Death Comes to Mordhaus
Charles Foster Ofdensen was behind on his paperwork, which wasn't unusual. He had to spend too much time cleaning up after Dethklok to keep up with mundane matters. He was trying to sort through a pile of paternity suits when he noticed a Klokateer in front of him.
"I'm looking for…," the man began with a thick Jamaican accent.
"You must be new here," Charles interrupted without looking up from his papers. "The sitting area was demolished last night. There's smoke damage and the television needs to be replaced. Also, I know we don't have any Klokateers from Jamaica, so stop affecting an accent."
"Stop!" The man in front of him slammed his hands down on Charles' desk. Charles stopped what he was doing and stared. The hands were skeletal bone, and nothing else. A cold mist arose where they touched the desk. He had only seen the black robes and assumed he was speaking to a Klokateer.
Charles raised his eyes reluctantly, afraid of what he would see. A figure in a black cloak stood in front of him, which wasn't out of place in Mordhaus. He looked into the open hood, but couldn't see a face. There was nothing there but a black oval where the face should be. It felt as though he looked through immeasurable depths when he tried to see any features.
"So this is the afterlife," he said. "It's not what I expected, although dying at my desk doesn't surprise me."
Death laughed, a rich laugh that Charles liked immediately. Now that he was over the initial terror, there was something very likeable about Death. He exuded charisma, and he seemed familiar – very familiar. Charles had spent several years working with a death-metal band. Perhaps that was why he felt as if he'd known this person for a long time.
"What did you expect then?" Death asked. "I always love to hear what people thought would happen after they died. It's quite funny sometimes."
"I don't know really. I've been around Toki and Skwisgaar enough that I half-way expected Valkeries."
Death reached out and ran a bony finger down the scar on Charles' face. It felt as if someone had rubbed his face with an ice cube. "Ah yes," Death said. "Valkeries for a fallen warrior, right? Odd to see a warrior in a business suit, but stranger things have happened."
"So now what?" Charles asked.
"Look around you. Do you see your body?"
Charles did as he was told. "No, I don't."
"That would be because you're not dead. I'm not here to take you to the Afterplace."
"I see." Charles stopped to think about the situation. "I'm afraid this is a novel situation for me. Would you like some tea?"
"No, mortal. I would like to speak about business though. Someone here is doing my work."
"Well, ah, this is a death-metal band. We do see a lot of fans die."
Death waved his hand dismissively, and a cold breeze ruffled Charles' hair. "I do appreciate the fan club, but I'm specifically referring to two people who weren't supposed to be harvested yet. Both were sick, but one should have had a day more and the other should have had a month left on the mortal plane."
He rummaged through his pockets and pulled out a paper. "Let's see. It says here that a Rev. Wartooth died before his appointed time."
He searched in his pockets again, pulling out papers and a dead cat. "I can't find the other one. There was a young girl who died early as well."
Charles knew why he was here – Toki. He decided to distract Death as much as possible, maybe bargain for Toki's life. "As their manager, I can assure you the band means no disrespect. They hold you in the highest esteem."
"That's fine," Death said, "but I have to find the one responsible for this. We need to talk."
Charles made a decision he'd made before. He'd faced death for his boys in the past, just not in such a literal manner. "I did it," he said. "I killed them."
Death leaned forward until his face was mere inches from Charles. Charles felt himself being absorbed into nothingness. His mind spun and his body relaxed. After what seemed like an eternity, Death pulled away.
"Don't lie to me, mortal," he said. "I know what happened. Take me to Toki Wartooth."
"No," Charles said.
Death grabbed him by the tie. "Don't fight me, little man."
Charles choked and Death released him after a short time. He fell back into his chair wheezing and gasping for breath.
"Well?" Death asked.
"Find him yourself," Charles said. "I might not be able to help him, but I won't be a part of this."
Death leaned in close again, but this time a skeletal face came forward out of the hood. Its nose touched Charles', and he stared in horror as a large worm crept slowly out of one eye.
"Fear me," Death said, and Charles smelled the stench of battlefields and heard the moans of the dammed. Slippery rotting arms seemed to grasp him even though he saw no one else in the room.
Death stepped away and left the room. Charles slid under his desk and lay there in a puddle of his own urine.
Death prowled through Mordhaus, but no one noticed. If anyone did notice, they didn't say anything. He watched the Klokateers shoveling coal into the furnaces, saw Murderface's morbid room, and found the various death-traps littering the mansion. He'd been here many times before, but that had been on reaping missions, and he hadn't really paid much attention to the layout. It was simply leave spirit world, collect soul, and return to spirit world.
He finally found Toki's room. Even without the name "Toki" on the door, he would have felt the presence of another being like him. There weren't many Death spirits in existence, and Toki was an interesting fledgling. He knocked politely.
"Come ins," Toki said. Death saw him sitting at his desk, modeling glue and balsa wood stuck to his hands. He was working on a model of a B52.
"Toki Wartooth?" Death asked.
"Yes." Toki said. "Who ams you?"
"I am Death, Toki."
Toki sat the partially finished plane down. "Is it my times, then? I'm ready. I've been ready for years."
Death held out a piece of paper. "I love your work. I was wondering if I could have an autograph."