A voice slowly faded in: "…mean, gadda mighty. What the hell happened here?" Jarble jarble jumble noise. "…alive n' jest wasted r' somethin'? Ey. Murderface. Wake up n'..."

Skwisgaar gradually began to notice upon being roused from his slumber that his body was a solid mass of pain. All italic letters pain. Not quite bold pain though, just italic. Certainly nowhere near capital letters PAIN yet. He tried to roll over to alleviate some of the pressure on his back but he discovered all too soon that Toki had apparently gotten cold during the night and crawled between his legs for warmth. The dozing Norwegian had his upper body wedged in there tight and was using Skwisgaar's crotch for a pillow. And with Skwisgaar being…well, Skwisgaar…he suffered from a chronic case of morning wood ever since he'd hit puberty. So now the pain had a name and address, and the whole neighborhood was letting him know.

"Gyah, get offs me, Toki! You squish my thing!"

"Uh?" came the half-conscious reply.

"Goes on, up! Up up offs! I can'ts feels my leg. Dey both died!"

"M' in-a-sense I swears..."

"Skwisgaar!" Pickles' voice raked across the Swede's eardrums like nails on a chalkboard, and the drummer was soon standing over him and looking down suspiciously. "Skwisgaar."

"What."

"What? You tell me what. Like what n' the hell yer all doin' passed out on the floor. Dude, what're ya even doin' in here? Nobody knew where the fuck ya were all mornin."

"Rehearsals," Skwisgaar muttered, dragging himself out from underneath Toki and patting his pockets in search of a smoke.

"Rehearsal? The hell ya need ta rehearse for?"

"Nothings, we just likes to." Skwisgaar tapped out a cigarette and then began to search Toki's pockets for a light.

Pickles didn't buy it. He scowled. "A'right, what the hell're you guys hidin? Yer up t' somethin', aren't ya?"

Ticklish Toki giggled in his sleep as Skwisgaar wrestled a zippo out of his left-front pocket. The blond took his sweet ass time to light his cig and answer—he finally sighed out a smoky, "So what's if we is, ah? You is not de mudder of us. Minds your own bee's nest, Pickle."

Ooooh. "M' serry, what was that?"

Skwisgaar crawled to his feet in order to gain the advantage of height. "You heards me. What's we does are nots any business of yours."

"Uh, ya know what? Yer in the band. N' I'm in the band. Yeah. So it fuckin well is my business."

"You just loves stickings your nose in other's people personal-"

"Dude. It's not personal-"

"Pffft. Yah, dat's a-"

"We gotta concert in less than a week n' all 'a ya look like ya haven't slept in a fuckin year!"

"We's are FINE-"

"No yer not! Yer completely cracked! Fried! I mean dude, what the hell gives!"

"FUCKS OFF, PICKLE!"

"MAKE ME, DOUCHEBA-"

Murderface suddenly sat up, holding a very large hunting knife in his fist as he screamed, "SCHUT UP OR I SHWEAR TO GOD I'LL COME OVER THERE AND CUT'SHER FUCKIN' THROATSH OUT!"

"Yehh, me too," Toki mumbled.

Pickles and Skwisgaar glared at each other silently for a few moments before the Swede decided to back down for the sake of his bandmates. And for his headache. Mainly his headache, because Skwisgaar wasn't that noble. So he collected his guitar and made his way off the stage. And just because he always had to get the last word in, no matter how pwned he had gotten, he muttered to Pickles as he passed, "Dildos."

The drummer flipped him off nonchalantly and then turned his attention to the still-snoozing Toki. Once he was sure Skwisgaar was gone, he kneeled down and shook him gently by the shoulder.

"Wake up, honey, yer gonna be late fer schoooool," cooed Pickles in the sweetest Mom Voice he could manage.

"I not goes to school today, I sick," slurred the Norwegian without opening his eyes.

"Yer friends're gonna miss you."

"Mnhhr."

"Skwisgaar n' Murderface won't be able t' rehearse without ya."

"They's fine…says we ready…sing love's song for Nate'ns."

Aha. Now he was starting to get somewhere. "Sing a song fer Nate'n?"

"Yehh. B'fore he dies…n' we dies." Toki had no idea what he was saying. Or maybe he did. Because his next words were : "I loves him."

Pickles sat back on his haunches and stared down at the sleeping guitarist, wondering how seriously he could take those three little words. He'd have to think on it. Toki and the others were acting like they had some kind of big fucking secret that they weren't going to tell anyone. It was getting annoying and everyone was already gnawing each other's legs off because of this concert. Maybe the little guy was just stressed out and worried about Nathan. Nathan was definitely a guy to worry about.

Of course, the only other logical answer was that Toki was experiencing mutual feelings for Nathan. Without Nathan knowing. Without anyone knowing. What are the chances of that kind of shit happening?

Pickles stood up and trudged off, muttering under his breath, "Gad if this keeps up we're gonna hafta change our name t' Fagklok." He shook his head. "Gayer than the gayest gay times infinity."

It was the night before the opening performance, and somehow all the fun had been taken out of the jacuzzi. Not the water or anything, just the fun. It was almost a tradition, soaking and boozing it up in the tub together before the start of every tour. (God that really does sound gay, doesn't it? No wonder all this crap is happening—it was just a matter of time.) So anyway, the whole band sat in the jacuzzi with beers in hand (or in Pickles' case a 30 oz. hurricane glass of some godawful looking tutti fruity concoction) and didn't say a word to each other. It was very uncomfortable, sitting naked in bubbly hot water with nothing in common with the people around you but an awkward silence.

And it was pretty awkward even without the silence: Nathan sat squashed against Murderface to avoid making any contact with Toki, who seemed intent on inching closer to Nathan just to be near him, and Murderface was slowly scooting closer Pickles since Nathan was getting all up in his personal space, and Skwisgaar's fucking guitar was just a nuisance. It wasn't in anyone's way, it was just annoying. Nobody even knew why he brought that thing in the tub anyway or how it never seemed to get water damage.

"Are…you boys alright this evening? You seem awfully quiet," said Manager-whose-name-we-now-know-to-be-Ofdensen-but-I'm-not-going-to-edit-this-whole-fic-just-because-we-know-it-now, sitting on the other side of the room and taking care of business. Whatever it was. He was talking on his cell phone a lot and going through papers. Probably something important that the band never thought about or cared to think about.

"Eh. We're jest…y'know," Pickles muttered.

An executive brown eyebrow arched. "No, I…don't know."

"We's is mediastating," Skwisgaar threw out a random excuse.

"You means moderating," Toki corrected with only half of his usual viciousness when it came to correcting the Swede.

"I think he means meditating," Nathan grumbled.

"Pffft. No, dat's not it eithers."

"Who gives a schit anyway?" Murderface spat. "I don't. Nathan, shtop it."

"Stop what?"

"Movin closher to me. Yer shquishing me an' I'm fat an' I need room. Move the fuck over to your shide. Ya got shumthin against Toki or what?"

"No-"

"Then git offa me."

Pickles' Gay-Panic Alarm went off. "Uh Nate'n, ya don't hafta move it ya don't-"

"Schuttup Picklesh."

"Bite me, Wilma. Nate'n, ya don't hafta-"

"Yeah, is okay Nate'ns," Toki said, moving closer and touching the singer's arm. "There a lot of room he-"

Nathan almost explosion. I mean exploded. "Will everybody just SHUT THE FUCK UP AND NOT TOUCH ME…uh, please. Thank you."

Silence.

Ofdensen observed, "I…see you're all having some issues with communication. Nervous about the show, are we?"

The mixes of "yes" and "no" confirmed his suspicions.

"Very well. I'm not going to mince words—I think this love song of yours is going to be one of the worst career moves in the history of music, and you should all be scared shitless."

"No no, y'see, we have ta do it," Pickles insisted.

"No, you don't."

"YES, WE DO," Nathan grunted.

"Fine," Ofdensen conceded, "if you insist on willingly damaging your image like this, then I suppose there's nothing I can do. But don't come crying to me when you are all sitting around and wondering what happened." He stood from his seat. "You need to talk to each other again. Keeping secrets will destroy you." And with a quick adjustment of glasses, he was gone.

show time

Toki hadn't been this nervous since their first gig, and even then he'd been too drunk to feel nervous at all. He was pretty sober as he sat in the dressing room back stage and fought to keep himself from retching. He had already undergone the routine procedure to acquire his sexy/mangled voice, and throwing up stomach acid would probably hurt worse than fuck-all. Skwisgaar had already spent some time shouting at Ralph and Huey on the porcelain telephone and was now wandering around anxiously, fingering his guitar as an ingrained defense mechanism or obsessively combing his hair. And he was shedding all over the place. They'd gone through two sticky roller sheets already. Murderface sat in the chair in the corner and just stared straight ahead like a soulless doll, stabbing a knife into the cushioned arm until stuffing had begun to puff out like mangled guts. To say he wasn't thrilled would be a gross non-exaggeration.

Toki stared at his reflection in the mirror. It was a pretty neat outfit, he had to admit—clunky black boots and leather pants and a fishnet shirt with a red-eyed rat on the chest—but he didn't feel like wearing it. He didn't want to go out there. He didn't want to sing. He didn't want to die. It was too much. He should just kill himself now and get it over with. Anything would be better than doing what he was about to do.

He faintly registered Skwisgaar pulling up a chair beside him; the Swede turned him around so that they faced each other. Skwisgaar looked sick. Not just the normal barfy-drunk-stoned sick, but like deathbed sick. Even his corpse makeup couldn't hide that glazed look in his eyes, glazed like a dead body that had died with its eyes open.

"Boy you really looks bad," Toki croaked bluntly.

"I knows." Skwisgaar reached over and picked up a compact of black makeup, positioned Toki's face like an anal retentive hairdresser, and began to apply the stuff to his face. They didn't talk to each other at first, too focused on listening to the dull, growing noise in the background that was the audience they would soon be standing in front of. But then Skwisgaar broke the proverbial ice: "Toki."

"Yeah?"

He dabbed the poof over Toki's eyelids. "Dis coulds be de last preformstance ever dat we does."

"Yeah I knows."

Pause. "I thinks it's pretty cool dats you would die for…de band. So, uh. Whatevers happen out dere, I just wants yous to knows…I never really hated you alls dat much. Really I kinds of…loveds you a little. Likes friend does." Pause. "I goings to miss playings wis yous. Not a lots, 'cause your guitar's is shit and you can'ts plays it for a damn, but I will miss yous…fuckings up my leads. Pissings me offs. I wills…remember yous alway for dat."

"You real sweet, Skwisgaar."

"I knows." He clapped a hand on top of Toki's head and shook him gently by the hair. "So try nots to die before me, fucker."

"Right. You has to be de first one who does everythings."

"Yah."

Murderface broke up this lovely Scandinavian display of brotherly-slash-homoerotic affection by chucking his knife into the opposite wall and standing up. "If we're goin' down tonight guyzsh, let'sh give 'em a schow they'll never forget."

Skwisgaar nodded as he stared at Toki. "We'll rocks off all deir fucking face off. Isn'ts dat right?" Silence. "Isn'ts dat right Toki?" Silence. Sigh. Slim hand in brown hair. "…fucking says somethings to me Toki. Please."

Suicidal bravery gleamed in Toki's eyes—resignation at last. "I ready. Let's…goes forth and dies. Come on." He stood to his feet. The awesomeness radiating from him was the most metal thing ever. "They waiting for us."

"ARE YOU READY FOR THIS, MORTALLLLS?" Nathan snarled into the mic like a beast as he stalked the stage back and forth, glaring at the solid sea of humanity who roared their response. "I SAID, ARE YOU READDDDYYYYYY?" The screams went up a few decibels. Bare arms formed a blanket of beige tones, hands unanimously displaying index and pinky.

Cloaked in shadows, the rest of the band sat poised for action, motionless. Except for Toki, who seemed to be memorizing the texture of his left forearm. "Toki!" hissed Pickles from up on his drum altar. "The hell's up wit' yer arm? Is that a tattoo?"

"Is nothing," Toki lied, dropping his arm to his side. "Just remainders." Well, he wasn't actually lying per se; like an academically challenged high schooler he had written the lyrics to A Monster Named Love on his skin. In Norwegian. Since he read that only slightly better than English and no one would call him on it anyway.

Skwisgaar sidled up to Toki and checked the straps on his false cast. "Dees is too tights, dildo. You's goings to cuts off your blood's circus." He fixed the cast as Toki stood numbly, listening to Nathan practically incite the audience to orgasm with nothing but his voice. When Skwisgaar was finished he clapped a hand on Toki's shoulder and said, "Try nots to sounds likes shit, Wartooth. We's recordings dis, you knows," before taking up his set position on stage.

"-THEN PREPARE," Nathan boomed, "FOR A JOURNEY INTO DARKNESS. A DESCENT INTO THE DUNNNGEONS OF A TORTURED MIND…"

Murderface began strumming a slow, steady riff on his Thunderbird as the shadows started to lift from the stage.

"…WHERE THE ONLY COMFORT TO BE FOUND…"

Toki came in with another layer to the riff as Pickles started a simple beat with the bass, ride cymbal and snare. It was the breath before the scream.

"…IS IN THE RED EYES OF THE RATS THAT SURROUND YOUUUU."

With jaw set and lips pinched tightly, Skwisgaar struck a piercing screech way up on the frets and then unleashed a full 32nd note assault as Toki brought his cast down on his strings, producing a skull-splitting metallic thunderclap that was as shocking as it was gorgeous. Pyrotechnics exploded on all sides, showering sparks and dazzling red glitter into the pit. Yellow and red lights erupted on stage, illuminating the band in all their brutal glory. The sound of the guitars was deafening, yet the excitement of the audience and their screams of ecstatic joy came close to matching their loudness. Pickles threw himself into his drums and led the band into the beginning of Staircase to Hell, and for a little while Toki forgot all about everything except making love to his guitar with his hands.

The response to Toki's new sound was incredible and the crowd loved it, screaming extra loud whenever he had finished shredding a heavy solo. He felt a little awkward whenever the spotlights captured him—he wasn't used to being the center of attention like this. That was Skwisgaar's thing. Still, all that extra practice paid off and he didn't fuck up anything, even with the lingering reminder of the recording devices being able to pick up the slightest scrambled note or botched rhythm. The band tore through their show, song after brutal song, until at last the finale was upon them.

Nathan emptied a bottle of water over himself and threw it into the clambering masses. He shook his head, sending drops flying from his hair. "This next one is a little different," he growled to the still-cheering audience. "Maybe you'll like it. Maybe not. We'll see."

Pickles grimaced in agony as he began to lay out one of those drippy 1950s doo-wop beats, the rest of the band joining in slowly and trying to stifle their nausea and shame. A quiet lull struck the crowd, and Nathan let out a heavy sigh as he began to sing in a surprisingly lyrical voice: "I love you more than words can say…I need your love both night and day…I cannot live without you there, to hold me close with warmth and care…"

The audience turned into petrified mimes, shocked to hear this sappy drivel oozing from the mouth of the world's most metal, bloodthirsty singer. It was shocking. Appalling. A crime against music, committed by the last person on earth that anyone would suspect.

A rosebud of panic had begun to bloom in Toki's chest, to put it poetically; his mouth went dry, his hands began to shake and he suddenly forgot his own name. He couldn't do this. He couldn't function. He just wanted to run off the stage right now. He tossed his hair to get Skwisgaar's attention and then shook his head at the Swede to signal that he couldn't go through with it. Skwisgaar made a horrendously evil face in response and mouthed "I will KILLS you" between clenched teeth. Murderface joined in on their silent conversation, picked up on Toki's cold-feet-retreat plan, and similarly threatened death with an elaborate dance of eyebrows and dagger-launching glares. Toki buckled and tried not to cry. He had no choice now, he thought, staring at Nathan's back. He'd have to face the music.

Nathan had his eyes closed tightly, concentrating on not letting himself choke on the endless stream of revolting words. "Love love love…I love you so, more than you will ever know…so kiss me now and smile bright-"

Toki took a breath a snarled into a nearby mic: "BECAUSE A MONSTER'S RISING UP TONIIIIGHT!"

Skwisgaar and Murderface ditched the happy melody they had been playing and lit into an ear-smashing aural assault led by Toki and his wailing chainsaw guitar. Pickles floundered for two seconds before his survival instincts kicked in and he began to hammer out the first powerful rhythm he could think of to match the mutinous guitarists. Nathan whipped around with a face that looked as if he were either going to have a heart attack or detonate in rage. He was glaring right at Toki, who tried to look both innocent and apologetic at the same time. He nodded his head to tell Nathan to get back in his place, which was sacrilegious—no one told the frontman what to do. But Nathan did, and he pretended that he hadn't just been overruled by his own band. Those feelings of betrayal didn't get any better when he heard what Toki had begun to sing:

"There's a monster living in my flesh…A feasting parasite, digessst. Eats me alive from de inside out…I need a knife to carve!" JUN JUN. "De monster!" JUN JUN. "Ouuttt!" JUN JUN RREEEEE!

Skwisgaar's X-plorer squealed, complimenting the heavy rhythm of Toki's guitar. Pickles had no idea what was going on but he was doing the best he could to fake it. It must have been working because the audience slowly began to come back to life, roaring when Toki once again took his place in front of the mic.

"De monster crawled into my skin, like maggots burrow deep within." He was reading the Norwegian lyrics off his arm and his English had never sounded better. Ironically. "Cannot kill it, cannot fight. De monster makes me dreammmm…toniiiight."

Nathan, unwilling to stand by and let himself be KO'd without throwing a single punch, began to sing the original song. Rather than clashing, the two separate lyrics blended together, with Toki grunting the lead and Nathan offering the melodic backup in a sick, twisted, bizarre love song.

"In my dreams you were there-"

"I need you now my dearest one…"

"Causing carnage everywhere-"

"Your light shines on me like the sun…"

"Flames rolling off your tongue-"

"Take my hand, we'll travel far…"

"As you crush de bones-"

"And go to where-"

"-of de Forgotten-"

"-the rainbows-"

"-Onesss."

"-arrre."

Skwisgaar shredded into the bridge of the song, whipping his hair around like a windmill as the audience steadily began to lose their minds with euphoria. Toki was sweating so badly in his anxiety that he had to get creative with his shoulder in order to wipe the perspiration from his forehead. Doing good. Still alive. Just a few more verses, then it will all be over, he can put down his guitar, take a bow, and then lay down and die. Sweet death. Sweet merciful beautiful death.

He and Nathan ad libbed their way through the song, their completely different voices forming a strange harmony with one another that added a whole new dimension to a previously flat song. It was something new, something strange. And they were all starting to like it. But only Nathan knew. Only Nathan felt it shatter inside, that delicate something he had been trying to keep safe all this time. The crowd had disappeared—no one existed on earth now but he and Toki, and they sang to each other like a pair heavy metal doves:

"Reign supreme but bow to me-"

"And if we never meet again…"

"Crowned in blood, my undead king-"

"My love for you will never end…"

"De monster poisoning my blood-"

"You'll always be here in my heart…"

"Belongs to you-"

And because Nathan already knew the words, he joined Toki in unison, their voices blending together as they sang: "Its name…is Love." Then his throat shut itself and would not allow him to whisper another word. It didn't matter anyway. The song was over. Skwisgaar boasted another impossibly fantastic lick and allowed Toki to take over, closing the song in three strikes. Pickles thankfully had enough sense to feel the ending when it was coming and did a final crash before dropping his sticks and sitting back, dumbfounded and shirtless, panting from the brick-shitting terror he had just endured.

The audience was utterly silent for all of ten seconds. Dethklok stared back at them anxiously, not knowing what to expect. And then everything explooded. People began screaming in ecstasy, throwing themselves into and over each other, clawing at the stage like frantic cats trying to get out of the bathtub, whistling and howling and begging for an encore. Nathan actually had to step back to get away from the arms reaching out for him; if he were to throw himself into the mosh he'd probably get torn into a million pieces and eaten alive without a single drop of blood even touching the floor.

He lifted the mic still clenched in his fist. "Uh. Thank you all. That was…"

He turned to look at Toki, who said shyly into his own mic, "A Monster Named Love."

"A Monster Named Love, sung by our own Toki Wartooth. This was his first, uh...vocal debut...so give it up for the kid with the BIGGEST FUCKIN BALLS ON THE CONTINENT."

The resounding cheer was so loud that the walls began to crack. Soon thousands of people were chanting "TO-KI! TO-KI!" over and over again. The suddenly bashful Norwegian raised his arm to the audience and tried not to blush at Nathan's flattering comment, though he guessed that the niceness was only a precursor to the astounding violence that would take place backstage in a few minutes.

"This was a special night for us all," Nathan went on, pointing to the crowd. "This was your night. Thanks for coming out here and making us feel good. The fifth world tour had begun—see you in Paris."

Cheers and chants of "DETH-KLOK! DETH-KLOK!" echoed throughout the concert hall. Nathan planted the mic back on its stand and turned around, striding calmly towards Skwisgaar, who looked around himself in confusion. As if Toki were the one Nathan should be going for instead. The Swede didn't think to move until Nathan was within arm's reach of him, and by then running away wasn't an option; Skwisgaar attempted to bolt but Nathan's hand shot out and grabbed a fistful of blond hair. The audience loved it. Skwisgaar screeched and clutched at his scalp to intercept some of the pain as Toki darted to his side.

"Stop it, Nathan!" he cried. "He didn't do it, is all me! Don't-"

The big man reached out with his big hand and nabbed Toki by the back of the neck, rendering him helpless and submissive. Like picking up a cat by the scruff of its neck. "I know," he growled, staring at Toki with uncharacteristically wet green eyes. "It was always YOU."

Pickles leaped down from the altar in alarm and sprang after Nathan as he proceeded to drag the two Scandinavians backstage. Murderface wasn't far behind—witnessing a gruesome snuffing was something he never missed.

"Ah! AAAAAAH!" Skwisgaar screamed endlessly throughout the hallway, kicking and putting up a forceful resistance that didn't really mean shit to a guy of Nathan's size. "Ge slipp! Inne om namn av OH MY GODS lets goes of my fucking hairs you sons of a bitch! Dat HURTS!"

"That's kinda the point," Nathan grunted, giving an extra hard tug and forcing a squeal from his left-hand victim.

"Please don't kills us," Toki begged as the singer kicked off the door to the dressing room. "I can explains everythings-"

"I know. And you're gonna start explaining RIGHT NOW."

He released Toki and tossed Skwisgaar away, then brushed off the strands of blond hair sticking to his hand. Skwisgaar bounced off the wall and tumbled to the floor; Toki kneeled down to help him to his feet. He didn't want to be the only one standing up to a dangerously pissed off Nathan Explosion. Pickles and Murderface breathlessly appeared in the doorway and the drummer immediately began to coach: "A'right now Nate'n, jest calm down a little an' try not ta-"

"Did YOU know anything about this?" Nathan growled over his shoulder.

Pickles blanched. "Fuck no. I was jest improvisin the whole song. Ya hafta admit, it did sound pretty metal-"

"Which one of you DID IT?" Nathan demanded, taking a step towards Toki and Skwisgaar, who found themselves literally backed into a corner and blocked by a solid mass of anger. "Which one of you fuckin read my notebook? Is NOTHING SACRED to you glögg-sucking Eurotrash assholes? Do I have to keep my shit fuckin locked away or something?"

"Well, I do believe that wuzsh a rayshisht comment-"

"Murderface, jest shettup. Dude. Nate'n, hey. C'mon. Why don'tcha ease up on 'em an' siddown-"

"Why don't you just SHUT THE FUCK UP AND MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS PICKLES."

Skwisgaar peered over Nathan's shoulder and said to the pwned drummer, "See? I tolds you's dat you needs to minds your own bee's nest-"

"Skwisgaar," Nathan uttered, "I am very close to smashing your skull in with my bare fist. Don't make me."

"I am not scareds of you," the Swede spat, challenging the larger man by sticking his face out as an offering. "Fucking brings its on, Tonto."

It was a well known jinx that anyone who called Nathan "Tonto" ended up dead or mutilated beyond recognition. The band knew this. It practically paid the fee for the obituary ad. This was precisely why Toki threw himself in front of Skwisgaar as Nathan cracked his knuckles in preparation for rearranging a pair of well-defined cheekbones.

"Stop it, Nate'ns! We didn't means to doos it! We was only try to saves your career."

"So dat's you don't dies a total pussy," Skwisgaar added.

Nathan frowned. "The fuck are you talking about?"

The tears Toki had been holding in all night finally burst out. He went to pieces. Shreds. Tatters. Probably the worst breakdown he'd ever had to date. God he needed medication. "We knows," he choked hysterically, "we knows you is d-dying! De song you had writed would follows you to de graves. We c-couldn't lets you does that. So we stold your note's book and finds that song, and we practice every days for months so we could plays it to makes you happy one last times…"

Murderface made a strangled sound and wiped away his own tears. "That'sh sho tchrue."

Toki turned his eyes to Nathan's, and once again Nathan found himself struck by the desperation he saw, the need. The…oh my god. It couldn't be.

"Because I loves you, Nate'ns," rasped Toki before he let out a mighty sob. "I really fucking loves you."

It was. God damn it. God damn it.

Nathan unleashed a frustrated roar and Pickles ducked out of the way as a fist swung past his head and impacted with the wall. Not many people can punch a perfect hole through two layers of sheetrock but Nathan was one that could. And that's what he had done.

"You don't. Understand. Toki," he guttered through clenched teeth. "That song was supposed to be hated. It was written to BE. SHITTY."

Brown eyebrows knitted in confusion. "Buh…but why?"

"That was its purpose. I NEEDED people to hate it. I needed this for ME. But now people love it. They fuckin LOVE IT. Everything is ruined."

"I'm sorry…"

"And it's all because of you, Toki. Everything is your fault. Your. Fucking fault."

That is what is known as a below-the-belt hit. Flying out of left field, unanticipated, unexpected. The Norwegian looked horrified, wide-eyed and implacably miserable. Then he hung his head and wept. Because he couldn't do anything else.

Skwisgaar's jaw dropped open in disbelief and any fear he had felt earlier packed up and left town faster than the Christmas spirit on December 26th. "How ffffffucking dares you. I will kills you myselv-!"

But Nathan wasn't sticking around to hear idle threats from a guy he could snap easier than a Slim Jim; he turned and walked out of the room, leaving Murderface to comfort a crying Toki, and Pickles to calm an angry Skwisgaar. Neither Murderface nor Pickles were much help at all and Toki probably needed to be committed to a psychiatric hospital, so they all decided the best thing to do was to say the hell with any backstage groupie parties and just go back home and wait for Nathan to blow off some steam.

But Toki didn't want to. "I not goes back there," he said in a gravelly voice, yet allowed himself to be corralled into the waiting Dethlimo. "Is not home anymores. I quits. I quits de band right now, calls de manager and tells him I wants out-"

"Stops wis de cries and shuts up," Skwisgaar snapped, but put an arm around Toki's shoulder comfortingly. "You's not quits anythings. Be gratesful dat at least we's still alifes."

Murderface and Pickles slid into the seat across from them and then the limo began making its way back to Mordhaus. Toki fell silent and pulled away from Skwisgaar, bringing his knees up to his chest and huddling to one side so he could look out the window. Not that there way anything to see except his reflection. He sniffed and rubbed his face. "This makeup shit make my eye red." Quiet groan. "I thinks I gonna throws up."

"D'we need ta pull over?" Pickles asked.

Toki shook his head and hunkered down into a fetal position. It looked ridiculous for somebody dressed like a heavy metal sadist to be in that pose. He stared at the lyrics written on his left forearm and snuffled to get the fresh snot out of his nose. That stupid song had ruined everything. The one time Toki had actually tried to do something nice for another person and it had fucked things up a thousand times worse than it had been before. Now Nathan would never forgive him. It was worse than being dead. And Toki didn't even have the energy to put himself out of his own misery like a real Norseman. It was over. Over in the worst of ways.

Because all of that love had been for nothing.