Author's Note

HERE'S THE FINALE

Sorry this took so long, but give it a read and I think you'll see why. So prepare yourselves for the most BRUTAL and METAL charity concert ever to blight the skyline of Hell itself!

Also, this climax is HEAVILY reliant on the music. FFN doesn't into hyperlinks, so just have a youtube tab ready and cue up the music. Sorry about that, folks! Anyway, ENJOY!

Chapter 7

[insert Vampire Hunters by Wojciech Kilar here]
In the darker recesses of Hell, the old umbral plains of deepest black where obsidian drifts danced in winds laden with the screams of the ancient damned. A fortress stood tall above the ashen earth, its walls aglow with flickering pits of icy flame, the one source of light in the darkness. Backdropped by this cold light was a massive figure, standing tall and proud amidst shifting, shadowy shapes.

Grand Duke Sallos stood in place, naked, his arms spread wide as cowering minions milled about him. With deference and fear they adorned his rippling body with ornate plates of armor, the demonic metal inlaid with depictions of past victories. His body clad in plate, he donned his great horned helm, his orange eyes blazing out from the abyssal pits of his visor. A hooded demon shuffled forward, in their burning, blistering hands a massive spear of seraphic steel, infinitely more pure and powerful than the simple butchers tools wielded by lesser angels in their annual hunts. An ancient weapon from a bygone era, a symbol of service and servitude, the spear of a proud and powerful seraphim, his true name lost to the eons. Sallos took the spear from the disintegrating hands of his minion and held it aloft, its shimmering surface crackling as it reacted with the defiled air of the realm.

He was ready.

He strode out onto the balcony where his top captains awaited him. They bowed their heads as he passed and followed after him towards the terrace. He looked out over his army, arranged into thirty perfect, disciplined squares of five thousand each: his legions. Each demon warrior millennia old and proven in skill and viciousness. They would serve him well.

"My Duke," said his most trusted captain, a demoness by the name of Gallia. "The army is assembled, ready to do Your Excellency's bidding."

Sallos sensed her reticence, angling his head ever so slightly over his shoulder in an immeasurable show of respect. "Speak your mind."

Never one to disobey a direct order, Gallia bowed and spoke: "Does the Upstart really warrant this kind of mobilization? I alone could exact Your Excellency's will!"

"You are correct, Captain Gallia," said Sallos, a smile in his voice. "And were it just the Radio Demon, I would have happily given you the honor. However, he has called in some mysterious figures to aid him. They have summoned a vast army of fanatic plebians to do their bidding. That is what the army is for."

"Plebians? Damned? Sinners?" Gallia shook her head, confused. "It would take but a single legion to snuff a million such underlings! Not to give in to baseless conjecture, but I would suspect Your Excellency of theatrical overkill."

Sallos grinned at this, even in uniform and observing the strictest modes of decorum, Gallia was as outspoken as ever. "Your conjecture bears out, Captain. Should the denizens of Hell mobilize against the Aristocracy, they must be made example of. We are sending a message: the rule of the Inner Circle cannot be questioned."

"Understood, Your Excellency," said Gallia, bowing. "I still have trouble imagining what manner of beings could inspire such suicidal devotion. To defy the supremacy of the Inner Circle, they must be demons of terrible power and ferocity."

Dethklok stood on and watched a Vaggie unleashed another brutal kick to Murderface's crotch, laughing and clapping as she wound up for another.

"That never gets old," Nathan said, snickering.

Pickles wiped a tear from his eye. "Should we, heh-heh, should we step in? It's been, like, five whole minutes."

"One more time, then we're good."

"Aw, looks likes shes getting tireds," Skwisgaar said, pointing at Vaggie as she marched away from the groaning, curled-up Murderface.

"Oh, no, waits!" Toki exclaimed. "Ones more! Ones more!"

The sound of rapidly approaching clacks filled the air, Vaggie's heels hammered into the pavement as she sprinted towards the recovering Murderface, who was shakily getting to his feet, his wobbly legs spread wide. With a running start, Vaggie unleashed a final, brutal kin-geri from behind, launching a screaming Murderface high into the air where he wrapped around a streetlight, dangling limply from the pole.

Vaggie looked up and saw Dethklok standing there. "Okay, I'm done."

She stormed off and Nathan walked over, shaking the the streetlight violently until Murderface plopped unceremoniously to the ground. "Hey man. I think she likes you."

"You think sho?" Murderface gurgled, facedown on the pavement.

"Oh, totally," said Pickles, helping him up. "But we gotta show to do, so, y'know, put it on the back burner and get ready."

The crowd began to surge in, first a trickle, then a wave, and then an unstoppable tide of demonic bodies. The massive bleachers and ground floor of the giant stadium filled within hours, with countless more clotting the freshly leveled area around the main event. Klokateers manned the merch booths and food trucks, corralling customers to various venues and attractions. Overhead, a small fleet of Channel 666 helicopters milled about over the seemingly endless sea of hellions, shooting down and driving off other news stations. The crowd buzzed and surged with excitement, the air charged and electric, the show was about to begin.

"Decent turn-out," said Pickles, watching the endless sea of inhuman bodies mill and seethe. "I mean, for a short-notice throw-together."

"Yeah, it's come together great," Nathan conceded. "The Klokateers really pulled this one off."

"Guysh, what's Charlie doing out there?" Murderface said, tuning his bass. "Oh, ish she gonna give a little shpeach or shomething?"

"Ah, sh*riff* right!" Pickles groaned. "Charlie's gonna try and open for us."

"She'sh WHAT?!" Murderface said, horrified. "We gotta help her!"

"I'm on it, I'm on it!" Pickles said, pulling out a walkie-talkie and talking into it. "Security, get ready to slow the crowd down and give her time to escape."

"It will be done, My Lord," was the response. "We will lay our lives down for Lucifer's daughter."

"Yeah, sure, whatever." Pickles rolled his eyes. "Just make sure she doesn't get hurt."

Pickles put the walkie-talkie away and did a small, belated double-take. "Wait, 'Lucifer's daughter'?"

Charlie skipped out onto the primary stage, fearlessly facing down the veritable deluge of Hellions surrounding her in the courtyard, the bleachers, and the razed, flattened former neighborhood beyond the stadium. She cleared her throat and tapped the mic, feedback screeching over the building-sized speakers, her beaming face lighting up the dozens of football-sized screens dotting the land for miles around.

The crowd went silent. "Who the fuck is this bitch?"

"Heeeeellooooo Hell!" Charlie cheered into the mic. "Are you all ready to rock!?"

A cough could be heard.

"Great! You know, it really warms my heart to see how many of your are willing to change! Redemption won't be easy, but just look around you! With a positive mental attitude, anything is possible!"

A single voice carried across the silence. "What!"

Pickles buried his face in his hands. "Oh Christ…"

"Well!" Charlie continued, if she was put off by the chilly reception, or even noticed it at all, she did not show it. "Dethklok has been kind enough to let me open for them in their first show in Hell! Behind me you can see my guitarist Razzle!"

"Baaah!" Bleated Razzle, holding a stratocaster several sizes too big for him.

"And on the drums is Dazzle! Say hello, Dazzle!"

(Rim-shot)

The sound of countless bladed weapons being unsheathed filled the stadium, the fury and wrath of the the countless fans silent and cold as death itself.

"Okee-dokie!" Charlie chirped, clearing her throat. "Without further ado…"

Blinding light consumed the stage, a blast of superheated air exploded outwards in a shockwave, knocking those nearest the stage flat on their backs, their weapons torn out of their hands to carve bloody swathes through the throng behind them. Charlie stepped out from within a pillar of red light, blond hair thrashing and undulating upwards like tongues of flame. Her ensemble had changed from her usual red tuxedo to a red leather corset overlaid by a black studded jacket, her heels replaced with spiky, toothed knee-high elevator boots. Her eyes, glowing red, were done up in thick black mascara that ran down her pale cheeks in gummy black tears, streaking her cheek spots, now pulsing pits of crimson light. Razzle and Dazzle burst into blue flame and quadrupled in size, their horns curling back and around as their muzzles split with massive fangs, their formerly cute, unassuming faces now demonic masks of hateful joy as they punished their instruments, producing a thudding, rabid string of notes. Charlie leaned forward, grabbing the mic and raising it to her mouth, full of sharp, serrated teeth.

[Insert Scream It Like a Girl #6: I The Breather - Forgiven By Linzey Rae here]

"OOOOH GGGGOOOOOOOOOOD!"

The speakers thrummed and glowed red as Charlie's voice tore from them. The demons nearest the monolithic towers of sound were burnt, flayed to the bone, or outright disintegrated by the brutal shockwaves. Those outside the destructive radius of the sonic blast were stunned for a moment before their faces split into toothy smiles and awestruck visages of reverence. The crowd within and without the stadium began to pulse and jump to the music, hands waving in the air as the music played. Soon all were lost in a sea of jubilation, the concert was underway.

In the distance, a massive portal opened. From this ring of hellfire marched a massive army, their banners proudly displayed and waving in the wind. Overhead, hundreds of mounted Hellbeasts soared in perfect formation, executing well-practiced maneuvers to impress their lord. Sallos and his commanders exited last, atop their mighty steeds, huge demonic crocodiles. Sallos spied the huge congregation with a withering glare; it was even worse than he thought. For such a gathering of Hellions to occur without a royal decree or mandate, only rebellion and war could result.

"The Upstart has raised an army!" Sallos roared. "We must strike now, before they organize!"

"What is that wretched noise?!" Captain Gallia exclaimed, wincing at the demonic roars and harsh, brutal melodies emanating from the center of the congregation. "Some manner of ancient spell?"

"It sounds like Forgiven by I, The Breather," said one of the rank-and-file. "But a lot more metal."

Captain Gallia offhandedly vaporized the talkative demon with a wave of her spear. "Speak when spoken to, maggot."

"It matters not how metal it is!" Cried Sallos, holding his spear aloft. "We will make a brutal example of these traitors! All save for the Heiress are to be exterminated!"

"CHARGE!" Captain Gallia roared, spear raised.

The army bellowed in response and hurled themselves towards the gathering at full speed.

As the song wound down, Charlie gave the crowd a bow. Raucous applause shook the stadium as camera flashes popped and burst by the thousand.

"Thank you! Thank you all so much!" Charlie said, her voice just as sweet and charming as ever. "Before we get the main show rolling, just let me say this: you've all got something good in you. You've all got love in your hearts. Why else would you be here if you didn't love metal? If you didn't love music? If you didn't love Dethklok?"

The crowd cheered at the mention of the name, an explosion of sound and brutal joy.

"Yeah!" Charlie cheered back, pumping her fist in the air. "So if you take nothing from this concert, take this: In the words of Dethklok themselves 'Hell f*riff*ing sucks!' So, why not leave? …But seriously, leave with some merch and hit up those taco-stands."

The sounds of machinery rose from behind her, followed by an odd metallic thrumming. Charlie turned around to see Dethklok rising from the stage, each on their own hovering platforms.

"How was the sound-mixing on that?" Charlie called out to them, hand on the mic and a playful smile on her face.

"That was f*riff*ing awesome, Charlie!" Pickles replied, tapping his drumsticks together.

"Prettys good," Skwisgaar said, smirking. "Yous goats guys amsn't bads at musicks."

"Ba~h," said Razzle, nonchalant, polishing his hooves on his lapel.

"That was greats, Charlies! You was real brutal!" Toki cheered, tail wagging feverishly

"William?" Charlie said, squinting. "Are you crying?"

"N-no!" Murderface stammered, hiding his face. "I'm jusht… shweating from my eysh!"

"Yeah, that was pretty great. Well, better get this show on the road!" Nathan said, smirking at Charlie. "Care to do the honors?"

[Insert Go Into The Water here]

Charlie beamed and spun back around to the crowd. "Now! Without further ado, allow me to introduce the most brutal band in all of Hell! On drums, Pickles the Drummer!"

Pickles's platform rose into the air and hovered above the top stage and loosed a blistering drum solo followed by a crackling pyrotechnic blast from the stage, prompting a raucous cheer from the crowd.

"And on lead guitar and rhythm guitar, Skwisgaar Skwigelf and Toki Wartooth!"

The pair hovered over to the two middle stages built onto the side of the hotel and unleashed a short dueling series of notes. The crowd roared in gruesome joy, the endless sea of bodies surrounding the hotel pulsed and undulated.

"Playing the bass, the inimitable William! Murderface!"

Murderface's platform set down on the middle stage. He threw up the horns and scowled at the audience. The crowd cheered and chanted. "Mur! Der! Face! Mur! Der! Face! Mur! Der! Face!"

"And finally! Providing the vocals, Nathan! EXPLOOOOOOSIOOOOOOON!"

The stadium erupted into thunderous applause as pillars of flame burst forth from the stage perimeters.

"We call out to the beasts of the sea to come forth and join us, this night is yours…"

The army surged through the streets, laying waste to all in their path. Foot soldiers and crocodilian cavalry trampling and slashing at anyone who did not flee. A column of infantry bore down on a huddled group of fans, spears glinting in the streetlights.

"By decree of Duke Sallos, yours lives are forfeit!" The lead demon cried, scimitar raised. "Prepare to meet obliv–"

He was cut off by shrill whistle followed by a distant crack as his lower jaw exploded into a cloud of blood, bone, and teeth. An instant later a fusillade of high-calibre bullets shrieked through the air, pulping his body and tearing into the tightly packed ranks of warriors, splattering the front-most lines. Attack helicopters streaked overhead, the thud of autocannons and roar of missiles were underscored by explosions and demonic wails. The remaining soldiers reformed and locked shields, projecting a protective dome over their ranks. One of the helicopters hovered before the shield wall. A projector swiveled on the craft's nose, keening as a beam of light shone from it. A manic-looking flayed skull resplendent with horns appeared in the air.

"Hey pals! It's me! FAAAAAACEBOOOOOONES!"

"Hi, Facebones!" One of the demonic legion's numbers called out.

"I see you're all rip-rearin' to get to the concert! That's GREAT! But it seems that in your hurry y'all forgot to pay admission, therefore lethal force has been authorized! You have 20 seconds to pay admission or be exterminated! WHOOOOOOOAAAAA! Ifyousurvivesomehowconsiderbuyingsomemeeeeeeeerch!"

The helicopter's autocannons swiveled and trained on the shield-wall, its missiles primed. A green fireball smashed into the mid-hull of the aircraft, consuming it in a fiery explosion. A wing of fell beasts soared past the cloud of flaming rubble to the cheers of the legionaries, who resumed their advance.

Far away, in the concert control center, an alarm blared. Olaf sneered and looked about. "What now?"

"We have a major security breech!" a Klokateer announced. "A large force has breeched the outer perimeter. Number: approximately one-hundred-fifty-thousand. They're heavily armed and have full air-support."

"Those swine will pay the five dollar admission and like it!" Olaf growled, dark energy writhing about him. "Scramble the air force! I'll meet the violators on the ground with security branches four, two, and five!"

[Insert Hatredcopter here]

The air itself writhed with sound as hundreds of craft took to the skies. The monumental bulk of several dethcopters lumbered through the air, surrounded by swarms of relatively tiny attack helicopters and low-flying fighter-jets. Below, battalions of Klokateers surged forward, flanked by tanks, light fighting vehicles, low-flying hovercraft, and hellish cavalry. The massive security force rushed to meet the invading army, trampling concert-goers as they attempted to flee, bodies mulched under boot, wheel, and track. Sallos' demonic legions roared in jubilation as they charged forward, their draconic air-force forming up and unleashing a torrent of hellfire. Explosions dotted the helicopter formations as several of the smaller craft were annihilated, but the flames simply splashed across the sturdy hulls of the giant dethcopters, which responded by opening fire with all weapons. The attack choppers followed suit and soon the sky was ablaze with explosions, fireballs, and pulverized viscera and metal debris.

The armies met on the ground. Heavy weaponry roared, explosions thudded, and metal clashed. The Klokateers swarmed over the individually superior demonic warriors of the Duke's army, slain by the dozens to ensure a single kill, their lack of power more than made up for by their ferocity and fanaticism. A single slash from a sword rent five in half, but the sixth latched onto the warrior as he overextended his swing. The hooded hellion cackled madly as he set off the claymore affixed to his chest, disappearing in a squall of gore as hundreds of seraphic ball-bearings shredded dozens of the Duke's warriors.

"They fight like madmen!" Captain Gallia muttered, horrified. "Do they not care for their own lives?"

The assorted host, save for the Duke, all flinched and covered their eyes as a tactical nuke flared in the distance, vaporizing a large section of the neighborhood.

"Evidently not." Duke Sallos turned to Gallia. "Mobilize the cavalry. Lead the next charge. We are not to be stymied by commoners, not even for an instant. Is that understood?"

The esteemed Captain stood stiff and saluted. "Perfectly, Your Excellency!"

Gallia bellowed and raised her spear over her head, lightning and hellfire wreathing the shaft and tip. Thousands of demons riding giant hellish crocodiles roared in response and charged, their Captain at the head. A wall of scales, teeth, claws, and armor smashed into the ranks of the the Klokateer army, the giant reptiles quite literally wading through them. Dozens disappeared in a splash of blood and limbs as the massive toothed maws snapped shut, more still were pulped against the pavement by stomping feet and low, armored bellies. The ranks reformed and poured hundreds of rounds and missiles into the armored beasts, to no effect.

From the back of the security formation, Olaf observed the slaughter with flat interest. "Hm. Crocodile cavalry. Call and raise, Duke Sallos! Mount up, men!"

[Insert Thunderhorse here]

The Klokateers saluted and hopped onto their massive, six-legged horses, their manes of writhing hellfire as sparks and smoke billowed from their nostrils. The Klokateer cavalry surged into the thick of battle, their steel hooves glowing orange as they stomped molten craters into the ground. Friend and foe alike were trampled and incinerated by the terrible storm of hot metal. A Klokateer charged up to one of the crocodilian cavalry, lance raised. The lance, tipped not with a spear, but a pointed HEAT warhead, contacted the beast's hide, between the gaps in its armor scales, blasting a fist-sized hole through the based of the creature's skull, killing it. The explosion knocked the rider from his steed to be torn limb-from-limb by the remaining Klokateers.

"Filthy mortals!" Captain Gallia growled, slashing with her spear from top her steed, reducing a score of Klokateers to embers. "Uppity peasants! Know your place!"

The HEAT tip of a lance connected with her breastplate and she was consumed in a flash of heat and light. The hypersonic jet of superheated metal knocked her from her saddle and sent her skidding across the bloody, viscera-strewn pavement. Gallia rose to her feet, smoldering but unharmed. Instantly, the hooded fanatics swarmed her, weapons black with clotted blood. She strode through them, spear dancing and spinning, reducing them to ash and glowing coals as the venerated Captain hewed their dense ranks.

"Pathetic."

"Captain Gallia," said a familiar voice, clear and strong over the din. "Never took you for a fence-hopping delinquent."

"Olaf," Gallia hissed, turning to face him. "So, we meet again."

Before her hovered Olaf, encased in a writhing black aura. "Just pay the admission fee, Gallia. It's, like, five bucks."

Gallia grinned and readied her spear. "Sorry, left my wallet in my other suit of armor!"

With a hellish scream she launched herself at him. Olaf caught her and the two clashed above the gruesome melee, auras clashing, writhing, tendrils of energy scoring molten slashes into the ground below.

"This is…" Duke Sallos shook with fury, massive fists clenched, his red aura crackling like a Tesla coil, "…Unacceptable! My armies, my warriors, rebuffed by mortals! By peasants! This is unforgivable!"

He levitated from the back of his steed and grasped his spear in both hands, eyes baleful pits of crimson light. "That I must resort to this to overcome these proles…"

Sallos roared and plunged his spear into his crocodile's neck. The beast roared and thrashed as dark, corrupting energy poured from the archdevil through the spear and into its flesh. The already monstrous creature began to contort and extend, its flesh splitting and rending, mending, and fusing, over and over again as it expanded in size and changed shape. The crocodile reared up on its hind-legs, now hundreds of feet tall. It roared, fire and lightning spewing from its glowing maw. The firestorm rolled through the mob before the giant monster, vaporizing Klokateer and Ducal soldier alike. The feral, enraged giant bellowed and set forward into the intertwined armies, slaughtering indiscriminately.

"Now! Face my fury!" Sallos bellowed. "Know what it means to side against the Inner Circle!"

The Klokateers gawped up at the rampaging beast, opening fire every weapon they had their disposal. The twisted crocodile's body was peppered with explosions, a shoulder-launched missile detonating against its eye without much effect. The mountain of scales and muscle bellowed and swept thousands aside with a swipe of its tail, leaving a vast swathe of pulped gore in its wake.

[Insert Awaken here]

Then, from the speakers, came the musical chant. "Musta! Krakish!"

Duke Sallos felt the air grow heavy, thick with energy. "Wh-what?!"

"Musta! Krakish!"

The towering speakers dotting the landscape glowed red, beams of energy streaking between them, forming a giant glowing pentagram. A terrible howl split the air as a huge sinewy arm rose up from the burning center of the sigil. A massive form pulled itself up from the churning sea of power, a monstrous troll of mountainous size.

"I-impossible!" Sallos cried as the creature hurled itself at his mutated crocodile, tackling it to the ground with seismic force.

Mustakrakish growled as he wrestled the equally massive mutant, the tousling giants laying waste to entire neighborhoods. The titans writhed and struggled, merely adding to the chaos as the two forces continued to clash, the city an unrecognizable flurry of explosions, blood, and glinting steel.

Duke Sallos levitated above the scrum, shaking with rage. Never before had he been so insulted, so disrespected. That he, a Grand Duke of Hell itself, General of its most ancient and venerated army, was now forced to engage in combat. The Upstart would pay dearly for this obstinance, him and his mysterious cacophonous allies. If his army could not bring him their heads, he would have to do it himself!

[Insert Laser Cannon Deth Sentence here]

Sallos' aura glowed bright, a small star of pure, ancient rage. A meteor of fury, he streaked through the air, vaporizing entire wings of attack helicopters, smashing through a massive dethcopter, gutting it utterly. Sallos left the battlefield behind and flew towards the distant stadium, shrugging off AA fire and missiles as the concert's defenses sprung into action. Nearer and nearer he drew, unaffected by the repeated impacts of cannon-fire and tandem warheads, his focus pure and unerring, goaded onward by hatred and outrage. He was so close now. Atop the five main pillars of the stadium, huge laser cannons sprung to life and trained on the incoming demon lord. A lance of intense light flared against his breastplate, flash-vaporizing a section of it in an instant. The Duke was enveloped in a shell of plasma hotter than any star in the mortal realm, hotter than hellfire. Four more lances converged on the mid-air explosion, pouring pulse after pulse of coherent light into their target. Duke Sallos roared in rage, pulses of demonic energy traveling along the beams, destroying the laser cannons simultaneously. Sallos hovered high above the stadium, his armor a glowing, molten tatters on his smoking grey body. His once proud helm melted and slid down his face like tallow in rivulets of glowing, molten metal. His once-handsome and stately countenance ravaged by indignant fury: that actually hurt!

"You…" Sallos growled, eyes tiny crimson stars. "FILTH!"

He raised his seraphic spear high over his head, marshaling all of his vast demonic power into a single blast. He pointed the spear down at the stadium, chock-full of millions of denizens, the Upstart, his mercenaries, and even the Heiress. It mattered not. All would die screaming in the flames of his rancor. The speartip glowed with energy, arcing bands of power crawling up and down its pristine metallic surface. With one final bellow he unleashed his own brand of Hell, a bygone fury not seen since The Fall, and loosed a massive blast of demonic rage down at the pulsing masses of Hellions.

"Now! DIE!"

As the last notes of Laser Cannon Deth Sentence wound down, Dethklok assembled on the main stage at the base of the Hotel.

"Whadaya think?" Pickles said to Nathan over their headsets. "We got 'em revved, should we bust out the new material?"

"Let's do it! New Album, Number 9!" Nathan said to the rest of the band, before speaking into the mic. "And now. For all you wretched sinners out there, a reward for your brutality and faith, you will be the first to hear a work from our brand new album! I give you all! A taste of true Hell!"

[Inser To Kill a God here]

The drumbeat set a marching pace as the string instruments added layers of menace, after a minute of build-up Nathan broke in with his customary roar. "MOOORRRTAAAAAAL!"

The crowd cheered furiously as Dethklok levitated above the stage, encased in pure Doomstar energy. The aura pulsed and radiated outward until it suffused the entire stadium in its glow. From high above, a bolt of concentrated malice lanced downwards, impacting the aura. The red-white torrent of demonic fury splashed against the shield and broke like water against the stone. The aura bowed in for a moment before snapping back out, sending its own beam out against the offending blast. The Doomstar energy effortlessly pushed up and through the torrent of demonic power, up and up, towards its source.

"What?!" Sallos growled through gritted teeth. "No… stop! You dare resist me?! I am Grand Duke SALLOS! I cannot be defeated by the likes of you!"

The surge bore up at him, consuming his own blast without a whit of resistance. It was almost upon him now, an unavoidable wave of God-like power.

"No! NOOOOOOO!" Sallos screamed as he was consumed by a wall of blinding white light, his aura snuffed like a candle and replaced only with razing otherworldly power.

Dethklok wrapped up their newest song and basked in the roaring adulation of their fans. Demons of all stripe and rank filled the bleaches and ground, each elated and cheering with vigor, united among peers in their love of Dethklok. Nathan and the rest of Dethklok stepped off their hover platforms and strode out onto the stage, fists raised to the sky.

"All of you sinners out there! All you demons! You wretched husks of sin and hatred! Dethklok has come to this f*riff*ing lame plane of existence to make your lives a tiny bit less pointless and miserable! This Hell is run by edgy, cringy dip-sh*riff*s! Every second you spend here is f*riff*ing embarrassing! If you take nothing from this show, take this: get outta here any way you can. Hit up the Happy Hotel and get yourself redeemed, if only to spare us the embarrassment of having fans in this sh*riff*hole! Thank you, and goodnight!"

The crowd bellowed and undulated, moved by the message of their idols, the air itself came alight with demonic energy as it surged from the countless hellions from both within and without the stadium.

"Goods speech, Nathans," Skwisgaar chuckled. "Soundeds familiars."

"I pretty much just tweaked my end-of-show speech when we toured Wisconsin."

"Hey, do you guys feel that?" Pickles said, noticing his snake-hair standing on end. "Sh*riff*, somethin's happenin'!"

"The air feelsh… schticky."

"We's supposeds to do's somethings, guys! This mights bes our ones shot!"

A huge, smoldering body plummeted from the sky and crashed into the stage at their feet. A massive, muscular bearded man shakily rose to his feet, naked save for a few tatters of blackened cloth and a single red-hot shard of metal. In his hands he clutched a tarnished, cracked spear, energy arcing a sputtering about it, sparks shooting from the cracks in its formerly pristine surface.

"Who'sh thish douschebag?"

The bearded demon stepped forward, the simple motion a triumph of sheer willpower as the rest of his frame trembled and shook. He leveled the spear at Nathan, his dazed, unfocused eyes flickering with weak red light. Nathan snorted as a tiny flash of energy touched the spear, causing it to keen and oscillate before shattering into tiny, dust-like shards. The battered demon's eyes rolled back in his head as he collapsed to his hands and knees.

"I… am Grand Duke Sallos. General of Hell's armies. One of the Fallen and Commander of Lucifer's Infernal Host," he croaked. "I am beaten… I acknowledge your strength. Do… do as you will."

"Uh…" Nathan looked at his bandmates, who shrugged. "Kay."

"Wait!" Murderface exclaimed. "Shtand back. I got thish!"

Murderface loomed over the defeated man, hand extended as a ball of Doomstar energy flared. The 'pop' of plastic echoed over the speakers followed shortly by the squeak of felt on skin.

"There we go," Murderface said, standing up, a Sharpie in his hand. "Perfect."

Scrawled across Sallos' forehead was William Murderface's surprisingly clean and florid signature.

"That'sh what you wanted, right, Cueball?"

"Sh*riff*, you just shoulda said so!" Nathan said, stepping forward, Sharpie in hand.

The rest of Dethklok followed suit and surrounded Sallos, felt-tips squeaking and wrists flicking. When they pulled back, their signatures scrawled all over his shiny bald head and mortified face.

"There ya go, bud!" Murderface chuckled. "Now get on outta here, you li'l Shcamp!"

Sallos whimpered and crawled off stage to the jeers and laughter of the assembled demons, his humiliation broadcast to no only the attendees of the concert, but also to everyone watching Channel 666, who was providing full coverage.

"Hey, that felt good," Nathan rumbled. "Giving that bald dipsh*riff* what he wanted free of charge."

"Yeah, felt right, like we helped 'im." Pickles mused

"Wait! That'sh it!" Murderface exclaimed. "We shtill got the shtage, and all thish energy in the air! We gotta shill like banditsh!"

Murderface took the mic from Nathan stepped to the fore. "Lishen everybody! We got shomthing to shay before we go! Thish show wouldn't have been posshible without the hard work of the Klokateersh! Let'sh have a big cheer for our boysh in black!"

A thunderous roar split the air as the crowd erupted into raucous cheers, Klokateers all around the stadium were beset with backpats, handshakes, and handjobs. Outside, the tattered army sat with their former opponents around blazing piles of corpses, sharing deth-brews and wearing Dethklok merch. Mustakrakish and the Duke's former steed pulled on another into affectionate bro-hugs as dethcopters airlifted massive Dethklok t-shirts over to them. Gallia and Olaf sat together, on an upturned tank, clinking their beers together as they watched on one of the massive screens.

"And all of you out there who want to buy our new album, be shure to hit up the Happy Hotel and get redeemed! Charlie, Vaggie, Rashle, Dashle, get on up here!" Murderface turned around and pointed off-stage. "C'mon! Take a bow!"

Charlie and the Bois rushed out on stage, dragging a reluctant Vaggie on-stage. They took a bow as the crowd bellowed, cheering their support. Charlie led them all through a group-bow.

A flare of static and red light exploded to Nathan's right, Alastor stepped out of the pillar of crimson energy, surrounded by wingdings. "Ah-ha-ha-ha! Is it time to take my bow?"

Nathan said nothing, not even acknowledging Alastor's existence. Instead, he simply raised his massive fist high in the air and brought it down on the leering deer-demon's head with incalculable strength. Alastor soundlessly crumpled under the force of the blow as it smashed him clear through the stage in a flash of Doomstar power.

The crowd cheered louder than ever.

The air came alive with demonic energy, it crackled and buzzed as it wreathed Dethklok in light, lifting them into the air.

"Whoa, hey," Nathan growled. "What's happening?"

"Clench yer a*riff*holes, guys, I think this is it!" Pickles cried.

"Abouts time," Skwisgaar sneered. "I was startings to likes this place."

"Goodbyes Charlie!" Toki called out. "I'll miss yous!"

"Vaggie, my love!" Murderface said, tearfully. "Don't wait for me! Move on with your life!"

"Will you fuck off already, you disgusting toad?!" Vaggie snapped back.

"Nathan, Pickles, Skwisgaar, Toki, William!" Charlie shouted up at them. "Remember! You can be brutal and good! Promote unity through music!"

"What!" Nathan called back. "I didn't catch that last part!"

"I said–"

Charlie was cut off by the sky splitting open and as pillar of light shone down from on high. Dethklok was sucked up the pillar at breakneck speeds, disappearing into the fissure, which itself closed with a flash and thunderclap.

Charlie gazed the sky, forlornly. A Klokateer approached her from off stage, a sheet of paper in his hand.

"Mistress Magne," he croaked, handing her the sheet. "The bill."

The sheet unfolded several times until it reached the ground… and kept going until it tumbled off-stage and into the crowd.

Charlie stared at the preposterous sum, her eyes wide. "Uh…"

Dethklok reclined in their hot-tub in Mordhaus, sipping fancy drinks and eating chicken wings.

"So Deer-F*riff*er was the one who sent that snake?" Nathan said. "Figures."

Pickles nodded. "Yeah. Turns out one of the hotel staff in Misnk was big into Ouija boards and sh*riff*."

"We'll haves to demands discounts there next times," Skwisgaar grumbled. "Pains in thes ass."

"I had fun!" Toki said, before frowning. "Mostlys, anyways…"

"We's nevers to talks abouts thats, Tokis!" Skwisgaar screamed. "NEVERS!"

"Hey guysh! Check it out!" Murderface said, brandishing a fridge magnet with excitement. "Watch what happensh when I put thish magnet on my new metal skull-plate!"

Murderface stuck the little banana-shaped magnet on his freshly stitched forehead with a 'clunk'. "!ti deyojne I dna rediphs-yug taht dekcuf I"

"Whoas, that ams real cools Moidahface! You ams talkings likes a Fooglie!"

"Wait, what didja say?" Pickles narrowed his eyes.

"?taht doothsrednu uoY !tihs hO" said Murderface, flicking the magnet off his forehead.

A short, pregnant pause filled the air as Dethklok exchanged uncomfortable glances.

Nathan broke the silence, clearing his throat. "So, uh, just gonna throw this out there but… who else fucked that spider-guy? I… I did."

"Yep."

"Yeah, I dids."

"Mes too."

"Besht fifty grand I ever shpent! There, I shaid it! I'm not ashamed!"

"Urrgh… right." Nathan pinched the bridge of his nose and reclined back into the warm water. "Let's never speak of this again."

"Wait, wait, hold up. He charged you guysh money, too, right?"

THE END

Wahey! Thus concludes possibly the strangest crossover I've ever done!

Let me know what you thought of it with your reviews, and share this fic with your friends, family, and strangers on the street!