HEY Y'ALL! IT'S ME AGAIN!
Anyway, figured I'd post this here too for sh*riff*s and grins. Since doesn't like hyperlinks, linking, or even referenecing other websites, fictional or otherwise, I'm going to have to suggest that you readers have a tab to youtube open and copy-paste the song titles provided!

This is a non-profit, transformative parody work made in good fun, both Hazbin Hotel and Metalocalypse are the property of Vivienne Medrano and Adult Swim respectively.

PLEASE ENJOY

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Life After Dethklok Chapter 1

"Urgg…" he grumbled, eyes fluttering open. "Orrgh… my head…"

It'd been a while since Nathan Explosion had felt quite this terrible. His body felt hot, fuzzy, his mouth different, strange, and his body bent and bunched in odd places. Last time he felt like this, he and the others had been drinking paint thinner to counteract the paint they drank earlier that night.

"Awww… sh*riff*" Pickles groused groggily. "Were we drinkin' paint again?"

"Probably. Gonna say we were probably, definitely drinking paint," Nathan rumbled, sitting up.

He looked around, they were in the middle of a dusty, unfamiliar road, the starless night sky was a strange reddish hue. He moved to rub his eyes when he saw them; in place of hands he had large, black-furred paws, his thick fingers tipped with sharp, pointy claws.

"Huh."

He looked around at his bandmates. Pickles, the drummer, was some sort of gross-looking gorgon with no mouth. The top of his head was still bald but in place of his crown-line dreadlocks he had wreaths of writhing red snakes. Skwisgaar Skwigelf appeared to be some sort of snow-white elf creature with glowing eyes and golden hair. Toki Wartooth, the rhythm guitarist, was an adorable dog-thing, sort of like a wolf but not even remotely cool looking. Finally, was William Muderface, the bassist: he hadn't changed at all.

"Ugh," Nathan grumbled. "We gotta stop partying with furries. Those freaks don't mess around."

"Nots the firsts times we's woken ups in animals costumes," said Toki, standing up to look at himself. "Oh wow-wee! I'ms a bads-ass wolfs-guy!"

"Mores likes a sissys puppys ats littles girlses pink birthdays partys," Skwisgaar said, flicking his ear. "For ladies."

"Ow!" Toki flinched. "Ats least I'm nots some stupids elfs!"

"Uh, Nathan?" Pickles said, speaking from the mouths of one of the snakes on his head. "I don't think these are costumes…"

"Aw f*riff*, we're still high, aren't we?" Nathan slapped a paw to his face, feeling his snout. "What the f*riff* am I?"

"A bear," said Pickles, his tone flat. "Just, like, just a bear."

"A badass bear? Like, uh, like if Yogi went, I dunno, rabid or something and mauled that dipsh*riff* ranger?"

"More like Smokey the Bear," said Pickles, stifling a laugh. "Or that one bear with the cereal that tastes like ass."

"Yeah, Nathans! Yous can'ts gets enough of that Sugars Crisps!" Toki said, laughing.

"For breakfasts."

"Awww Pish! What do I look like?" Murderface grumbled. "Oh no, don't even tell me. I'm shum hideoush toad thing, aren't I?"

The band paused and examined their completely unchanged bandmate and nodded.

"Yeah."

"Yep."

"Prettys much."

"You saids it."

"Great!" Murderface crossed his arms, scowling. "Guesh I'll just have to kill myshelf if I can't be beautiful!"

"You might wanna put a pin in that, there, Murderface," said Pickles, pointing to behind them. "Anyone else seein' that?"

Dethklock turned around and gazed up at a towering neon sign heralding a massive city in the distance. It read: Welcome to Hell! Population: a Fuck-Ton!

"Huh," Nathan sighed. "F*riff*."

(INSERT METALOCALYPSE THEME HERE)

The Tribunal sat at attention. The alarm had been sounded and they had assembled.

Something terrible has happened.

Senator Stampingston took the fore, standing at the head of the room, backlit by a wall of screens, each portraying a member of Dethklok in various states of medical care. "Gentlemen. Dethklok is dead."

A round of concerned gasps rose from the the assembled world leaders.

Vater Orlaag spoke next. "Dead? We would not be here if they were dead."

"The term stands. Legally and clinically speaking, all five members of Dethklok are dead. How their bodies maintain biological functions is a medical mystery currently under review. We believe that the circumstances surrounding their current state may shed some light. With me is Dr. Straaker Von Orlitz-Brakenaurberg, head of the Belgian Institute for Greater Slavic Myths and Lore. Dr. Von Orlitz-Brakenaurberg?"

A ghoulish gentleman in a paisley suit stepped forward. "When investigating Dethklok's luxury suite, the Minsk Police Department's CSI discovered what we believe to be the cause of this catastrophe: the Belarusian Five-Headed Pit Viper, a rare and highly valuable snake. Its venom has been used by Slavic mystics for millennia for the purported spiritual journeys it induces. Legends assert that should two or more people be bitten by the viper simultaneously, they will enter a death-like torpor and walk the astral plane together. It is rumored that only a spiritual revelation and self-actualization will return the souls to their bodies."

"And all members of Dethklok were bitten by this snake?" General Crozier said, his face pulled into its usual scowl.

"No," Senator Stampinston replied. "All save for William Murderface were bitten. He was found in the bathroom, where he presumably tripped and hit his head on the toilet."

"If Dethklok remains effectively dead, this could have serious repercussions the world over." Vater Orlaag surmised. "An economic power vacuum the likes of which we've never seen would ensue. The vultures will circle to pick apart the corpse of their empire; mega-Corporations will fight like dogs over rights and deeds while parasitically siphoning money from the bereaved populace with sentimental Dethklok memorabilia. All to fund their massive legal battles against one another over the most profitable properties. The economy will stall, factionalism will run rampant and, as a global recession settles in, only war can follow."

A voice sounded from the back of the room, dry and ancient as a crypt; none other than the enigmatic Mr. Salacia. "Dethklok wanders the astral plane, seeking the truth of their existence. For now, we wait."

Dethklok trudged through the filthy streets, walking past heaped garbage bins and demons in various states of violence or sex, sometimes both. They looked around at the bizarre angular architecture and bizarre angular demons, the red and black color palette lending everything a slightly greasy appearance.

"So… we're in Hell," said Pickles.

"That's what the sign said," Nathan grumbled.

"Thoughts on that?"

"We're gonna do what we always do. We're gonna f*riff* around and wait for the problem to solve itself."

Pickles shrugged and nodded. "Sounds good, but I gotta ask; does anyone else think this place… sucks?"

"It's Hell?" Toki offered. "It's supposeds to, I thinks."

"No, I mean, like, it sucks. It's lame." Pickles gestured at the city and demons around them. "It's just some big sh*riff*ty city with a bunch of mismatched dipsh*riff*s runnin' around! Where's all the blood and fire and torture and all the other crap like that?"

Murderface spat on the sidewalk. "It'sh like shomone put Vegash and Detroit in a blender and shet it to Hot Topic."

"Withs some DeviantsArts throwns in," Skwisgaar sneered as a fat demoness shambled out of the alley, appearing to be some kind of rainbow colored dog-thing dressed like a circus tent.

"I likes it!" Toki said, beaming.

"We ain't in Hell!" Nathan barked. "We're just really, really high! This sh*riff* ain't new! Right now we're just f*riff*ing around in Minsk, seeing some super dumb sh*riff*, and we're gonna come down in a few hours and everything will be fine."

"Yeah, this ain't the first time we've been on a shared hallucination kick," Pickles said, tugging at one of his snake heads. "I just figured that our brains could come up with a better Hell than this bullsh*riff*."

"Maybes we's thinking this up because we'd hates it?" Skwisgaar offered. "We'd like normals Hells, this place is just annoyings."

Pickles nodded. "Yeah, okay, fair enough. I'm definitely feelin' that I'd go f*riff*in' nuts if I had to stay here for eternity."

"What we need to do is find a place to come down. A motel or something," growled Nathan. "Settle down and ride this stupid sh*riff* out."

"Hows abouts this place?" Toki said, pointing to the building behind them.

Dethklok turned around to see a large building looming over them. It was baroque and Edwardian in design, with blinking eyes and strange artifacts dotting its structure. The enormous neon sign taking up most of the high roof read: Happy Hotel.

"Happys…" Skwisgaar said, disgusted. "Hotels? Happys Hotels?! This Hells ams dildos!"

"Thish Hell f*riff*ing shucks!"

"Maybe it's bein' ironic and it's some kinda torture mansion like Hostel?"

"I likes its!" Toki said, clapping. "It looks neat withs the eyes and stuff! Wow-wees!"

"Ugh, whatever. My feet hurt," Nathan sighed and marched up the driveway. "It's doable."