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Description
Not as dark as the last two. Warnings: Gore, Alcohol Abuse, Cursing, Creepy Imagary

Skiftingklok: Reverse Masquerade

Twenty Years Later...

"…ey? Nath'en…dood?"

"What."

"I think somethin's 'rong wit..Toki. 'Dood hasn't left his room in three days."

"Caring is not metal. Band policy is that we do not interfere or show interest with each other's personal life." Nathan growled at Pickles, but despite his aggression, something squirmed in the back of his mind. Toki hadn't been the same ever his father died, more and more bottles of alcohol have been disappearing from the Mordhaus stash. There had been a lull in Charles' recent return but ever since Skwisgaar came back from Sweden convinced of being a god, it had started up again.

"I kno' Nath'en. But  havin' a missin' rhythm guitarist ain't metal either. And it's Toki,
y'kno' dat. Kid's bin actin' weird ever since S'wisgaar cahme back."

The only response that Pickles got was Nathan grumbling, his hand massing his forehead. Caring was NOT METAL, damnit. But a newborn larvae of memory wriggled in the back of his mind.  A trio of images swung through his mind like an empty swing on the playground.

Toki smiling as he scarfed down bowl after bowl of candy, flashing plaque-encrusted
teeth at him. A nest of half-chewed candy bits on his tongue as he stuck it out happily.

Toki slung on his shoulder as he descended down a teetering tower on an old rickety ladder. In the background, flames devoured the carcass of Mordhaus like hellhounds tearing apart the flesh of a dying dragon. As Nathan slowly climbed down…the abyss yawned below with a gaping maw as their enemies swarmed around their fortress home like maggots.

Toki was slumped in the shower, left there like an old discarded child's toy, his band mates watching him with gleeful hyena eyes, their snide laughing barks veiling their concern. The shower, a gargoyle head, leered down as it vomited up cold water on Toki's twitching form. His limbs hanged off his body like an old Raggedy Ann doll. Blood trickled down his forehead, branching onto different crimson rivulets on his face, and then flowed down onto the shower tile. Water and blood swirled together; a morbid marriage of red and blue, the colors of domestic violence, dripped into the grated cavern of a moldy drain, as the meaty doll body of Toki watched on with half-lidded alcohol-glazed eyes.

Half-Eaten Meat Doll. Brutal Song Title.

Pupil-less eyes stared at him accusingly.

Metal.

'…dood…?"

Pickles' voice cleaved through Nathan's silent brooding like a butcher slicing through meat.

"…Nath'en…? I kno' yoor thinkin' an' all, but shouldn' we be goin'?

"Oh…yeah.  Toki. Right. Let's go."

On the other side of their soaring fortress home in the sky…

The rare silence of Mordhaus was broken by the roar of imaginary gunfire and the screams of the non-existent victims of hamburger time, high in the sky.

    "SCHEW….Scheww…schew…schew…schew! Takes dat and yous takes dat! And yous too!

Schew! Whoooooosh!

Aaaaaaaaah! Scheeeeeeeewwwwwwwwwwwssssss.

I's ams deads.

SCHEW! Avenge mys hamburgers-time!"

Toki Wartooth of Dethklok, was flopped on his bed, six-pack belly bared to the world in playful submission, as his head hanged off the edge. He took a swig of vodka and then threw it into an ever growing heap of bottles on the other ride of the room. His red-rimmed eyes, joyfully watched the ceiling sky above.

Toy model planes, lovingly crafted and glued together by Toki's own hands, soared through the air. Propelled by the power of a scarred human arm, they dive bombed and loop-de-looped. Plastic wings were lofted high at an altitude of one point five meters, being steered into upside down flights.

Each little imaginary bullet, that screamed from the tiny aircraft, bore through the crimson walls. Non-existent holes pocketed the portraits. The image of a fluffy rabbit stared nervously at the scorch between its ears. A silhouette of bullet holes in his parents' portraits had nearly destroyed the abhorrent thing in Toki's mind.

In real life…the damn pictures were still intact. Toki still hadn't had the heart to lash the portraits to a slab of bloody meat and fling it to the howling yard wolves outside.

Kaboom! An imaginary nuke obliterated the pictures into a mushroom cloud of splinters. Little flakes of charred paper rained down on Toki's grinning slasher smile, etched into his face. All of this wasn't happening in the real world of course.

"Kapow! Da enemy bomber has strucks! Oh noes! My planes is goings downs! I'm gonnas hits hamburgers times again! Noooooooooooooooes, noooooot agains!"

It skidded onto the six-pack belly of the pilot of these tiny aircraft. Make-believe shrapnel flew everywhere, little microscopic iron thorns shot into the skin of the living runway and stayed there as metal barbs.

"GAAAAAAAH!!!!!!! FINALS HAMBURGERS TIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEMS!!!!!!!!

He threw his plane onto the pillow and then drunkenly stumbled off the bed, for an epic finally to this plastic aerial dogfight. The door flew open.

"TOKIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII! WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU!!!! HAMBURGER TIME?!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Nathan roared to the heavens. Pickles was right behind him, his crimson dreads flying everywhere.

"Dood…Toki?"

"GETS OUTS!!!!!!!" Toki screamed at them in mid-air, crashing to the carpet below. His foot landed on a spare whiskey bottle, it rolled, and then he slipped backwards towards the bottle heap. A sickening crack echoed throughout the room.

"that's gotta fuckin' hurt…ouch…Toki, yoor sure ar' drunk…haven' seen yoo like thi' in a while…" Pickles picked up one of the bottles that had rolled to his feet in the ensuing crash and drank from it. He walked over to help out his friend.

"I'ms oks…no needs to comes…owie… My butts hurts…"

Sprawled out on a throne of shattered glass and jagged shards, blood streamed out from Toki's back. It dripped from his back, and cascaded onto the devastated bottles. A red waterfall flowing down on translucent cragged rocks, brown hair pooled around Toki's bleeding head.

"Toki…that was really fuckin' BRUTAL. New song idea: Bloody Bottle Devastation. Oh yeah, your back. Uh yeah, let's help you up."

"…you twos...just stays away, ja?...I'm's fines…owie…"

"Dood…Toki…yer bleedin'…" Pickles got closer.

"OH FUCK…Nath'en…c'mere…look."

Pickles and Nathan took in the sight that was Toki and then looked at each other; a rare feeling of understanding had passed between them.

So this was the reason that Toki had been holed up in his room for the past several days. In the ensuing chaos of Toki crashing into the bottles, they hadn't noticed. At the very least, it would make a top-notch album cover, like their sewn-back-together-wrong chef.

"Hey, Toki…" Nathan began but was cut off.

"Nooooosss! Don't fuckin' looks at me! I looks likes a freaks…"  Toki moaned in pain, shredded pieces of glass stuck out of his pink raw skin like craggy irregular spikes. He was crowned by two short horns that jutted out of his hair. Ragged ears, scarred by heated metal, flared back in fear. His short tail, tufted with hair, wormed through a labyrinth trap of broken alcohol bottles.

On his throne of shattered glass and crowned by two horns, bleeding little Toki was the blasphemous image of a fairy tale king.

Description
Not as dark as the last two. Warnings: Gore, Alcohol Abuse, Cursing, Creepy Imagary

Skiftingklok: Reverse Masquerade

Twenty Years Later...

"…ey? Nath'en…dood?"

"What."

"I think somethin's 'rong wit..Toki. 'Dood hasn't left his room in three days."

"Caring is not metal. Band policy is that we do not interfere or show interest with each other's personal life." Nathan growled at Pickles, but despite his aggression, something squirmed in the back of his mind. Toki hadn't been the same ever his father died, more and more bottles of alcohol have been disappearing from the Mordhaus stash. There had been a lull in Charles' recent return but ever since Skwisgaar came back from Sweden convinced of being a god, it had started up again.

"I kno' Nath'en. But  havin' a missin' rhythm guitarist ain't metal either. And it's Toki,
y'kno' dat. Kid's bin actin' weird ever since S'wisgaar cahme back."

The only response that Pickles got was Nathan grumbling, his hand massing his forehead. Caring was NOT METAL, damnit. But a newborn larvae of memory wriggled in the back of his mind.  A trio of images swung through his mind like an empty swing on the playground.

Toki smiling as he scarfed down bowl after bowl of candy, flashing plaque-encrusted
teeth at him. A nest of half-chewed candy bits on his tongue as he stuck it out happily.

Toki slung on his shoulder as he descended down a teetering tower on an old rickety ladder. In the background, flames devoured the carcass of Mordhaus like hellhounds tearing apart the flesh of a dying dragon. As Nathan slowly climbed down…the abyss yawned below with a gaping maw as their enemies swarmed around their fortress home like maggots.

Toki was slumped in the shower, left there like an old discarded child's toy, his band mates watching him with gleeful hyena eyes, their snide laughing barks veiling their concern. The shower, a gargoyle head, leered down as it vomited up cold water on Toki's twitching form. His limbs hanged off his body like an old Raggedy Ann doll. Blood trickled down his forehead, branching onto different crimson rivulets on his face, and then flowed down onto the shower tile. Water and blood swirled together; a morbid marriage of red and blue, the colors of domestic violence, dripped into the grated cavern of a moldy drain, as the meaty doll body of Toki watched on with half-lidded alcohol-glazed eyes.

Half-Eaten Meat Doll. Brutal Song Title.

Pupil-less eyes stared at him accusingly.

Metal.

'…dood…?"

Pickles' voice cleaved through Nathan's silent brooding like a butcher slicing through meat.

"…Nath'en…? I kno' yoor thinkin' an' all, but shouldn' we be goin'?

"Oh…yeah.  Toki. Right. Let's go."

On the other side of their soaring fortress home in the sky…

The rare silence of Mordhaus was broken by the roar of imaginary gunfire and the screams of the non-existent victims of hamburger time, high in the sky.

    "SCHEW….Scheww…schew…schew…schew! Takes dat and yous takes dat! And yous too!

Schew! Whoooooosh!

Aaaaaaaaah! Scheeeeeeeewwwwwwwwwwwssssss.

I's ams deads.

SCHEW! Avenge mys hamburgers-time!"

Toki Wartooth of Dethklok, was flopped on his bed, six-pack belly bared to the world in playful submission, as his head hanged off the edge. He took a swig of vodka and then threw it into an ever growing heap of bottles on the other ride of the room. His red-rimmed eyes, joyfully watched the ceiling sky above.

Toy model planes, lovingly crafted and glued together by Toki's own hands, soared through the air. Propelled by the power of a scarred human arm, they dive bombed and loop-de-looped. Plastic wings were lofted high at an altitude of one point five meters, being steered into upside down flights.

Each little imaginary bullet, that screamed from the tiny aircraft, bore through the crimson walls. Non-existent holes pocketed the portraits. The image of a fluffy rabbit stared nervously at the scorch between its ears. A silhouette of bullet holes in his parents' portraits had nearly destroyed the abhorrent thing in Toki's mind.

In real life…the damn pictures were still intact. Toki still hadn't had the heart to lash the portraits to a slab of bloody meat and fling it to the howling yard wolves outside.

Kaboom! An imaginary nuke obliterated the pictures into a mushroom cloud of splinters. Little flakes of charred paper rained down on Toki's grinning slasher smile, etched into his face. All of this wasn't happening in the real world of course.

"Kapow! Da enemy bomber has strucks! Oh noes! My planes is goings downs! I'm gonnas hits hamburgers times again! Noooooooooooooooes, noooooot agains!"

It skidded onto the six-pack belly of the pilot of these tiny aircraft. Make-believe shrapnel flew everywhere, little microscopic iron thorns shot into the skin of the living runway and stayed there as metal barbs.

"GAAAAAAAH!!!!!!! FINALS HAMBURGERS TIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEMS!!!!!!!!

He threw his plane onto the pillow and then drunkenly stumbled off the bed, for an epic finally to this plastic aerial dogfight. The door flew open.

"TOKIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII! WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU!!!! HAMBURGER TIME?!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Nathan roared to the heavens. Pickles was right behind him, his crimson dreads flying everywhere.

"Dood…Toki?"

"GETS OUTS!!!!!!!" Toki screamed at them in mid-air, crashing to the carpet below. His foot landed on a spare whiskey bottle, it rolled, and then he slipped backwards towards the bottle heap. A sickening crack echoed throughout the room.

"that's gotta fuckin' hurt…ouch…Toki, yoor sure ar' drunk…haven' seen yoo like thi' in a while…" Pickles picked up one of the bottles that had rolled to his feet in the ensuing crash and drank from it. He walked over to help out his friend.

"I'ms oks…no needs to comes…owie… My butts hurts…"

Sprawled out on a throne of shattered glass and jagged shards, blood streamed out from Toki's back. It dripped from his back, and cascaded onto the devastated bottles. A red waterfall flowing down on translucent cragged rocks, brown hair pooled around Toki's bleeding head.

"Toki…that was really fuckin' BRUTAL. New song idea: Bloody Bottle Devastation. Oh yeah, your back. Uh yeah, let's help you up."

"…you twos...just stays away, ja?...I'm's fines…owie…"

"Dood…Toki…yer bleedin'…" Pickles got closer.

"OH FUCK…Nath'en…c'mere…look."

Pickles and Nathan took in the sight that was Toki and then looked at each other; a rare feeling of understanding had passed between them.

So this was the reason that Toki had been holed up in his room for the past several days. In the ensuing chaos of Toki crashing into the bottles, they hadn't noticed. At the very least, it would make a top-notch album cover, like their sewn-back-together-wrong chef.

"Hey, Toki…" Nathan began but was cut off.

"Nooooosss! Don't fuckin' looks at me! I looks likes a freaks…"  Toki moaned in pain, shredded pieces of glass stuck out of his pink raw skin like craggy irregular spikes. He was crowned by two short horns that jutted out of his hair. Ragged ears, scarred by heated metal, flared back in fear. His short tail, tufted with hair, wormed through a labyrinth trap of broken alcohol bottles.

On his throne of shattered glass and crowned by two horns, bleeding little Toki was the blasphemous image of a fairy tale king.