Brutal Universe

by Monkeybandit2

Garnet was right about one thing if nothing else: he has a knack for getting into trouble.

5. Chapter 5

I do not own either Brütal Legend nor Steven Universe. Respectively they belong to Double Fine (I think) and Rebecca Sugar and so on. This story is for entertainment purposes only. Why else would it be on FanFiction? On with the story!

Brütal Universe

Chapter Five: Choice

Steven's eyes were utterly glued to the screen before him as he and Connie devoured mouthful after mouthful of popcorn. He was fairly certain Amethyst was there as well, just out of sight. It sounded like her at least. If nothing else there was at least one another mouth munching on popcorn, yet he couldn't bring himself to look away as men in army uniforms rode atop of boats, a whole fleet's worth, as they throttled their way to the shore. The angle kept changing every other minute to either show the sheer scale of the apparent battle group or to show men and women grimly at the ready as they watched the distant shore draw closer by the minute. Some of these people were saying things, as to what they said he couldn't tell over the crashing waves, the roar of the engines and even other people seemingly trying to talk or yell over each other in an indiscernible mess that only they seemingly understood given that they weren't bothered by the cacophony of their own collective making. Eventually the camera came upon one boat bearing a set of familiar figures. Of them only Eddie, in an army combat uniform and eagerly holding his axe at the ready. The second the ships washed ashore, their prows opening up to unload their passengers, Eddie roared in excitement, axe held high, and dashed out amongst a swiftly growing herd of people running up the beach toward an entrenchment of bunkers practically built into the hills and cliffs of the beach...

No one seemed to even notice that one of their comrades' head exploded in a shower of gore. Nor seemed fazed as what appeared to be a mortar shell had tore into their advance. They didn't even stumble upon the corpses now being trampled into a pulped red paste when the front most line fell to the barrage hailing from the bunkers, and from the opposing army meeting them charge for charge as the two sides eagerly traded shot for shot, and blow for blow the second the two sides crashed into each other.

It was barely even ten seconds into the vicious melee that the scene changed to show case bloodied men and women trying to finish their respective enemies with their own dying breath as they themselves were assailed from all sides. Of a man all but catatonic with tears streaming from his eyes as he desperately tried to reattach his own severed arm despite being in the thick of it. Of a giant man being beaten to death with the foreheads of his own enemies if they lacked weapons of their own. Of mining picks piercing skulls. People set ablaze while still alive. Others falling to their demise. Decapitations. Faces literally melting off with screams of agony to accompany the act...

Something wet was on his shirt. As much as he wished otherwise he had to fight his own body to look down, at the new red stain that was growing on his otherwise pink shirt with the yellow star in the middle. A red stain with strange white lumps bouncing off his shirt... that he could feel was pushing past his lips before ultimately dropping to the floor. With the same effort as before he drew his hand up to his mouth to investigate... he wished he didn't.

In the back of his mind he knew what it was already, the stain... his own blood. The lumps... teeth. Both were pouring freely from his mouth aside from the evidence presented to him by his own hand.

A hand reached out and began to shake him. Sadly it was an action he only noticed rather than felt when his vision began to gently wobble to and fro. Thankfully the resistance he felt before was nowhere to be had when he looked to Connie. She was saying something. She looked concerned. He couldn't hear a word though, just the screams of carnage and war from the TV. Amethyst's hand joined in and he was finally able to see her. They were both saying something, shouting perhaps as their faces were growing increasingly distressed as they looked him in the eye. Yet he couldn't hear a single word from them.

"Steven?"

That wasn't Connie's voice. Nor Amethyst's.

"Steven! Come on buddy, wake up!"

Who...?

He looked to the TV and found Eddie, his own face contorted with concern seemingly reaching out and shaking someone else's own shoulders. Presumably the cameraman given the roadie's face was dominating the screen.

"Steven, wake up!"

XVX

Bladehenge (Headbanger: BLADEHENGE!)

"AAAAH!"

Steven sat up. He felt wet. Why was he wet? Immediately he looked down at his shirt only to find it... not pristine, it could use a wash, but it was definitely not bloody! Or covered in teeth! Nor was there any teeth on the ground for that matter! He was super sweaty though...

"Jeez, are you alright buddy? Looked like you were having a nightmare there."

"Uh, wha?" The boy swung his head about in the direction of the voice, Eddie's, as he stared at him with a bothered frown as he awkwardly scratched his head. In the meantime Steven's brain had a chance to gather itself. "What? No! I'm alright!" In return Eddie sighed.

"Look... I'm not exactly great at this, but if you want to talk about all that's been happening... or just want to sit all this out till we figure out how to get home, well, you can tell us, alright?"

Steven flashed him his best appreciative smile... even if he wasn't keen on burdening anyone with his problems. "Right! Thanks!" Eddie flashed him a small if subdued ghost of a smirk as Steven got up. "Hey, Eddie, do you happen to know where I can get a change of clothes?"

XVX

Sadly there were no shirts in his size, as such he was bare chested till his favorite shirt dried, not that he minded. Thankfully the issue of pants was simply taking an adult sized set, cutting the legs to better fit him and looping a spare belt through the loops to keep it fastened to him. However it was during this he couldn't help but notice his sandals were a little worse for wear... they were still wearable, but a spare set would be needed in the future. But that was okay! He could run around in his bare feet if he had to in order to complete the day! There was so much to do, such as...

Thunderhogs needed polishing for one! Weapon maintenance too! There was also taking stock, helping clean clothes, food preparation... The dummies could also use some maintenance too! Especially that one with the oversized wig that Lita keeps whacking! Actually doubly so in that one's case considering they replaced it twice so far.

"CRACK!"

... make that three times. A quick glance in the general direction confirmed it by way of a weird raggedy wig-like object loosely attached to a wooden head sailing through the air from a higher shelf of land within Bladehenge. Any hopes of salvaging either it or the wig died a rather savage death when it landed close enough to a man who happened to be walking by with a mace, plus one of the bouncers—looked like Reggie from Steven's spot, who happened to be sitting nearby as well; both were having wicked fun turning it into splinters.

... oh well. It gave him something to do either way at any rate.

Did they have any spare wigs though?

XVX

Evening...

Eddie once said to him that a good roadie's job, in a nutshell, was to make someone else look good. To keep them safe so they in turn can do their own jobs; to stay unnoticed on purpose so as to not draw away attention from others. If they're doing their job right then no one would notice them at all... On the inferred aspect of stealth Steven could readily admit he was rather hit and miss about it. On the other hand though it wasn't like greeting people or being greeted by people as he was either making his way through the camp or was working on something was a bad thing. Not that it really detracted from anything... for better or worse.

While Lita wasn't especially brutal with her training dummies, there was a stock of premade dummies with the odd hairstyle at the ready when it became evident such was needed. All there was to do was basically heft it into position, hammer it to its spot, bid Lita a good day and go onto other tasks...

Sadly it didn't quite go as planned per se in Steven's book.

Anyone who had a weapon typically kept to it out of loyalty and paid their dues by checking it for imperfections and treating them with oil after sharpening an edge or two. What consisted of an armory was really a place where scavenged weapons were dumped off and made ready for new use. At the utter most the stockpile of spears were pilfered for hunting purposes, but not much else as anyone who didn't cling to their weapons preferred to beat their enemies to death... often by literally using their heads or fists. As such weapon maintenance was a little light today.

Inventory was more straight forward in spite of his intent. It was a tedious affair, but necessary in its own way. Couldn't feed or cloth an army without supplies after all! That said however it seemed like only the food needed restocking after that celebratory feast for the inclusion of the now dubbed Razor Girls.

That actually reminded him, they needed to restock on tires, some lumber and a fair bit of leather after assembling some into makeshift targets; not much, but enough were taken to leave a noticeable dent for anyone who actually cared to look. He couldn't help but wonder why they needed them—almost no one besides the hunters fancied the bows and crossbows solely for hunting. Even then Steven couldn't place the last time, if any, he seem them using anything for target practice. The closest to any explanation as to why they needed targets for were those new weapons they stocked up on. The ones that came from... the Razor Fields...

... he didn't feel good...

Perhaps with more unwitting discretion than he was conscious of he wasn't marginally stopped in a sudden trip toward the edge of the camp where the high rises were. Then again he wasn't quite in the right mind set to even notice any such attempts considering it was horribly failing to keep warped and warping images of screaming human skeletons being ripped from the boar carcasses, people being ripped apart, of voices begging for help or mercy if not crying out in anguish... a case and point being ignorant of the fact that the miniature plateau he escaped to along the edge of Bladehenge was already occupied by the man known as Kill Master, minding his own business up until the young roadie drove himself to the edge to upchuck the contents of his stomach. He wasn't even noticed until Steven finished his bout, wiped his mouth free of what bile that remained, breathing ragged breaths all the while, and laboriously turned back in the direction of the camp. The boy stiffened before flashing the man a nervous grin and a wave, none of which Kill Master responded to as he took a drag from him cigarette and let loose a stream of smoke. Even so Steven near immediately dashed back the way he came...

"Not even those who people think are tougher than nails has the stomach for it, for what it's worth."

Having made it roughly halfway toward the earthen ramp leading down, Steven had to glance back at the man lounging in the Thunderhog the moment the teenager stopped. Regardless Kill Master didn't move in the slightest to even bother glancing at him. Try as the half gem might though he couldn't help the frown on his face as he quietly warred with himself to either resume his retreat or to stay and listen. It was during this hesitancy that Steven spied the biker glancing in his direction as he took another drag, exhaling it a moment later at a sedate pace.

"Come on then." Though he patted the side of his bike he was quick to gesture to the ground next to him. "Short of some invasion or something, I got time whether I like it or not now that I don't have to keep kicking Lionwhyte and other assholes off my front porch every other week."

"Language," Steven half heartedly muttered as he gave in with little resistance, albeit tiredly. In response Kill Master simply resumed lounging in his seat as he lazily waved his hand with an equally lazy grunt of a counter argument.

Despite the invitation being taken neither said a word as they looked out to the rolling plain that sat between Bladehenge and the colossal ancient highway, watching the clouds lazily drift by whilst the sun sank in the distance...

"Ever heard of Riggnarok?"

"Who?" Steven asked as he jerked his head to the older man in confusion. As for Kill Master, he hummed to himself as he took a slow drag and puffed it out.

"Figured." The man then rolled his neck with a sigh. "Heard you two came from another world or something, thanks to Ormagöden. The thing is that it wasn't the first time the old god was heard to be roaming about. Years ago it was said Rig managed to somehow sneak into the temple of the Fire beast 'imself when it happened, and was never heard of again since then... With this talk about you and Eddie though? Kind of had this idea that maybe, just maybe, ol' Rig maybe went to your world and for whatever reason couldn't come back." The old man took another drag from his cigarette before discarding it in favor of a new one. "Guess either he went somewhere you two never came from or maybe Riggnarok wasn't that famous. But that's besides the point."

"You see, this ain't the first time humanity ever banded together in the face of demon oppression. Granted, we're facing that ass—"

"Language."

"—Lionwhyte, his cronies and his groupies," Kill Master continued without missing a beat, "but even the dumbest idgit knows that Doviculus will get off his ass—" Steven sighed in resignation after letting out another call of "language" for principle's sake "—once his favorite bootlicker is ousted from power." Kill Master paused for a moment, this time not even bothering with his lit stick. "To be fair though that might be putting too much credit on how Dovi views the situation. Demons at large for whatever reason never really liked humanity to begin with. The peaceful lot... eh, live and let live I guess." He then waved his hand.

"But that's not what I'm getting at... this rebellion thing," he gestured to the camp in general. "This ain't the first in livin' memory. It's the second one. Started out much the same really, if harsher in comparison—bunch of groups banding together, forming an army for both protection and to kick demon ass." Steven just flat out gave up at this point for the time being seeing as he wasn't going to be heeded. Even so he looked to Kill Master when he scoffed, spying a sly grin on his lips as he looked off to the distance. "Almost scary really, now that I think about it." The bassist looked to the camp, seemingly searching for someone. Steven soon joined him. For the most part the camp was largely calm with only two points of interest from their vantage point: the informal training grounds where Lita practically lived in that was being used by some 'headbangers' and a couple of the bouncers, and a spot where Lars was standing atop a barrel giving out a speech to a crowd that had gathered around him. From this distance however not a word could be heard by either of them. "History repeating itself."

A soft scoff escaped the wizened man. "Like father, like son," he mutters. "But I'm strayin' again."

"A lot of people would think Lars father, the man they would declare the king back in his day for his charisma and hope which would help what remained of the rebellion survive to the next generation, was the man who ignited the rebellion in the first place. That he was the one in charge of it all from the start." A less kind but a tired snort escaped the man. "Ironically I think Riggnarok would've preferred it if that was the case."

"No. As bad as things are under Lionwhyte, trust me when I say it was a fuckton worse under the Tainted Coil. Lionwhyte, he's content enough to have you beat or killed and punted into the nearest ditch where he'll happily pretend you don't exist so long as you don't bother 'im again. Demons from the Coil though, you got the lash if you were lucky if you simply asked them a question like "would you like me to move this corpse out of the way for you?" The more ornery ones though, they wouldn't think twice about taking their time in ensuring the unlucky bastards died slow deaths, screaming the entire time if you looked at them funnily enough..." Despite simply taking an exceptionally long drag from his cigarette, the man looked to have aged a hundred years in Steven's eyes. "And I wish I was exaggerating about that."

"As you can imagine it didn't really take long to piss people off into frothing at the bits. Enough to risk it all; freedom from the chains, the whips and the nails or freedom from the cruelties of life. Either one was a good choice really at the time. Unavoidable even. Still is now, if push comes to shove."

"When it started, it wasn't quite like it was out here now. Small groups began to gather at first in dark corners even Coil overseers with a grudge wouldn't bother to look in, each group disorganized and vaguely aware of each other at best. Each making plans, stealing supplies, watchin', waiting... It was only a matter of time before someone set things off, be they human or demon. Looking back on it now it was most likely going to be the humans seeing how twitchy some of the groups were back then; could've cost humanity everything if they jumped too soon... and I like to think it was something Riggnarok realized back then long before any of us were wizened enough to realize it at the time."

"Before anyone even knew him by name Riggnarok started looking for these groups, talking to them, organizing them in secret, and busting the heads of the ones who didn't want to listen. From there the groups became a movement, and then an army. An army with a plan soon that was waiting for the day the Tainted Coil would slip up. And as you can imagine, they did."

"Now I can tell you all about the times Rigg came out on top of fights that killed several hundred before him. How he took heads of what amounted to generals, leaders and the like short of the White Winged Death they called an emperor at the time. Of all the tribes that somehow lived outside of the Coil's control that he united under the rebellion's standard. Of the fortresses that had been toppled, the battles that been fought and everything else most kids want to hear of a hero that often paint him as this all mighty hero and grand leader whose speeches could revive Ormagöden from the dead or bring Aetulia from the rock bottom depths of her sorrow. The thing is though, he wasn't like that in the least. Fighter? Sure. Planner? We got the Rebellion in the first place, didn't we? Orator?" He waved at Lar's direction. "He happily dumped that on Lar's father; most inspiring thing he ever said that I can ever recall was how happy he'll be when it was all over and he could go see the world on his own terms."

Kill Master paused and took a drag from his cigarette. A particularly long drag at that. "That was Rigg as he really was—he wasn't one for it all."

"Rigg in just about anyone else's eyes would be this hero who stepped out of nowhere who could do no wrong, always there in the fiercest of fights, never needin' to sleep, and always planning the downfall of the demons. They wouldn't see the man who would try to find peace in solitude to brood for the battles he could've made the difference in if he was able to make it, or 'this' had happened rather than 'that'. They would think it to be some sort of heresy that he would spill tears for comrades lost. Probably even couldn't comprehend that he would rather be exploring the world if he had a choice, to marvel at the sights and try to figure out what left these wonders," he threw an arm in the vague direction of the henge's namesake as well as the weapon littered fields beyond the rolling plain, "behind. And like I said before, they'd probably be gob smacked to learn he'd rather not have been leading at all."

The man took a quick drag once again and let loose the resulting smoke in a sigh. "In the end, for all the glamour and the accolades people gave him both then and now, he didn't want it nor tried to become what they saw him as. And he sure as hell kicked people in the nuts and dented their skull if they got it into their heads to force it on him. Badass as he was, he was a person when you get down to it with his own brand of faults and strengths." He looks to Steven, bringing up a finger to hook around the rim of his glasses so they could see each other eye-to-eye. "And that was something he never apologized for: brooding, weeping, smiling, distracting himself from it all... you get what I'm saying?"

The boy frowned and opened his mouth to respond when the roar of fire and metal, and a dash of explosions for good measure. Needless to say it drew their attention to the tiers below. More specifically toward the improvised training field where Steven had helped set up the equally improvised shooting stalls that were now occupied by some of the women they helped the other day, in each of their hands were the very 'weapons' that were collected from the razorfire boars. As they stood tall with proud smiles on their faces, the tires at the end of the stalls lay in smoking ruins as the brief and acrid scent of burning rubber passed by in the breeze.

Around the edges of the stalls a crowd had gathered, most of them likely having gathered there already as Kill Master was telling his story if the general lack of curious souls just joining them meant anything. Even so Lars stepped forward and was obviously talking to them with the way he was moving his arms about, again his voice unheard due to the distance between them. The woman who in turn replied to him was also impossible to hear for either individual.

"Huh. I guess they finished flushing out the chambers then."

"ATTACK!"

The voice was loud and panicked enough to be heard by at least half the stadium-like surroundings as a scraggily man, Mangus after a second of recognition for the teenager, ran to a ledge of another section of the upper tier, a rockier one which was backed by an even higher tier compared to Steven and Kill Master's spot. "WE'RE UNDER ATTACK!"

As if to accentuate his claim air raid sirens began to blare off in the distance. The crowd surged and scrambled toward Mangus whom hesitantly waited till the first of the crowd managed to reach him before dashing off and out of view. Steven would've joined them if he didn't spot the red spot lights shooting up into the air from the direction of the great stone anvil jutting up in the distant mountain range. The same one which the colossal chains were ascending toward the clouds above as if they were attached to something.

"Matter of time," Kill Master hummed before swiftly finishing his latest stick and casting it aside as he sat up straight in his chopper. He grabbed the handle bars and looked at Steven who was still gazing out to the formation the locals would all know as Battersmith, looking lost to the world as he dove into his own mind. "Remember," he muttered, snapping Steven out of his trance and drawing his attention to him. "You can sit this one out; don't force yourself into something you're not for others' sake. Any chucklehead that thinks less of you can blow a tollusk for all we care."

With a kick the thunderhog roared to life and with a with a little careful maneuvering circled around the boy to reach the earthen ramp that lead it up there in the first place. As this was happening the young Gem looked to the biker whilst he passed him before drifting back into the hellish eye-like slits which emanated from the great anvil's 'face', and then dipping down to the ominously red lights which frantically waved about in the evening sky... As he watched his hands began to clench, his lips tightening into a frown.

At the cusp of the ramp the bike stopped at the shout of "Hey!" Kill Master sighed as he looked back, wishing he could take time to take out another cigarette as the boy scrambled onto what amounted to the passenger seat of the vehicle. "You sure about this?" he grumbled. At Steven's determined nod the man silently rolled his head back to the ramp ahead of him, revved the engine and took off to what was likely to become the battlefront.

XVX

Fields

Between Mangus' shouting and the sirens which died off a few minutes ago it wasn't that great a surprise to find literally everyone out in the fields before Bladehenge in so short a time, each armed with their preferred weapon of choice be it spears, swords, axes, even their own thick skulls just to name a few. What did surprise him however was the seemingly impromptu work they were doing by cutting down the nearby trees made of scaffolding, digging up and dragging metal that could be scavenged amongst the ancient remainders of the deceased giants which occasionally peaked out from the rolling earth, and stone that could be hewn from either the outer walls of Bladehenge or the field itself, all of which being hauled to a great standing structure outlined with scaffolding and covered in crimson sheets which grew darker in the fading evening light. Two tiered, from the ground he couldn't quite gauge the second level's size but the predominant one was large enough to rival a congressional building. Now that he thought about it, the second section seemed rounded enough to fit around the top of which.

Before either of them could truly question it the great curtains fell away, the framework exploded without warning and promptly disintegrated into nothing without hurting any of the equally perturbed souls gathered around it. Confusion soon gave way to awe, and some even bowed and prayed to what was likely to them a newly crafted temple in the Fire Beast's image. For Steven however, he gaped at the replica of the very stage where this particular adventure started; as he stared into Ormagöden's menacing visage, a part of him wondered as to how Eddie knew what the Fire Beast looked like, or if the design made by his hand was in fact originally inspired by the idol which he wore as a belt buckle and he was unwittingly close to The Cremator's form.

Either way it was a question that was abandoned the second Steven hopped off the bike and from there jumped onto the stage as Kill Master drove away into the shifting masses surrounding the massive stage. "Eddie!" he called as he rushed to the man as he talked into a radio; though temporarily blinded by a flash of light from the rear floodlights in the stage, he came to a stop before the man as he turned his attention to Steven. He held up a quick finger to the boy before saying "Side Pots!" into the radio. A second later a voice crackled the same words the moment before the side pots ringing the stage briefly burst into life with a gout of flame.

"Steven! I was wondering where you were!" he laughed. "Still, you're here now! Give me a second set of eyes while we do the last round of checks, will ya?"

With a tight lipped frown Steven hesitantly nodded. "Sure Eddie! But... why is there a stage here?"

The roadie was about to speak into the radio before freezing with a second's indecision before kneeling down to look Steven in the eye. As he did so he reached back and pulled Clementine from his back. "You know how that in our world this simply makes noise when you plug it into an amp?" At Steven's nod and "hmmf" of confirmation he continued. "Well, here, it blows stuff up! Now imagine what a full on rock show can do!"

He unfortunately could.

It was an awesome idea, but, he could already see the field of dead bodies as much as he tried to drown it out with the imagery of a band on the stage, roaring the primal essence of life itself as his dad would say, and a horde of fans rocking out.

Try as he might Steven couldn't stop quivering in place as he felt the bile rising up his throat. Given the fact he was literally kneeling in front of him, Eddie would have to be nothing less than blind to notice. As such, with a grimace as panic set in, Eddie scrambled for the closest thing to an answer to take Steven's off what was undoubtedly morbid matters. "Hey, want to help Mangus and me do a final check? We've got, like, half a dozen more things to go over! Like—glowing people?"

That helped, at least enough to focus his gaze back on Eddie's face after unknowingly drifting it down to the stage's floor. "Glowing people? I've never heard of any... concerts..." It took him a moment to realize the roadie's attention was elsewhere, to the side specifically. Needless to say he soon turned his gaze out to the field surrounding the battle stage and was rendered awestruck that what were previously insert clusters of craggy, spiked rock were now aglow, their fissures widening so as to disgorge a steady yet heft stream of, for the lack of a better word, souls who rose only to vanish seemingly into nothing after reaching a certain point. Not only that but each 'soul' was hunched forward, listless, their forms grayed like a darker shade of smoke.

"Come on, let's check it out."

Thankfully Steven didn't need prompting beyond that. By the time they left the stage anyone who could gathered around the phenomenon wherever it appeared. Most of which gave a respectful distance from these geysers but a daring few edged close enough to poke at the unresponsive ghosts with sticks or spears if they had any. The one the pair of roadies, soon joined by Mangus who scrambled to catch up to them, approached however had at least a marginally greater ring around it as Lars, Lita and Ophelia.

"Whoa..."

"I've heard stories..." Lita murmurs as he places a hand against her chest in quiet thought. It slowly bobbed and weaved as it floated away as she continued to talk, her attention on the majority of their particular group in her vision. "The Titans were said to have summoned a force from deep within the ground with special rituals; chants and music long forgotten. They used this force to power their entire civilization," he murmurs as she drew her gaze back to the geyser and the spirits which continued to endlessly float up from it.

"They do seem to have an energy about them," Lars adds.

Movement to Steven's left in turn snatched the boy's attention to Eddie as he turned to look at the stage, his face furrowed in thought. Then, as if realizing something, his brows rose up and with the hand still holding the walkie talkie he gestured to the battle stage. "Their fans! They've come to the show!" He then swiveled back to the geyser. "And with the energy of the fans we can do anything!"

Steven stared at the geyser before essentially mimicking Eddie in terms of action. "They look... bored. Maybe if we threw a band together it'll liven them up?"

"That could work!" Eddie assented before frowning as he steeled his gaze on the geyser. "Sadly though there's no real time for auditions given our lack of time."

"Then why did you build the stage to begin with if we don't have a band."

All heads within earshot turned to Eddie who was both bug eyed in surprise whilst having the countenance of sucking of a lemon. He then held up a finger with his radio bearing hand. "Proof of concept, my apprentice! If Clementine can shake the earth and call forth the thunder, then what happens if we have the greatest throne of worship up and running?"

"Oh! I didn't think of that!"

"That been said, let's see if your idea holds weight!"

Without much preamble Eddie darted forth till he was about at the foot of the fountain of spirits with his guitar in hand. He wasted in no time in letting loose a series of rapid chords and on completion the fountain losts its ashy touch in favor of a healthy green, the spirits now roused and rocking much like the more excitable times of Beach City's Beach-A-Palooza. As the frenzied crowd of spirits rejoiced Eddie let loose a "yeah!" amongst a chorus of gasps. "They're definitely our fans now!" With a grin Eddie turned back to them and padded his way to them whilst holding his arms to showcase the geyser behind him. "This is what it's all about, guys. The fans! Be true to them and you'll never go wrong."

"And soul!" Steven eagerly added, his arms pumped upwards. "No note resonates with anyone or anything more purely than playing from the heart!"

"Exactly!" Eddie laughed as he pointed a finger at the younger roadie before returning his attention back to the fountain. "The more fans we have, the bigger shows we can put on. All they need from us? Rock!" He then darted his head to Steven who matched him grin for grin. "From the soul!" he annunciates with a clenched first. His face then went slack for a brief second before lighting up with an epiphany. "And merchandise!"

"Quick, Steven, Mangus, we needto build a merch booth!" he belts out before holding a hand up to count his fingers. "Fans are going to want t-shirts, posters, and maybe hats!"

"Right!"

"On it!"

And so they took off without much thought beyond what was tasked of them. In the meantime members of their army had been recruited once more to collect what scaffolding they could to erect a cursory shell much like they had with the battle stage. Given its smaller stature in comparison to its behemoth cousin the resulting tower was far quicker to assemble. The same could be said of the resulting final work, a spike tower of red cloth and orange floodlights crowned with a horned skull whilst flanked by massive exhaust pipes on both sides; it was unveiled the second it was stocked with merchandise that was originally intended for the army proper only to be unwittingly neglected as said army preferred their more custom works. From the pipes came coalesced bursts of 'fans' which streamed toward the stage, to the mouth of the Beast's homage which they promptly disappeared in a flurry of activity which brought fiery life to the statue's eyes. As this was happening, and observed, Eddie, Steven and Mangus stood in front of the fan tower with the oldest roadie having an arm around the other man's shoulders and a hand on the most relevant shoulder of the teen.

"You see guys, band merchandise is like a wedding ring," Eddie near mumbled as he shifted focused from one to another to ensure he had their attention. "It's a material thing, yes, but it's also a symbol of a deeper devotion that helps remind—"

"Lionwhyte's men have been seen approaching the field!"

Everyone's attention diverted to Lars the moment he arrived with his sister after having disappeared during the tower's rapid construction. "what should we do?" Lita asked. It easily provoked a serious expression from Eddie's face not unlike a drill sergeant as he marched away from the small gathering to address the army which milled about.

"Alright it's showtime folks! Everybody to your stations! Mangus, get into your booth and I'll call you when it's time to send someone to the stage!"

The all but forgotten radio crackled to life as the army marched to the back of the stage in a near disorganized mess. "Boss, I'm already in the booth." That prompted a start from the pair of roadies who swiftly looked to the engineer's last known spot only to find the man had long since disappeared.

"Whoa! He might make a good roadie!" Steven practically whispered in awe.

"Right!" Eddie barked into the radio before jerking his thumb toward the field and stage at once. "Well, let's get some Headbangers out there!" As he turned in place to face the stage his eyes landed on Steven and for a moment he stiffened. He then forced a smile on his lips as he addressed the boy. "Hey, Steven!" The man's eyes quickly shifted from one side to another until they landed on the stage. "Look, for an event this big we'll have to spread out to make sure everyone is tip top and ready to roll out. I'll take care of the front," he said as he pointed to the very ground at the older roadie's feet. "I want you," he said as he pointed to Steven, then to the stage, "to make sure no one is stepping on other people's toes and that they save the rough housing for the bad guys, okay?"

Steven's lips pursed into a frown as he looked to the near empty field, then to the stage as a squad of headbangers came out whooping and hollering for the battle to come. For a moment he could've sworn they were already covered in blood only for a blink to wash it away. Try as he might he couldn't get rid of the stench of sulfur in his nose, of sweat and copper as he looked up to Eddie, his hands clenching as he fought to keep calm. He sent a glance to Lars, Lita and Ophelia as they gathered at the edge of the stage with the headbangers before taking a deep breath and firmly setting his gaze upon the roadie before him as Kill Master's advice quietly floated through his mind. "Just... be careful, alright?"

"We will, short round, we will," the older man replied with a smirk.

With a reluctant nod but a determined "hmmf!" the boy turned and ran in the direction of where the entirety of Ironheade army seemingly vanished to, the very back of the stage.

XVX

Backstage

Having arrived at the original stage where Sour Cream acted as the opening act for the band it was originally intended for, Steven couldn't help but gawk as the compared this stage and the aforementioned stage. On the outside the two were easily comparable to one another in both size and difference. Inside though, in the stage built upon the grounds of a forgotten civilization of titans where metal was as much present as it was a theme? It was as if a latent power had expanded the backstage to dimensions far grander than the one built on a more modern world.

What should be a space cramped with crates, supplies, equipment and personnel was a cavernous space in terms of dimension which readily housed the army of Ironheade. More than enough room for squads to bypass each other no matter how disorganized things were, for the thunder hogs to zip by without threat of whinging someone in their passing, for supplies and armories worth of armaments to be ordered neatly into groups and stacks for quick and ready use... provided of course if they favored such organization—everyone was rather clingy to their stuff to the point only general supplies and backup weapons were marshaled into rows; needless to say the weapons were left to gather dust.

What truly fascinated him were the fans.

The moment Mangus' barked for a (semi) specific group anyone matching the description rushed themselves toward the empty space between the improvised encampment and the stage's drawn curtain as if rehearsed, minus a little shoving and grunting from some over eager or even mildly confused 'units'. From there, from the ceiling, the soul-like beings rushed forth from the darkness above and essentially merged with the 'squad'. While the brief glowing was expected, to an extent at least regardless of the teen's stunned observation, the affected people were, in a word, energized more so then they were seconds before. While some spared a moment to let out roars of newfound power, they all moved far quicker than before as they dashed out to the side as to avoid the curtain. They were probably much stronger for it too than they were seconds before via the transfusion if Steven had to guess... with time however he couldn't help but wonder if it was enough.

It started off small at first; one squad after another seemingly every half hour, not that he had a watch to time it. With each squad and bike drummed up however it seemed like the calls were coming in with greater frequency. Soon enough there was a line awaiting an infusion of fans, and it was only growing despite the relatively quick transfusion of ethereal power for each 'unit' that went out to battle. To add to his worries the sounds of battle were drawing close enough to be heard, albeit muffled by virtue of distance and the curtain's looming form.

Try as he might to distract himself by busying himself with seeing to others' needs, their version of ammo stocked and loaded, offering moral support for those who tried to put on a brave face only to break down with enough or even the lack of prodding, ensuring no one tripped on anything, Steven's limbs were shaking as they were coated with a sheen of sweat that he tried to dispel the moment he noticed it to hide it from the others if he caught it in time; with each war cry and agonized scream he was forcing bile back his throat as he smiled at everyone to keep their spirits up; every order for a new 'squad', as much as he tried keep the thoughts away with each and every single action to benefit those backstage, he knew there were people he wasn't going to be seeing again in the camp.

... he hated it.

He didn't want to be back here, not when he could make a difference. At the same time he didn't want to go through it again! He honestly thought the movie was bad enough, never mind that people were capable of such violence to begin with! But to see it up close and personal?

He had to take a moment to actually fight the vomit that wanted to leap out of him...

... it was bad enough to learn where meat came from thanks to Dr. Maheswaran...

However, at the same time, there were people he had gotten to know in Ironheade who were out there fighting at this very moment or were a hair's breadth from joining the fray: Charlie, a 'headbanger' who had volunteered earlier, had three brothers who were apparently trapped in Lionwhyte's Pleasure Tower whereas he apparently "got lucky" as he put it. Jessy, one of the newly dubbed Razor Girls, had a very similar story, albeit she looked more like she was going to throw up in comparison. Gus from Thunderhorn was actually looking for an excuse to get off the mountain lest he go stir crazy and thought that by the war's end he could finally roam the land as he pleased, and get as far away from Kill Master before he snapped and tried to kill him. Hedge just wanted to build cars from parts mined from The Pit after seeing Eddie cruise by with the Druid Plow one day so he and everybody else could enjoy the freedom of the road. Lucia wanted the nightmare that was apparently the Pleasure Tower completely and utterly destroyed, though she wouldn't exactly say why though. Bengy wanted to hunt in peace, but the majority of his family decided to join Ironheade to overthrow Lionwhyte and he didn't want to abandon them to the carnage to come. Lenny, from one of the groups that joined after the formation of Ironheade, she wanted to explore the world and record every wonder there was to be found once the fighting was over...

There were so many more, their stories shared or kept to themselves... and he didn't want them to die. Not even the jerks who joined them as opposed to Lionwhyte's forces.

... and the more he thought about it, the more he tried to ignore what was going on, the more he tried to force himself to stay, the less reason he found to stay; he might have been a roadie, but he was also a Crystal Gem! And they always save the day!

After one final assurance, aiding one final check of a razor girl's 'rifle', he rushed to the curtain to the surprise of all who witnessed it and swiftly made his way outside.

He wished he hadn't.

The only mercy there was to be had at this very moment for Steven was that the battlefield wasn't a darkened chasm lit only by holes in the ground that lead to the coursing river of lava below and torches, just a dying sun still illuminating the piles of dead bodies and the blood which soaked them...

For what it was worth it didn't appear to be as many Ironheade bodies as he feared... just a significant enough number to legitimize it; for every fallen Ironheade headbanger a fellow one would crush the skull of their long haired counterparts within one to two 'thwacks!' with their skull before moving onto his next enemy; the weapons hewn from the boars easily tore into the disorganized mobs that tried to slam their way past the defenses to rush the stage if they weren't attempting to murder Ironheade fighters, leaving them at the mercy of a second volley if the first didn't outright kill them; the thunder hogs stayed back if they could, only staying close enough for the music coming from the mounted speakers to mend wounds that were short of inherently fatal.

Opposing them was what could only be Lionwhyte's forces, composed primarily of what would be generously called rip offs of the established 'units', plus bouncers; the five who sided with Ironheade were thankfully still backstage. What had him (figuratively) scratching his head though were the garishly dressed men on pink colored thunder hogs who were seemingly aiding Lionwhyte's forces—he could've sworn everyone was accounted for before this fight started. Other than that was a well and truly bizarre oddity to be seen even amongst the world of relics and metal: a man was flying through the hair above, his incredibly massive hair acting as the very wings which carried him.

Dressed in pink pants and a denim jacket, carrying what appeared to be a spiked mace with an exceptionally long handle, this man would swoop down to the greatest points of Ironheade resistance and gave the unsuspecting freedom fighters a mace to the face before they realized he was there. Should they somehow not be close enough to his landing spot he would then flip the mace downward so as to bring the butt end to his lips, showcasing a previously unseen microphone to which he began to... rant? Scream? Sing? Between the distance and the din of battle Steven wasn't quite sure what he was doing exactly, but the results quickly became apparent as lightning struck from the sky upon the members of Ironheade, typically the Razor Girls who were often quick to redirect their fire at him; what should've killed them within the first strike only seemed to have stunned them whereas the third or even fourth strike finally ended them for better or worse.

"AaaaaaUUAAAAGH!"

But it was probably a far kinder fate then compared to the headbangers that leapt at him as he was calling forth the elements. Like the earth shaking rip of Eddie's guitar back at the temple the very air was forced back under the sheer force of a dome of sound. Those closest to the man... died, their flesh ripped away as their bodies were jettisoned elsewhere, their limbs and even heads flying off to parts unknown if there was nothing left to tether them to their respective bodies. Those further out seemed to be relatively lucky in that they were simply knocked over, albeit clutching their ears and screaming in agony like that time Steven accidently learned what feedback was. Even so not even a thunder hog caught in the outer rim of the screech as that both the vehicle and the driver had toppled over, making him as vulnerable as the others whilst Lionwhyte's goons descended on them or else made for the stage.

That was the final straw for Steven.

The moment he jumped from the stage the man with massive hair took off to the sky to no doubt terrorize another front, dodging potshots from razor girls and, oddly enough, lightning bolts directed at him for a change. He was far less successful with those.

Regardless, he rushed through the field, ignoring his name being cried out by those who noticed him and their distracted attempts to beg for him to head back to the safety of the stage. With clenched eyes he tried not to look at the opposing headbangers who stormed their way in his direction, instead focusing his efforts into both running and forming a shield, and another one onto his other arm with a grunt of effort. Without breaking his stride nor daring to peak out from behind closed eyes the moment he thought one of the men was just about to pounce on him Steven braced himself and outright rammed him, succeeding despite his deliberate blindness and launching the man away as if he had been tackled by an angry football player much to the long haired man's shock. His companions who were in striking range fared no better, and in a matter of moments Steven bulldozed his way through the disorganized mob who were set upon by a fresh wave of Ironheade troops who were practically chasing after Steven in the first place. Even so Steven didn't stop. He opened his eyes at last which were still set upon the direction of the recently downed squad desperately trying to stay alive, but he didn't stop beyond taking a moment to hurl a shield at those that assaulted them.

As a pink shield bounced off thick skulls and enormous bodies the boy's spit found themselves slapped onto the wounded, restoring them far faster and far greater than the resonating tunes of a bass could hope to manage in such a short time. As the flying pink shield dissipated into nothing another attached to an arm found itself rammed into those serving Lionwhyte with a sense of burning reluctance and regret as each blow had to have strength normally reserved to fight corrupted gems summoned forth to defend the lives despite knowing what it would mean for someone else in the end. Even when this small prophecy turned true and the ground painted red with blood Steven didn't stop despite the tears stinging his eyes. With a war raging around him he couldn't find the peace necessary to bring himself to float above the battlefield to find out where he would need to help out next. As such he found himself leading the charge against one battle group to another on foot whether he liked it or not in his self imposed quest to save as many lives as he could.

XVX

Like a fever dream the battle broke at long last, the end marked only when the man with the impossibly large hair flew away once the last of Lionwhyte's minions had fallen. There were cheers to be had, a celebration to be had soon after without a doubt as night began to fall at long last.

Lars was giving a speech but sadly Steven was too far to hear him. Instead he was walking the field with a few others in search for the wounded who somehow got overlooked and were thought to be dead. There were a few to be had for sure as proven by the occasional Ironheade soldier barely clinging to life or a bassist trapped underneath his own ride.

Then there were those of what was being dubbed as the "Hair Metal Militia" between some members of Ironheade...

Physically and emotionally drained as he was Steven's sense of mercy sought the poor souls that suffered similar fates. Thankfully those that were saved were often quick to cut and run, especially once the teenager's bouncer friends finally found him and followed him gave those who entertained some spiteful idea a glare which wordlessly sent them off. Bouncers loyal to Lionwhyte who by some stroke of luck that were more... conflicted between warrior's pride and accepting their defeat with what dignity they could muster in the company of gratitude of being saved, but they too left even if it was more sedately than the others. Their version of the razor girls were a more interesting lot however: some outright fled, to where Steven hadn't a clue as they either ran to the wilds or to the anvil with the burning eyes. Those that didn't looked as lost as they were scared. Tired as he was Steven drew what strength he had left to give them a smile and offer them a welcome to Ironheade if they so choose—the results were mixed. While Steven was happy to say to those who asked that many of those would be termed "groupies" amongst the Hair Metal Militia accepted his offer (after many assurances and promises that he would do everything he could to help them) and were escorted to the camp by one of his friends so not to be attacked by the others, those that didn't accept ran off much like the others in equally different directions.

As much as it bothered him that a great many chose to flee he wasn't going to stop them or wish them ill will...

He just wanted to save as many lives as he could.

A/N: Admittedly I was planning to put this out last month... but I had a mixed case of trying to figure out who would speak to Steven, writing up the speech itself and overconfident/laziness-induced feet dragging.

I am also a bit ashamed to say the feet dragging part is also the reason why it's coming out now at the end of the month (9/30/2021). Worse yet it was a bit rushed because I didn't want to go two months without updating a story.

For what it's worth I hope you enjoy the chapter, which will be subject to editing later.

Monkeybandit2, making off with your attention. No refunds.