Chapter Text
Where does the time go? It has been three years since the Metalocalypse, when Salacia and his lust for destruction almost destroyed the earth. Many lives were lost, and those who survived had their lives changed forever.
Earth is still recovering from its wounds. Its deep gashes will leave permanent scars on Her skin, forever symbolizing what She has gone through.
And it is not over yet.
In the confines of the Chruch of the Black Klok, where the walls are asymmetrical, the stained glass glistens in the morning light, and the hums of various hymns echoing throughout the large cathedral, Charles Foster Offdensen, the High Holy Priest, has found another prophecy.
A prophecy that involves the Seven Deadly Sins.
Superbia. Invidia. Ira. Avarita. Luxuria. Gula. Acedia.
The demons have been swirling around the mortal world for thousands of years, switching from one body to another. It was near impossible to track them down, until now.
The man bites his lip. It’s another day of service, but he needs an intervention from Dethklok.
Charles walks over to a hooded monk near the large double doors. The monk nods and heads out the door. He looks behind the large curtains that hide something great, as great as the Metalocalypse.
He hears the footsteps of each member, each of them having a distinct cadence. He takes in a deep breath, thinking before speaking; they’re not going to like this.
Once the heavy doors close, he turns around to see Dethklok, all in different states of distraction. They’ve all aged, some even have a small bit of gray hairs and wrinkles, all because of the stress from those years ago. The former CFO isn’t safe to think of that as well. He cleared his throat, preparing for the shitstorm that is about to ensue.
“Gentlemen… I have an urgent matter to discuss with all of you,” his eyes hovered through his former “bosses” as they just got his attention.
“Sin. All of us have committed one in our lives. It’s what makes us… human. Seven sins when combined, they can destroy all of us. They must be tamed, to be prepared for their next challenge that will change their lives for the better. If not, then these powerful demons will take their hosts over, coming out of their full shells after millennia. Humanity as we know it will cease to exist.”
“Um, hi… What?”
“A new prophecy is settled among us, Nathan. It is your job, as well as the rest of you,” Charles replies as he points his finger to the band, “to find this group of individuals and prepare them.”
He reaches for the large curtain, pulling the long rope to reveal a large, arched window of stained glass, displaying seven different caricatures, making the men retract from the bright light, even making Murderface hiss. Each arch has a horned creature, some with wings, one looking like a sea monster, but all of them have a circular symbol above their heads, as well as… Names?
“The fuck doesch that schay?”
“Why ams dat thing looks like a fairies?” Gasp . “Ams it magics?!”
“Dood, Toki, fairies ain’t real, unless you count Murderface.”
“Picklesch, fuck off!!”
“Heh, fairies… Good one Pickles.”
“Enough.”
The band turned around to Charles, their voices muted in response to his stern tone. He walked down the arches of painted glass, with each figure illuminated by the sunset, spilling its colors through the skin and cloth. The deep detail of an iris shines through the light
“It has come to my attention that the world, as we know it, is in grave danger. For millennia, there has been a group of seven terrorizing societies… Lucifer, the great Fallen Angel and ruler of the Underworld, and his followers are nigh. They’re hiding, disguising themselves in the humans they possess.”
“WOAH,” Nathan shouted, getting everyone’s attention. “Demons are real? Like actually real? That’s fucking brutal.”
“Yes, Nathan, demons are real,” Charles sighs, “But they’re not easy to find. They should be in a group together, possessing the bodies of a band. Imagine a symphony of chaos and disorder, yet there is a smidge of humanity left in the melody… I will have to admit, this has taken me years to track them down, before the Metalocalypse.”
Charles pulls out a roll of parchment paper, the ribbon tied neatly. Wax was pressed down in the shape of the Seal of the Black Klok. Nathan takes the roll swiftly, his fingers lightly grazing and feeling the slightly sandy texture of the paper.
“I wish I could’ve used a computer and printed this out but ah… They don’t have it here at church. Take a look at it later. Right now, you have service to attend.” Charles rasped, dismissing the men at once.
Dethklok turned as two monks opened the double doors, letting out an eerie creak that echoed throughout the open room. Footsteps crackle and pat onto the tile floors. Nathan turned his head around to see the priest for the last time. He turned his head back and was the last to leave, his green orbs focusing on the robe that his former manager was wearing. It was like yesterday he was acting like the usual robot he was, but now being the holy priest of a church has isolated Charles from them, from everyone. Nathan turns back around, face somber as he walks out the doors. It made him shiver a little, not to mention the vague words that Charles said. Demons? Sin? A band? The frontman shook his head a little. The role of being a high priest must be really taking him over.
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The scroll is flattened out on the conference table, words upon words written out along with portraits of seven people. On top of the paper, the title in bold said, ‘RABIES.” Nathan remains focused on the first face he sees on the slowly fading paper, along with her information.
Meilin Shang.
Date of Birth: March 26th, 2000.
22 years old.
Four foot nine inches.
Ninety-two pounds.
Place of Birth: Hangzhou, Zhejiang, China.
Occupation: Vocalist and lead woman for the band RABIES.
Current Residence: Greenwood Heights, Brooklyn, New York.
Nathan scanned her face for a bit. Eyes like black orbs, barely any brown at all, piercing through his soul. What are those eyes called? Not a psychopath, no… but isn’t that the same thing?
God damn , he thought, she looks fucking crazy.
The woman’s face, Meilin, is diamond-shaped, with her eyes monolid and slim, full lips, and a slightly rounded nose. Her makeup is done as if she came out of Jersey Shore in 2009, kinda like the groupies he used to fuck after shows way back in the day. Meilin’s hair was black, thick, and fluffy, with her bangs close to her eyelids. She has some piercings; an eyebrow to the left and three helixes on each ear with hooped earrings.
The frontman was soon interrupted by Dogface barking.
“Nathan! The hell is taking you scho long?! It’sch been hoursch schince you’ve looked at that!”
“Ja, what ams so importants about dat scroll?” Skwisgaar chimed in. His fingers are twiddling to the strings of his Explorer Thunderhorse.
Nathan groans his head already hurting just by reading. “Nothing. I’ll give this to the… uh… Wait, who the hell is in charge of us now?”
The band starts to wonder out loud. Hums and groans surround the conference room, up until a BANG! of a door slams open. Ever since retiring as General for the United States Army after the Metalocalypse, Crozier took up the position of Dethklok’s manager, which at first was completely uncalled for, but it was a colorful journey to getting to know the band.
“Alright boys, Charles got me caught up with everything. Where’s the scroll?” Croizer croaks, looking a bit haggard.
“Um. Here, here it is,” Nathan mumbles, sliding the paper towards him. Crozier snatched it out of the table, taking a quick look.
“I’ll take care of all of this. You kids… Do whatever you celebrities do, okay?”
It wasn’t long before he was out of the room again.
“O’ yeeeah, that Crozier guy is our new manager!” Pickles quipped. “How the fuck did we naht notice that?”
The guys shrugged. When and why did this guy become their manager?