Viking Funeral

Charles Foster Ofdensen was dead.

Nathan Explosion stood amidst the burning wreckage of Mordhaus along with the other four members of Dethklok, staring down at the crumpled form of their manager.  He had seen dead bodies before, they never bothered him much.  Death was a daily occurrence at Mordhaus.  But seeing the CFO broken and bleeding brought about feelings that the front man did not believe existed within his stocky frame.

When Charles had signed on to be Dethklok's manager, he was not aware that he was signing away every last bit of his safety.  Over time, the mousey man in the business suit had proven to the boys-his boys-time and time again that he could hold his own.  Like a good father, Charles had saved his boys more times than they could count.  Out of all the Dethklok employees, he had survived the longest.  Nathan had come to believe that Charles was immortal, possibly even a god.

Yet here lay his god, the life drained from his stoic features.

"Murderface!  Pickles!" Nathan barked.  "Go find wood to build a pyre.  Skwisgaar, make sure Toki doesn't get hurt."  Nobody questioned the burly singer.  For once, they did as they were told without so much as a grumble.  Nathan knelt beside the cold body of the manager and began rifling through the pockets of his suit for anything important.

Behind the dark-haired man, someone began sniffling.  This quickly escalated into bawling.  Nathan surmised that Toki must have realized the gravity of the situation.  He was grateful that Skwisgaar chose to do the mature thing and comfort the younger guitarist.  He could hear soft Swedish coming from the blonde's mouth in a rich baritone.  Though he could not understand the words, Nathan felt the comfort wrap around him just as his mother's arms had wrapped around his five-year-old frame the day his kitten had been run over.

Murderface and Pickles soon had the pyre ready.  Nathan reverently laid the lifeless form of the CFO atop the wood.  Each man grabbed a burning stick and raised it above his head.  They all stood around the pyre, with Nathan at the head.

"We release you from your earthly duties," Nathan bellowed.  "May our paths someday cross again on the fields of Valhalla."  As he watched his band mates lower their torches, one by one, to light their manager's funeral pyre, the front man noted the tears in each one's eyes.  Toki was openly bawling, his face buried in Skwisgaar's shoulder.  The Swede's bottom lip was trembling and a few tears slid slowly down his cheeks.  Pickles was staring down at his feet, salty drops occasionally falling from the end of his nose.  Murderface was sobbing as silently as possible.

As Nathan watched the remains of his manager-his god-burn, Charles's words whispered through his mind.  "I'm here if you…uh…if you ever need a shoulder…"  I need that shoulder now and you're not here to offer it, Nathan thought to himself.  He felt the tears well up and spill over.  He had told his band mates-particularly Toki-that it was not brutal to cry.  Tonight, however, he let his tears go freely.

Charles Foster Ofdensen was dead, and Nathan Explosion could not help but feel that it was his fault.