucking dead.”

Shawn nodded to Daniel and said, “Have a nice day, sir,” before showing himself out the front door.

“There’s no such thing as a nice day!” shouted Daniel as he stood up quickly. “It’s just like those assholes who say good morning! It’s an oxymoron invented by people who’ve never had their fucking friends ripped away from them! I can still see their spinal cords, for shit’s sake!”

The former Lord of the Pit could scream until his head exploded, but it wouldn’t have mattered since Detective Shawn Henry was long gone by then with the door shut behind him. Daniel slowly sat back down on the couch and sobbed softly into his calloused hands. “I just want my sanity back,” he said to himself. “Is that too much to ask? Everybody else has their sanity. Why can’t I have mine?”