Chapter 29

Charles opened his eyes and sat straight up in bed. He couldn't explain it. Could barely grasp onto it in his startled haze. Something had woken him up from the inside out. Something felt wrong.

In the dim light from the window, he could see Zoe peacefully slumbering. He slid out of bed and silently got dressed. Stifling a yawn, Charles hazarded a glance at the alarm clock- 4:47 AM. Too early for him to even consider being awake and alive. Yet still he shuffled through the motions of tying his tie and sliding into his shoes, motions that he had numbly repeated for years. He grabbed his dethphone, slipped it into his pocket, and debated whether or not to take a weapon along with him, simply because he didn't know what it was that had called him out on such short notice. For all he was aware of, someone could've stuck a fork into the microwave by accident. Again.

"Babe?" A tiny voice called out from behind him. Zoe rolled over, rubbing her eyes.

"Nnn…It's five in the morning. What's up? Did somethin' happen to the boys?" Her alertness quickly returned to her, and she sat up. Charles finished buttoning his jacket, and walked over to her side of the bed, smoothing her hair and letting his fingers caress her cheek. She looked surprised.

"No. I just…couldn't sleep I guess. Something just, ah…something just doesn't feel right. I'm just going to do a quick check on the guys and the house, and then I'll be back."

Zoe covered his large hand, still against her cheek, with hers, and Charles leaned down. The feeling of an off-kilter world was strong upon him once again, and he felt cold and perpetually on fire, all at the same time.

Her long lashes touched and tickled his face when he pressed his lips against hers. Their breathing, just a second out of sync, came heavily through their noses. He kissed Zoe as though he would never have the opportunity to do it again, and stayed like that for as long as he could, pressing her back into the pillows and touching her in all the ways he hoped he would be able to for years to come. His blood roared in his ears, and another wave of wrongness crashed into him, causing him to feel slightly sick.

Charles pulled back only slightly, his forehead pressing against hers. She ran her finger along the shiny, well hidden scar across his left cheekbone, sliding it over the earpiece of his glasses. He searched her eyes for what she was feeling, cupping her face in his hands. She looked nervous, but brave. She believed in him, knew that something bad was going to happen, but felt in her heart that it would be okay. He would save Dethklok, and he would save her. Even under the cover of the fading darkness, she could see the determination on his pale visage.

"I love you. So much." He murmured, feeling a wave of panic rising in the pit of his stomach. Something was driving him to madness from within. That was not how he had meant to say that. It was too clunky, too acknowledging of plunging headfirst into a nightmare without a light to see by. The sensation that if he left, that if he walked out the door he might never return, overpowered him. He wanted to ignore it, slip back into bed and pretend like nothing could ever hurt them because they were invincible together in their heavy metal fortress surrounded by fighters and soldiers and natural disasters, but he had never been the kind to believe in fantasy. He hid these fears well, however, pushing them down until he could almost forget they were there.

"I know. I love you too, Charlie." She sounded like a small child, and wrapped her arms around his neck. He rubbed her back soothingly, praying for her to not have noticed his anxiety, his disbelief in his ability to fend for her and the band simultaneously. The choice was coming, and he knew, just by divine right, what he would end up choosing.

On to business, however. He was certain the band was going to be in dire need of him shortly. Besides, he had the utmost confidence that Zoe could now take care of herself if the worst occurred.

"Be careful, okay?" She whispered against his ear, and he nodded, breaking the contact he longed for, pulling back from the woman he loved, and turning away, to meet the job that he knew and felt in every fiber of his being was his, and only his, to ever hold. And he wouldn't have had it any other way.

"I will. And …keep Caitir close to you." He said, gesturing to the case that held her fencing sword, which was laying on the bureau. Zoe swallowed and nodded, and then Charles was gone, the door shutting in his wake with a thump too loud to be normal and a squeal that hadn't been present the evening before.

If the very structure was tensed for something, then only fire and brimstone awaited them.


Viktoria flexed her left arm. It didn't work as well as it used to, but she wasn't dead. She had been extremely careful to keep the wound covered, and never let it touch the walls or floor of her cell, lest she be hopelessly infected with every disease and virus known to man. She was lucky the bullet had gone straight through.

The vessel paced, her legs stiff from sitting against the wall for months on end. Cocking her head, she listened again. She could hear them below. All of them. Breathing when they could. Speaking in muted whispers when it was absolutely necessary. Moving against the rocky earth. And above, she could hear Charles moving about, his impeccable senses acutely aware that something was going to happen, but unaware of what it was.

It didn't matter whether he knew or not. There was nothing he could do to stop it now. He would die, his girlfriend would die, and Dethklok would die. But not before she got what she came for specifically. Something Lavona had tried to cheat her out of.

And that was Nathan Explosion.


Rawhide reached the cliff face just as the sun was rising in the sky. They had made incredible time. Getting his bearings, he poked his head up, searching for the ferry craft. It was there in the distance, at the entry point, tethered to the stake he'd embedded in the wall two nights before, and completely empty. He motioned silently to his troops to follow him, and he began to creep along the rock face towards the raft, the only portion of him visible above the murky waterline being upward of his nose.

They all fell into a line. Some stayed below the surface as often as they could. Others chose to copy their leader. The group was about one hundred strong just then, but it was only one unit. One other unit was already inside, and the remaining unit would follow when enough time had passed.

He reached the entrance, untethered the ferry so it floated off in the current, and ducked down into the water. Rawhide kicked until he came to the hole, and moved the rock covering it aside. Propelling himself into the ample gap, he simply began to swim, until he reached the cave he'd pained himself and many others to create. The hole opened into a shallow pool, and he surface, throwing his head back to whip his waterlogged hair out of his eyes. The crew that was already inside saluted to their leader, and handed him his trusty pistol and the new gun that General Crozier had provided.

Like zombies from the grave, other beings began to shuffle out of the hole and into the darkness of the cave. It was lit only by two lanterns he had brought previously to the site, and they cast eerie shadows over the faces of anyone beyond their immediate circle of light.

Soon, almost all three hundred people were assembled in the cave. It was cramped, and they smelled of sewage, but they didn't seem to care. Rawhide cleared his throat, wishing he had been able to waterproof his pack of cigarettes in time for the excursion.

"You are here today, ya motherfuckers, to fight until ya die. We're gonna take out Dethklok, and none of you stop until they're one-hundred percent dead. Ya got it?"

"Yes sir."

"Good! Very good. Man, I don't know about you fuckers, but I'm really jazzed about this. We're gonna have a good time. Real good time. Remember, there's no I in team, but there's meat if you rearrange the letters, and you'll be the dead and ground up version of that if any of ya fuck this shit up. Do any of you wanna be the chuck I'm having for dinner?" Rawhide unsheathed his hunting knife and picked at his teeth with it, curling his lips into a feral snarl.

"No sir."

"Good. Then grab a gun and follow me." Hefting the gun in one hand and a lantern in another, Rawhide trotted off into the sloping tunnel that grew smaller and smaller as it progressed. His lemmings followed him, the ferry-unit also toting a good-sized black box with them at the rear of the procession.

He couldn't help but smirk as he ascended. This was the only part of the plan he'd bothered to work out. His troops had their general orders, but on the surface, it would be pure chaos. Exactly what would be Charles Ofdensen's undoing. There was no set method of attack, no backup versions of what to do, and certainly no instructions to retreat. There was just a group of unified people who despised Dethklok for their own various reasons, or, at least, wanted to make a buck if they survived.

Rawhide chuckled. His masterpiece free-for-all was playing out, and he was the only one who knew what happened when the curtain rose on the second act.


Selatcia sat back in his chair, doing less thinking and more seeing.

"They are strong."

"Yes, master. They will fulfill their intent. We will not need to wait tentatively for FalconBack to see fruition anymore." Vater Orlaag thought back, moving amongst the people he dealt with daily and displaying not so much as a hint towards the voice inside his head.

The white haired man mused over this, images flitting about in his mind's eye. Images of Rawhide, the crew now worming their way through the ground in a hellish ascension to the world above, Charles, and Dethklok.

"No. They will fail. But one piece of the wall will crumble. I have foreseen it. It is so."