Taking Place Post DSR, this story starts off with Dethklok Bassist William Murderface, as he struggles with having to stay home and heal due to a cut in his wrist getting infected.
He wishes he knew how good it felt to be appreciated.
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Apologies for such a long wait - commissions, projects, and bonding with friends this year have kept me occupied.
If it's alright with y'all, I think it could be a good idea to upload what I have thus far of chapter 13 to AO3 this week, and the rest of it will be posted after as a smaller chunk. So, technically, the 14th chapter when on AO3 will be chapter 13 pt 2 once it's done.
It's been over a year since I've updated it to that site, and I feel like it would be good to put what's on here over there before the new year.
Only issue with the AO3 formatting, is AO3 doesn't like it when I jampack it full of images. Which is why the blog is here now, to ensure if the images go down, they'll come back up much sooner.
I only add around 150 imagesch per chapter, that'sch like a glassch of water! WHAT GIVESCH?
After I complete this 13th chapter, I'll be helping friends with projects again, but planet pissed is not on any hiatus. It's just a slow process.
I appreciate those who have enjoyed this fan project thus far.
Some of you these past months have been asking me anons if I'm okay, if I am giving up on the project, and I want to assure - yes, I'm fine! And god no, just busy. I don't know if it's one person sending them, but even if it is, and you read this, everything is A-OK.
This is a project that I do with my free time, for free, for fellow fans. So enjoy it while it lasts, and don't think the worst when there's a pause. Never hesitate to reach out if you get curious.
I appreciate you all, thank you for your patience, and hope you are staying warm this winter,
[Tainted star, cracks her whip, tides of blood churn into sea…Thunderous space, ticking time, frying flesh, delivers thee…]
!!!!!!!
Thunderhorse did as commanded, sending Glaucus directly to his master-
Brizo, O, Mother Prophet!
M-Mother! I return from the Acheron current-
One moment, good Glaucus...
It appeared she was busy combing the hair of a water spirit.
One of the orca sisters, to be exact. In these metaphysical waters, she preferred the name Tethys.
Almost there. How did you get it so tangled in here? Did you fall asleep near low tide again?
It must have happened when I was at the rubbing beach. Didn’t even notice something was caught until I uh. Laid down. On it.
Have you seen the four at Deus Keep today?
Not yet…
Hah.
Those two haven’t been able to stop moving. I think they’re going crazy waiting on me.
The other two sisters, Leucothea and Cymopoleia, were trying on Nathan’s clothes, playing with a sea cow to occupy the time;
♪Magnetizing Gravity, aaaa-aaaah♪
♪Magnetize the Galaxy, aaaa-ah!♪
Huh.
I uh… kind of understand this top dress. It’s like you are walking with a sheet at all times. Not too hot, but just right for when a cold wind comes by.
I’m still trying to understand the headband, myself… Ugh! You nail her scowl, how do you do it so well?
...I’m scowling?
...Am I?
Oh, ‘Leia! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-
AM I?
AGH!!!
As the spirit of violent sea storms provoked her sister into a tackle, the Whale Prophet finally caught what was tangled within Tethys’ locks of hair - a sea urchin.
AH-HAH! Got it!
<<CRUNCH>>
Fuel from the Elysian Reef. Eat… You look burnt, in more ways than one.
Mph-Thank you, Mother…
I... I believe I found him.
His soul is in the underworld, even closer than where you said it would be.
Death took him onto the ferryman’s boat. I can’t help him at those depths - the pressure makes me too feeble, I nearly didn’t make it as is. Should we be worried about who he’s with?
You said Death? He’s the only amiable one of the Four Horsemen.
That being said, his brothers follow close behind... and they mean trouble. Murder amuses Death… Plague follows Death… Pestilence brings Famine… and hunger for conquest wakes War…
They will eat any hope left in Murder if they get their hands on him. He’ll be beyond saving if his heart breaks and stops beating…
…Not if Dethklok can help it.
We cannot change fate, but we can lead it to a different tide.
I can reach Charon once he crosses near Andromeda’s Crevice... He knows Death well… We shall see.
…Why do you say you “believe” you saw Murder?
Glaucus scoffed.
Well… the troll saved my life! That seems… awfully out of character, doesn’t it?
The Prophet couldn't agree less;
Not if you reminded him of something he cares about… Hm.
I expect you to get some rest. We’ll talk more on this soon.
Attention!
Sisters of the sea… It is time to give Nathan back her things.
Yes, Mother.
As much as I wish to… I cannot join you - I have a long night ahead of me. I’ll be back before the next moonrise.
…Okay.
…Be safe!
You, too.
…
Before-before you go!
Glaucus struggled to swim up to Tethys.
Bring this clam to him. It’s a chest.
Go rest, Glaucus. NOW.
I-I will, Tethys. Don’t worry.
You look like shit.
Thank you. It’s almost as if I got eaten by a troll, today.
…Well. Don’t do that. If you die, I’ll kill you.
Hahah. Noted… I’ll see you when you get back.
The three orcas swam to the surface, donning their true forms once out of the metaphysical currents.
Breaching the surface, they breathed in the metallic-tasting air, and knew they were close to the band, finally making it back to…
WERE FROM AN ACTUAL EPISODE OF METALOCALYPSE like they turned into the (deformed?) forms that Murderface is trying to remember (Murderface included)
ZOO WEE MAMA, that must have been a trip! I hope it wasn’t too gnarly, I’ve gotten feedback in the past that the mask-work cult scene in chapter 9 gave someone nightmares, WHOOPS!
The “deformed” versions of them are their demon forms! Toki’s is based off of the Skwisgaar Nightmare vision from the show, and Nathan’s is based off of DethAlbum 2’s cover.
Hopefully (even though it will be a few months until we get there,) Nathan’s “hell form” will be in Chapter 14. Murderface is going to meet the other horsemen of the apocalypse in that one, and they won’t be as nice as Death is.
While visiting my friends in FL last week, I sketched out some concepts for War, Famine, and Pestilence;
The update ahead is plotted out visually, now I’m in the process of lining it. Lots of prophecy stuff, but after that, Dethklok will return to the main focus 🧌
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Your obol is no good here, Murder.
Both of us are big fans of Dethklok.
!!!
DETHKLOK!!!
I AM MURDERFACE!
Bassist of DETHKLOK!
YES! It’s coming back!
…is that the logo? Seems a tad off.
He’s the BASSIST OF DETHKLOK… And his brothers! There’s four of them.
There’s… uhm…
…Shit.
Come on…. What are their names?
And what do they look like, again…?
…Is that right? Do they look like that? No... Maybe?
WHO CARES? It’s a step closer! If he hung around these guys, maybe they’d talk about the band and say the names of his brothers!
The ferryman moved his oar to Murder - instead of swinging it into his skull… or chopping his entire head off…
Ah. Sorry. Hold on.
…he offered it as a grip to help him step in. Death decided now would be a good time to josh.
We’re gonna need another boat…
Ahh, I'm just messing with you, man. Don’t worry, the ferry won’t tip. Come on, soldier!
Murder awkwardly stumbled aboard, the other two lean to prevent the boat from flipping;
HOO BOY!
They managed to fit the bassist brick aboard after all! Murder kept his eyes shut for a moment to regain his composure - last time he went on a boat like this, he was drunk and made the whole boat tip trying to force an impromptu game of King of the Hill-
Okay. Open back up, now.
Preoccupied with his thoughts, Murder was lost as Death slid the disc back into his mouth.
With an aggressive grab to the jaw, the rotting punk lifted Murder’s head and tried to get him to swallow it down.
That coin is the embodiment of your essence…
You mustn’t let anyone get a hold of it.
Got it?
An awkward, strained gulp - Will got it.
Excellent...
Charon, doll, why don’t you tell him where we are off to?
…
We’re heading to a show in the Abandoned Cathedral of the Simoniacs tonight. The Devil of the Blues is expected to share the stage with Johnny Gold-Fiddle.
…
The event is hosted by the hedonists, so the seating throughout will be quite accommodating and comfortable...
…
>>>
The glaucus was still in disbelief - how did it not die? It, or he, figured the troll would have torn him to shreds once caught.
This is a dangerous place for water spirits - once in the brimstone, most constitution is gone.
Once he avoided Murder and Death, Sea Prince Glaucus returned to his present wits and swam back from whence he came…
The pressure decreased… and his form re-acclimated… albeit flesh burning and stinging in the waters, he pushed on…
>>>
..!!!
AGH!
Hoo… hoo… Good boy, Thunderhorse! Careful!
Thank you… Thank you... I can't feel my legs... Easy, now... F-Found him-I found him!!!
There you go. You like it? It’s sin-thetic fruit of the Zaqqum tree. Keeps me sane, buddy. Keep it going.
The troll continued to pull from it.
Who the hell is this asshat?
Please, ‘Asshat’ is my father’s name...
Disturbed the dead fellow read his thoughts, Murder flinched. His diaphragm reacted to the movement and caused him to hiccup and snort boiling, red hot magma-bile up his throat and out his nasal cavity. Part of it splashed onto the living hellhound pipe, it snarling at the startle.
KEAUGH! KHHHAEGH! KHUEEGH!
aaaaughhh…
RAAUGHRF!! RAAUHFFF RAUGHFF!!
aaauuughh…
It didn’t distract him long, however. He kept smoking - as putrid as the sensations sounded, his demon-troll-state found it pleasant, akin to drinking pints in a sauna. He gathered himself as his tears finally ceased.
As weird as this random encounter is tonight, the bassist can’t label it as a bad one. Thank you, Son of Asshat, for this… What did the guy say this was again? Better yet, who was this guy? What’s his actual god damn name?
You know me, buddy... Your band tried to summon me after you all did it for a game commercial, remember? You all wanted to see if I’d ACTUALLY help you order a good pizza if you managed to pull it off? I apologize, but I haven’t a clue what a good pizza would be... Any human food that makes it down here turns to ash once the dead touch it.
…?
I’m Death. You died not too long ago. God status keeps you golden, though - you aren’t bound here. Lucky bastard.
He hoisted his legs and propped them at the edge of the ferry, revealing a set of stocks around his ankles.
Looks like the both of us are cursed for now, though, aren’t we?
...
Ok. So. He’s dead. Murder kind of gathered that, himself. What an interesting factoid, “Death”.
Pops and buzzes to you, all those words?
The troll would rather keep smoking. Smoking’s good for you. Doctors used to swear by it, you know? They stopped that health-benefit narrative for Big Pharma-
Uh oh. You haven’t forgotten who you are, have you?
Uh, have you seen him?
He’s… Murder…?
Murderkrakish, the Lake-of-Fire Troll? Soon-to-be Gatekeeper of the Doomstar? And he loves eating bones? And hating himself, don’t forget that! Sulking is IN, baby!
…This might help; if you don’t remember, your name is William Murderface. Ring any bells?
..!
Oh, it was ringing many bells. It was as if Death had a bucket of ice water and dumped it onto Will’s head. Murderface stood up, eyes wide in shock he forgot such information, trying his best now to secure it into his mind.
I AM MURDERFACE!
Bassist of… A BAND! // My parents died of a MURDER-SUICIDE! //
I am a WARRIOR!
FUCKING CHRIST!
His jaw didn’t drop - it clenched. So hard, if he were still mortal, his teeth would crack. The smoke mix burned into scorching fire;
aaauuuuuggHHHH!!
Hyehhyehhyegh...
Your bull-man mommy’s not here, bubba. How about you join us on the ferry, instead of sulking at the lake crossings of lamentation and woe?
I promise we’ll bring you back before curfew…
Pipe retrieved, now being placed in a pocket,
We need to get some music back into your life.
He cradled the beast’s head, and looked at him with eons of experience. How can the macabre be so assuring?
Death understood - he’s complicated, confusing. Harsh. But underneath it all… accepting.
And incredibly disarming.
Death opened Murder’s mouth wide…
…and crammed his arm down his throat.
Easy! Easy… We need to… make sure… you’ve got one…
Thereeee we go… don’t be shy.
Relax… Open your heart up…
Ok, don’t move. Stay right there…
You’ve got a big heart for a troll, you know that? Try not to rock the boat...
After some blind searching, he hooked fingers around something, pulling the slobbery object out.
…Murder fucked up past the point of no return. He wasn’t even trying to self-sabotage anymore. Yet he still blew it. Was this the consequence for his actions in the past? His final punishment?
God, that really was the case, wasn’t it? Was this what Hell had in store for all of his shitty choices and weird thoughts? Was he seriously too late to redeem himself? That's not fair! He wasn't even given a chance to REALIZE he could be a better person! To... its full potential, anyway!
...
...Who was he kidding? He couldn’t defend himself. He knew he deserved to be in a spot like this since birth. Such reality made his heart feel like an anvil in weight, crushing his spirit.
The Bass-Beast sat and wept, his only company being the passing live corpses in the river current, and the fleshy ground with eyes and teeth that he sat upon.
Good thing about being away from his brothers, is that they didn’t have to see him weak - something he considered showing one’s true emotions to be.
True brave men internalize and repress, damn it!
He wheeze-sobbed until it was out of his system, hearing something slosh across the water while his face drip-dried.
…?
The beastly bassist looked hopeful, to wince once he realized it wasn’t who he thought it was.
How disappointing- it wasn’t even one of the usual demons…
Instead, it was a peculiar sight of two people crossing on a ferry.
The one who rowed forth looked like a gaunt, faceless grim reaper. The other person was a leather-vested muscle-punk with a skull-face and middle-parted, shoulder-length hair. He was smoking from a pipe of sorts...?
…
AGh!!
A corpse from the tide reached out to get a grip to the ferry’s bow, his legs dragging back towards the hull, mumbling and gasping;
Let me on... let me on, damn it...
…You want to hit this shit?
Too bad...
NO OBOL,
NO PASSAGE…
WHAM!
[GRAPHIC CONTENT AHEAD.]
The reaper swiftly lifted his oar out from the brimstone current and hooked it onto the lost spirit. A subtle spritz of mildewed brain and soggy scalp smacked against the outer shell of the vessel. His face clung to the sharp paddle.
Aaaaaughlllgghl.. ghlAAAAAAAAAUGH!
BEAT IT, LEADHEAD.
!!!
Murder blinked. What the fuck just happened?! He felt lost in the environment, and a bit scared he’d soon be hit with the oar, too.
He wiped his eyes, focusing on the water in front of him instead- The fears of being whacked were lower than the fear that he’d miss the microscopic chance of his brother attempting to save him again.
…
…But it was still scary as shit, man!
He waited for the boat to pass.
However, it didn’t. As the boat approached, it slowed down. The paddle even dragged itself in front of Murder, almost mocking him.
In the reflection of the water, the bassist was greeted by a skull visage joining him,
looking over the edge of the ferry… analyzing. They pulled out their smokes again, dryly asking;
You gotta point it to me, troll-head. What’s so captivating down there?
They WERE mocking him! What assholes! The troll-head looked at the flapping skull and sneered. The only skull who talked that he liked, was Boneface!
…Facebone. Bones. Face..?
No, not that, too!
Murder bellowed out in despair, claws cradling his own head.
Aughhhhhhhhhhh..!!!
Relax, big fella. Here... Clear that head up.
The face-fleshless-fuck shoved his pipe into the troll’s mouth.
This smoking device looked as though it were alive in itself... When the krakish inhaled, the mix in the chamber moaned in tired agony as it cherried;
aauuuuggh
aaaaaaaughhh…
A smell adjacent to hot formaldehyde and burnt hair tickled the back of the troll’s throat and sinuses.
It was definitely poison he tasted on his tongue, it tingled and stung a bit, too… and was paired with a sickly sweet aftertaste.
Sounds absolutely horrific. But it was smooth. And somehow managed to satiate the empty, achey feeling within the troll’s gut.
the Bass Beast set it as gentle as he could back into the water.
As it reacclimated, it gave him a confused glance...
pshht p b p b p b !
before deflating the hell air from within it. It swam away with haste, the demon now left to himself.
Gahh... Murder not doing the action he was named upon?! Enacting a catch and release maneuver, like some soft woman?! Someone fetch him a gin sour and play some Meredith Brooks- he’s turned into a bitch! That was so lame! Why did he do that? He should have tried to eat the damn thing!
But..
...He felt like that, before. Gasping for breath, wanting help. Only for those perfectly able to lend a hand watch you suffer...
“If we ever see eachother face-to-face again, I will fucking drag you down to the bottom of the sea, and laugh while you drown...”
...
There was nothing to laugh about with that type of brutality.
Why laugh at your brother drowning? The right thing would be to try to help, especially if he were...
...
N...icholas?
…
Nelson?
...
Nixon..? God, no...
Oh goodness. He could remember Meredith * fucking* Brooks, but not...? Come On! What was his name?
Murder couldn’t remember his brother’s name, or his other brothers’, for that matter.
What the fuck?!
What was wrong with him?! He whined aloud at the discovery, worried a blood clot was in his brain.
His brother! The Brutal One! The one with long black hair. The one that liked salty food and beer, the one that liked dating girls that weren’t worried about getting messy while eating barbeque. The one that loves fishing and hunting and playing games… gets excited getting the mail, even if it’s presorted junk.
His voice, his pfft-ahahahah laugh, his groans... his scream. How it evolved through the years in ways Murder didn’t even know possible. Naturally getting deeper, the gravel tone that few could pull off.
Murder’s favorite part was that this brother always had your back.
Always.
Through thick and thin. The numerous fights they had… it was all salvageable in the end.
… Was.
Not is.
Why did it go this way? Why was Murder so unfortunate to destroy anything good in his life? Worst of all, why be here, at a source of water, hoping his brother would swim through it and get him out of this neverending nightmare like he tried once before? He’d drown him, just like he warned.
At least he wasn’t completely alone, here.
Those demon monsters treasured him. It made Murder feel emasculated... he looked forward to them giving him attention, eager to be appreciated and adored.
He couldn’t explain it. When the demon council interacted with him, when their schedules allowed it, they treated the beast-bassist like he was their fucking bread and butter. It reminded him of a robot from his past.
The area they put him in was warm and serene alongside the brimstone waterline. It... was also vacant , for the most part.
Murder grew considerably since he’d been there, too. Horns began to jut out, which made sleeping positions limited and aggravating.
He wished he could articulate himself better so he could ask them for help, but his throat and tongue were warped. He could only wail like a pathetic cryptid.
…Maybe he’d learn to speak again, and have a conversation with one of them to make sense of this mess.
“You don’t need to worry about your past life. I took it from you . Manager Crow doesn’t need to know about a government memo...
“ He needsch to focusch on Planet Pissch. You are not a General. You are my Manager. Dr. Gibbetz’sch nephew threw that boot that broke my nosche lascht month. ”
“…”
“The kid that threw the shoe was a Gibbetz? That’s brutal. ”
“ No schit, scherlock!”
“Ooooh, that sounded like Murderface.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely- I mean, Abscholutely, Maschter.”
Crozier stood half-manually stunned in the elevator, silently suffering through the three-and-a-half of them cackling.
Murder kept trying to relocate himself in the water, frantic and desperate. Moaning rotten bodies and debris flowed through the brimstone river, making it the more frustrating to properly search.
O- oh . He got a hold onto something. No- it was gripping onto him ! It felt like a hand of some sort!
Murder feverishly pulled up-
to see it was a...
...What the fuck is that?!
It was jaw-locked past his knuckles, biting as hard as it could down on his hand. Not bone-breaking tier, but enough to make the cartilage
crunch!
…
sucklsucklsucklsucklsuckl
?!?!?!?
...suckl.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGHHH
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGHHH!!!
++eeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEk!++
With a scared, harsh whip of the troll demon’s wrist, the fish (..?) flopped to the ground. It tried to tumble back to the water, failing miserably as the hot hellgrounds scorched it.
Murder watched as it tried its best to flip back onto its stomach in order to crawl, eyes staring at the water feet before it as it choked on the brimstone-tainted air... skin sizzling as it pathetically writhed…
++Hkkkk…Hhhhghk.. !++
A gross peep left its frog-like mouth, and their long, trendrilled fins began to crisp up and burn down.
++!!!++
…!
…
“Pfft. Fuckins pathetic. Looks at him, gasping like a fish, with no answer to pukes-out in his fats belly!”
…
Murder growled, grabbing the thing… somewhat carefully with both his claws, as if it were an expensive artifact.
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“Mold is a fungus... His stupidity is rubbing off on you. Be careful .”
“Lighten up, Crow.”
Sal stepped in, covered in blood.
“On the other hand, your concern makes you a great manager .”
Orlaag pushed through, blocking Sal from taking another step around the shards.
“So it’s true ! Spirits do look at mortals through mirrors! Fascinating.”
“Seven years of bad luck now, huh?”
Murder was a tad perturbed by the idea.
Did the bassist really get the upper hand as a krakish in hell ?
What were those idiot demons feeding him?
Needing to prove himself a man and not a wuss worried about superstitious bullshit, Murder unzipped his pants and walked to the toilet, peeing as he talked.
“Seven years of dark forces watching you is brutal, so pipe it. Want me to get into character and rip one near your face, or better yet - move my stream and fill that shit-lid you call a mouth?”
“…”
He didn’t hear a response.
“Hm. Your cigarette might set the detector off. Better smother it before the smoke rises.”
The stream began to move slowly out of the toilet, against the wall, spritzing the tile of the shower wall.
Crozier scowled, cringing at the forced edge and piss particles hitting his exposed shoulder.
“… Jesus, get your head out of your ass! ”
“The behavior is getting more convincing, Master.”
“Why, thank you, Orlie.”
“Once you have the strength to stand, Manager Crow , we’re going to meet up with ‘ CEO’ Stampingston to prep for ‘ The Record Label Meeting’ this afternoon. He should arrive at the top of the hour... so let’s get ready.”
>>>
...
...
...
“ Gentlemen... ”
“You’ll find what Chesterfield has set up at the hospital to be more than satisfactory. He and his crew have blown it out of the water.”
“And what about today, Stampingston?”
“We’ll do our usual conference, and then we’ll observe the new studio room. Which, is my personal favorite. I think you’ll love it, King .”
Sal smiled, rubbing Murder’s back. “Excellent... Since we’ll be back up at the surface, I should put my gear on.”
“Asge we go and enact the next steps,
“I need to work on how to perfect thisch lischp.”
“Why don’t you ask Dr. Gibbetz for assistance on his phonetic profile?”
“Oh...”
The Senator grimaced.
“He’s... still on leave.”
“Ah, What happened?”
“You... don’t know?”
“Know what?”
“...My apologies, General. You’ve been so deeply involved in these steps of our project that you’ve missed the last couple of meetings. I gave the memos to Orlaag, I thought he sent them to you..?”
Crozier turned to Orlaag. The redhead smiled with soul piercing eyes.
“ I’ve been trying to get into the Orlie character. He’s an asshole to his manager. So I didn’t.”
“…Horseshit.”
“He’sch been out helping his family with an emergency. Hisch ! Damn it. ”
“What?”
“Crozier, the meetings have no value to you at the moment.”
“I’m a four-star general, what the hell do you mean-”
Manager Crow’s body was too stressed to speak. He took moments to pull in oxygen, the lack of blood making him strain as he thought;
[...Must you pick that spot everytime? ]
< It’s not intentional. Force of habit. Hard to focus when Ginger Rasputin is telling me about how Jupiter is somehow affecting how I act .>
[If you don’t like that, you should ask him to update you on politics.]
<First thing in the morning? I’d rather eat cement.>
Murder snickered at the sink. He began to yap to the General, rinsing the blood off his mug with steamy-hot water and a rag.
“I appreciate your reliability, Crozier. How does Burzum’s sound for breakfast?”
Crozier groaned.
“Heh. Good.”
Will dried his face with a hanging cloth, prepped at the mirror to scrub at spots he missed with the wet rag.
“...!”
But something was off about the mirror;
His reflection was not him .
It was HIM.
!!!
!?!?
“ Hckk..How-HOW are.. you-”
!!!!!!!!
“ HCKK... CKKKK.. . Scht-”
!!SHATTER!!
Hitting the floor like a sack of spuds amongst the glass, the shaggy bassist gasped as if he breached the surface of water. Crozier could hear a clamor across the house. Orlaag was trying to calm someone down.
“...The hell happened? Why’d you do that.. ?”
“. ..!”
Crozier adjusted the shower curtains to see Murder staring at him in horror. His eyes were bloodshot and bright. Massive bags under his eyes. He shivered, looking at his body and surroundings, feeling his face.
“ Aauunnghh...nnuuuuuughhh...! ”
Holy shit - it was Murderface. William .
He was back inside himself, discombobulated, winded.
Crozier had no clue what to do but look at him back, frozen. The bassist still had his wind knocked out, moaning in a mix of fear and pain.
“… ? ”
He reached a hand out to try to touch the dying man in the tub, to see if he was real.
But as soon as he got kinked motor skills back, he lost them.
His veins pulsed out dramatically. Black blood leaked from his nose,
eventually fainting forward and jerking back up in a gasp.
GYYAGH!
His pupils started to grow narrow again, skin greyer.
“... Whoo-hoo-hooopsie. Heh! Looks like he’s beginning to wake up a few days earlier than expected .”
“Had… that happened before?”
“Him poking through? No-hohpe,” Murder chuckled, picking at the shards of mirror around him.
“Well, his essence has been present throughout, but not his consciousness. A little alarming. Hear me choking on blood in the other room? Even threw me off guard. Hoo, that hurt! Well, he could have lost control of his bowels, thankfully he didn’t .”
“You’ve been piloting him for weeks now... you realize that..? With no breaks?”
Murder looked authentically surprised at the General, blinking a few times before speaking again.
“... Really ?”
He thought to himself. They were so busy setting things into action for when Murderface came back to reality. What they’d say to him, how to execute the next steps... Meticulous work, but it was fool-proof. The naive bassist would believe anything his biggest supporter told him. All Salacia had to do was... pretend he had a heart.
What was he even thinking - He had a heart! It... wasn’t his, but...
Will could share with the Half-Man for the time being. For the sake of the Project.
He got up and shifted to Crozier, a bit softer, now. Going into his pocket, Half-Face pulled a pack of cigarettes out, offering one to the bloodied general.
“Just a few more days, General. Then he’ll have his break, before his big break. ”
“I can’t tell which body felt more... envious... today. The confidence this week surpasses this... temporary grey cloud above us. Hm...
“You aren’t even awake. Yet here you are, growing on me like a… in layman’s terms, a foul venereal disease, hm-hm-hmm… I was scared I’d be a bit burdened, to be blunt… but truly, I can’t get enough. First this was for business… I feel things I haven’t felt in so long.
“It is no sacrifice to invest my energy in you. It brings me reawakened life.”
Sal made Murder shift his head towards him. He wished he’d speak freely. It would be awkward trying to talk to himself anymore than he’s had to already. He wanted Will to make decisions. He wanted to feel how Murderface thought through things when he was awake.
“I... look forward to becoming your friend. I’ve gotten such a small taste of your life, while I'm in there.
“...I crave more. I’ll be patient. I’ve made some... adjustments while you’ve been out.”
For example, while piloted;
Murder these last few weeks took distilled water showers, scalding hot , just how the half-man liked it.
The first attempt at washing Will’s hair was a bit of a shock to Orlaag and Salacia - the ‘fro was more or less a matted block due to self-neglect, and the back of his neck was spotted with mange.
Prescribed ointments helped the stinging pain it caused. Unscented lotions and washes to keep his eczema from spreading seemed to help. Will was onto something, wearing shorts all the time.
It helped circulate air - when he sweat, his pores would be relieved once the breeze cooled things down.
After getting massive amounts of plaque scrapped, and tonsil stones removed, Murder now brushed his teeth twice a day. Salacia couldn’t stand the fuzzy feeling of his teeth, how grit crunched each time his jaw shut.
The half-man felt a tad ashamed - he got too cocky with drinking boiling beverages, and discovered he most likely gave the bassist a case of burning mouth. Orlaag would drip oil tinctures on his tongue every few hours to help.
The tinctures tasted awful. But food didn’t. Salacia’s palette had formed around flesh - everything else tasted like dirt. Not on Will’s body! Breaded marinated chicken, BURGERS, salty fried potatoes, over processed chemically modified gold, is what it all was. He understood Dethklok’s obsession with Doritos !
He could chew it, taste it, swallow, and enjoy the sensation of being full - a feeling Salacia hadn’t felt since he himself was still human.
Eating normal human food now was akin to guzzling a bottle of ipecac, though - his body would reject it soon after, violently .
This led Murder to grow gaunt these last few weeks. This was a change Salacia did not enjoy-even he wouldn’t intentionally be so heartless to the Traitor.
To prevent the press from noticing the change, he wore baggy sweatshirts to look bigger as he searched for better solutions. The only things he could properly get the bassist to eat were small bits of soil foods (which never satisfied), or organic material in the form of tinctures, supplements, drinks, most importantly of this liquid variety...
Living Metal.
Both their empty stomachs grumbled as the thought crossed the Half-Man’s mind. It was time to start their routine.
“Let us begin our morning...” Sal murmured, pecking his muse on his head before the both of them stood up from the couch, walking separate directions, avoiding stepping on black-out drunk ‘groupees’.
Sal made it down a hallway, knocking on a door before opening it.
[GRAPHIC CONTENT AHEAD.]
The stench of stale lust hit him as the door was pushed through, a bedroom revealing the aftermath of last night. A group of men and women laid sprawled across the ground and bed.
On the bed, was the redhead of the posse - waking up, using the tummy of a corpulent escort for a pillow.
“ Good morning,” Orlaag yawned, adjusting towards the bosom of the unconscious lady, using his nails to knead upon her breast like a hungry kitten.
< Is it time to feed, Master? I shall offer you my neck.>
He shuffled up.
<I musn’t make it more raw, dear Orlaag. Present an arm my way...>
Orlie did as he was told, offering his dominant side.
“…”
KLK KLK
SHNK!
<... What would you like to hear me think about today, Master?>
<... Amuse me with your astrology. >
<Ooh. Let’s see...
<Jupiter shifts from Taurus to Gemini, now. We were focused and grounded, and now we dance in the space of curiosity and growth. Things do feel adventurous, wouldn’t you agree? I feel you thriving now that Murder arrived. He’s been a generator to your spirit during the Project- >
“..Hagh..”
>>>
“...”
Pulling up from the tub, Murder stared into the eyes of Crozier, mouth dripping with blood.
“ EUGH. It smacks you right in the face ! My theory? I think the concert last month was a dramatic stunt. He’s still on contract, the band might be on hiatus, and now it gives Murder time to work on his side project.”
“You think so?”
“I-I want to believe it. I really like this Planet Piss stuff, now that we have more than Takin’ it Easy . I didn’t even know Will could scream, it sounds great!”
“Yeah, this shit’s insane. What about Dethklok, have they made any public response yet?”
“Not that I know of, no. Gee. Makes you think, maybe those mania-driven forum posts he’s made throughout the years could be valid.”
[GRAPHIC CONTENT AHEAD.]
“That’sch exactly why we had that funeral for my old schelf! That past me is gone. New Will has growth, and a much better headschpace.”
“I’ve been quite a fan of yours for nearly a decade, so seeing this risky change... That’s very brave. And, before I forget, congrats on five hundred million streams for My Name Is Murder , by the way.”
“Thank you! Thisch new band’s been eye-opening. I feel fuckin’ alive, man.”
Really? Majority said “No”? Hm…
Now, Planet Piss may stir trouble up with Crystal Mountain Records in due time, especially if this breaches contractual obligations. Is this by chance an independent release type of deal, funded by Murder’s pockets? Or are rumors of him being signed to a private label true , amongst its conflict? Damien Cornickelson responded to reporters this morning;
“Just what I need during my morning stroll and Duncan run, shitbirds. Look - you all are acting as if this is the first time members of Dethklok have performed a breach of contract. They’ve done that shit before several times. Right now, Planet Piss is a passion project Will’s doing on his own, it’s not a joint venture, not anything of the sorts. It could go anywhere -most likely bad places- or they could all settle it out in time and we can all renegotiate, it’s... in the fuckin’ air.”
“You are the label, Cornickelson. You make the decision-”
“Hey. Get that camera the hell back. Too close for comfort. And are you fuckin’ high ? My favorite metal monkeys Dethklok make the decision, and they are on hiatus. Let me get my morning muffin and latte, get the fuck out of my face, and we will find out in due time.”
“What are you listening to in your dethpods, sir?”
“ My Name is Murder. ...It’s catchy, what can I say?”
“Scho, yeah, get ready, world.
“Planet Piss, my pride and joy, is shaping up into a real class act. I’m free now, and Dethklok’s gonna have to suck it up. God, I wish I could see the looks on their fuckin faces, right now!”
“Well, Will, Not trying to rain on your piss-parade, but there’s some doubt they’ve even seen any of the new Planet Piss news, let alone heard your new single.”
“Heh, what? What’s that supposed to mean, are you trying to schay they are above me ?”
“God, no! Everyone here is obsessed with what you’ve released so far! You’ve heard about Deus Keep, right? The band is with a mysterious music guru in some unmarked island location. They have a strict no-electronic policy.”
“...You’re telling me they are acting like fucking hippies right now?”
“ Metalhead Hippies , sure. They announced their hiatus at the beginning of this month. Marty, wanna pull up one of their DETH Threets?”
“…”
“...HAH! Well ! They... must be hating it there!”
“Maybe you should find where they’re at, hop on a boat and give them a surprise visit, show them your new success!”
You gotta smile more! Maybe a good ol’ joke can make some dimples show up, hm, sweetheart?
This one’s good. Ready?
Aheghm...
[GRAPHIC CONTENT AHEAD.]
CHK.
What went through your mind before I killed you?
BANG!
I AM THE DETH-SQUAD
MY “ONE-MAN” SHOW
MY NAME IS MURDER
DID YOU NOT KNOW?
“Ermm… MidLifeCrisisCore, much? Don’t let the new advertising fool you.
"William Murderface has been known in the past to be homophobic, racist, he’s hyper-fixated with the civil war, the confederate army…
“Need I remind you of the Hedonist Gettysburg Play he wrote in the 2010s? I feel like someone needs to say it, with our small community of zillions. If you like William Murderface, do this world a favor and Kill Yourself-”
[STITCH INCOMING]
“WIIIIITCH! WIIIIIIIIITCH !
“I’m pissed that I’m sober!
POBODY’S NERFECT, SKANK!
LET THE MAN GROW!
“AS A TODDLER HE WAS LEFT IN A BABY HIGH CHAIR FOR 38 HOURS WITH ONLY THE CORPSES OF HIS MOM AND DAD FOR COMPANY! HIS GRANDPARENTS ARE CONSPIRACY NUTS! HE’S FUCKED IN THE HEAD!
WHO IS SAYING HE’S A GOOD PERSON? WHO IS SAYING HE’S A VOICE OF REASON ?
IS HE TRYING TO BE A BETTER PERSON? JUST LIKE YOU SAID, “IN THE PAST!” I HAVENT SEEN HIM PULL HIS 2010 ANTICS IN A LONG TIME, MAYBE HE’S WISENED UP!
GOOD FOR HIM! LET HIM BE BETTER!
CHECKED YOUR BIO - YOU LIVE IN SOUTH CAROLINA!
WE GET IT, HE REMINDS YOU OF YOUR DAD !
OURF OURF OURF OURF
On the floor, on my hands and knees frothing from the lips like the rabid dog the internet makes me become...
AWRRROOOOOOO !!
...
Noodles, got anything you want to add?
“ I am a schlut for schophischtry… love the guy, even though he tried to kill me. I can fix him...”
“You can’t even fix a fold in bath towels with that new chin.”
“ It wasch a joke, Bobby…”
“Erm. Merp. Welp, it wasn’t FUNNY! Try this one on for size - what did Murderface say to his gynecologist during his pap smear?”
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[Even though In this update (in character) I am hijacked by Half-Face, I understand a slice of this fandom struggles with media comprehension.
I want to communicate this before it jumps out at you - this chapter ahead will have a handful of NSFW visuals.
Most of it is an attempt to do a modern take of the fanklok convention artist alley, but for the web.
The web can be crass, gross, and my thoughts are that Toki probably lets freaky platforms advertize on PlanetPiss.Com to infuriate Murderface.
I want to shake the reader off course, as if they themselves are a Klokateer discovering Planet Piss coming to fruition.
...And that Toki’s influence onto the site as a prankster still somewhat exists post-hijack.
Some of the (3) fake smut game ads are references to fanfics written by people on this very site, on AO3. I am choosing not to give credit to prevent harassment to strangers that my yeti self wanted to parody.
This is a blue moon type of thing (if I ever even do it again for an update), so, for the squeamish adults out there do not fear, this is not going down a Horny Rabbit Hole!
Viewer Discretion is HEAVILY advised!]
>>>
HONK HOOOOONK!
“What in God’s name gives you the gall to ride my ass?! Where the hell did you come from?! Pissin’ me off!”
“Gahhh, don’t you worry about it. I’ll take care of it, sweetcheeks.”
"…"
B L A M M O
OH MY GOD!
SKKKKKKRRRRRT
CRASH!!!
>>>
♪...♪...♪...
♪♪♪
Hohoh!
Wow… Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?
You could say that again...
UH OH!
What happened back there, huh?
I should have warned you, I’m a bit of a wild card.
Sorry! Not sorry!
When I’m runnin’ this shit,
you’re just gonna have to enjoy the filthy ride.
Do you really need a writer to say “viewer discretion is advised”, for every fucking chapter? Come on! This is from Archive of Our Own, , for crying out loud! This is nothing!
I did you all a favor. Found that idiot creator of this fan-bullshit, and tore them limb from limb before I hopped on the road.
Relax ! I’m fuckin’ with you. I asked if I could promote myself for the buffer, instead. Will Murder has a heart, people!
I didn’t appreciate that they blocked me, at first. Heheh, I’ll get that off my chest!
Hashtag, blocked gang! 🤝
So I made sure to go on one of my several separate accounts and tell this dumbass half my age that I’m entitled to their work, and they are obligated to love me. As any sane, confident, mature person would...💎🖤
WHEEZE!
Covert Narcissism? I HARDLY know him!
After some gentle manipul-Ah.. After some persuasion, and an offer working for a fantastic underground corporation , viola. I have the wheel. Heh, technically, you have it. Lodged in your diaphragm, by the sound of you struggling for air. Must hurt.
...
Where were we, again?
Oh, yeah! Bless yer heart...
Silly Willy Me shot yer tryhard pardner back there , diddnteye ? Aw, shucks!
The klokateer knelt down and pulled the channel pedal out from under the couch. As he did so, Wartooth kicked it away from his grasp -
the two watching it bounce past the coffee table.
“Ah...?”
“My lord?”
"..."
“... My lord?”
"..."
Abigail looked at Wartooth in concern. “Toki? Are you stuck?”
The rhythm guitarist blinked, shaking out his stiff position. “Ha-ha! Conks-ticks of In-tricks! Boy, am I thoisty! I orders to you bringings us some drinks, instead. Overpowereds, overruleds!”
Chuckling through a groan, the drummer compromised. He accepted that the marathon would be more tolerable if he got further wasted.
“Okey… Get some guitaraid, too. Skwisgaar looks dry.”
“I’ll be back shortly, sires.”
“Hey. Skwisgaar, you still with us?”
Skwigelf groggily wiped his bloodshot eyes.
“ Ja. I feels weird.”
“Gad damn it, am I doing it again?”
“..Shit.”
“ Whats?”
“Pickle has the cheese touch, Skwisgaar.”
“…Oh? I don’t minds. My head doesn’t horts anymore.”
“And neither does mine, hah.”
The group looked at Nathan, happy he had his feet back on the ground.
“NAT’N!”
“CHARLES?!”
The vocalist walked firm towards Pickles to hug him. He didn’t notice the drummer shaking his head in time.
“Oh shet. Nathan, you might feel weird. I dunno why. I think the Doomstar made us all freaks.”
“ Yeah, I’m feeling it, god damn,” Nathan swallowed, looking at Skwisgaar.
“Thank you, all. For being... flexible? No. Caring . And-and patient. That’s the word. Two words .”
“ Pickle gots the cheese touch, Nathans,” Skwisgaar reached his lanky arm to hold his friend’s again. “Your hairs gettins so longs. I wants to brush its all outs and braids it. ”
“You can braid? Fuck yeah, mama, I’m uh. I’m down.”
“Oops! I’ve treeped and now I’m eever so slowlee falling over the pedal over heere! Clickeeng onto cable again! WoooaaAaahhh!”
“ALSO, UH,” the vocalist swallowed. “Sorry for acting so fuckin’ weird this week. I talk to whales and the Doomstar took me down a very rough ride last weekend. Watched Murderface go fuckin’ Cronenberg on me.
“...Tough crowd. Woo. OH, GUYS! CHARLES IS HERE FOR THE WEEKEND!”
Explosion realized the group was staring in horror at the television;
IN MEMORIAM, WILLIAM MURDERFACE
Charles stood, focused on the screen as the others were.
“Pickles, turn the volume up.”
“Tonight, I’ve been invited to mourn the loss of Dethklok Bassist, William Murderface, up close and center at his funeral service in Tucson this evening. The worst part of today, besides his death, is the rumor spreading across the sands that his death was faked.
“…It was a closed casket, but, I don’t know. Let’s ask this group over here what they think.
“Excuse me, my condolences, hate to stop any held silence. Can I ask, you , sir. What do you think about the theory of Murderface and his state of being, right now?”
“ Well, it’s no theory, I know the truth. William Murderface did indeed die, thank-you-very-much. A real crying… sch ame… That’s ch why I’m wearing black-I’m mourning the death of a real dick. Paying my respect sch .”
“Oh really? I can see that!”
“ That’s why I’m enjoying a cigar. I only sch moke cigar sch for sch pecial occasionsh.”
“With all due respect, if he’s dead, sir, then who is standing here before us today?”
The bassist scoffed, lifting his shades, licking his lips post-puff.
“ My name is Murder. Did you not know? ”
[END OF ACT 3]
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