V M Undead x2? [RQ]

Eddie the Head

King of Thrash
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A radio station channel was promoting popcorn commentary on the latest up and coming known musicians in the scene. Sound popped out of a stationary, anachronistic boombox.

-- “ANNNND!!! Welcome back to MT’s best station: E.M.T!” A hint of extra in the deep tone drop.

“We were talking about Eddie the Deadhead–”



“No, no, no! It’s Eddie the ‘ead! How hard is it to get right, people?!” The undead musician shouted at the air with his thick English slither. Right now, in his spectral form, it was Eddie the wraithchild, rockstar.



--“Yeah! What is really amazing is how many people truly love rockstar Eddie. He’s such a rising star, a genius before his time. I mean have you ever seen or heard of anyone like him before breaking into the music scene in this way? Because I haven’t.”

“No, he totally brought a new definition to metal that will be hard for his fellow rocking cutthroats to rival. He’s amazing, I want the trophy album of screams award. What’s crazy is he has charmed the audience but has the people skills of an 80’s rockstar, which is to say none at all.”

A forced laugh responded, prodding to the fluffy banter. “Hahaha. That was a good one, and also pretty true. How surprised were you that this rocker liked poetry?”

“Oh I wasn’t surprised at all.”

“Really???”

“He even knew some of my favorites.”

“Can’t go wrong with Edgar Allen Poe.”

“I got it tattooed.”

“You got… What tattooed?” The voice said playfully.

“The lyrics, and the poem, the ultimate narration of the night of his ultimate hunt. His physical changes… The mutilations, all of it! I had to get it inscribed on my flesh. Now he’ll always be with me.”

“But what will you do when he comes up with a better form, so far he’s shown us each one is more artistic than the last.” The narration of album and art persisted within the subtext.

“Yeah, I plan to get one after the other. I’m a fan for life. He really… Speaks to me, you know?”

“That sounds like a plan, Steve. He’s captured our hearts too. That’s Eddie the Deadhead with his star-factor qualities. He really proved his mettle in the Death Game this year appearing out of nowhere and on no one’s radar and landing a spot in the top ten!”

“All the best are underrated. They couldn’t give him first because he was too good. He stole the show anyway. And prophetically, foresaw his own demise. He really has it all.”

“Yeah, he’ll have to be nominated for best performance.”

“I wish he could’ve made the ultimate kill nomination, but the battle royale highlights were good enough for me. They’ll make a great addition to the live music video footage. For promos in the future, think about it. His debut and we got to watch it live! And you all were here with us on EMT!”

“Oh for sure. Nothing was scarier than him on a killing spree. Hands down.”

“When do you think we’ll see him next? I for one would love to meet him. Get his autograph. Offer him a bite…” Steve shared a perceptible wink with his co-anchor.

“That really is a great point Steve, who do you think will fill in the rest of his band? Do you think there’ll be an audition? You think that boy will be there? I could totally see him as a drummer.

“He’s a true metal head savage. And he’s proved it. Through and through. He put his money where his mouth was. I wonder, where will his next onstage performance be?”

So do you think he will join Dante’s abyss?--”



Eddie cuts the frequency to another, the static clashing between stations of the radio, as he mutters. “Rubbish! Utter rubbish. They hype you up and don’t even play your album, gossip about you to no end and then expect you to smile for a picture or press tour. And when they do listen to your music they never truly hear it. They just let their mind waves ramble on with no artistic vision. It drums on their spirit but nothing hatches and is set free! Blah. Nothing’s more disappointing, and nothing is quite more human than that."

He huffed and took a breath, "They rip away meaning from art and still have no idea they're doing it! Critics... Blasphemous, inane critics. They can all go to Hell. Art’s got no future in this day and age with people like Steve around… I’ll show him what a real tattoo is… He better not try to get that selfie with me.”

The undead cocked a snazzy grin, savoring pleasure from Steve's pain. He imagined how guttural the sound would be as he chomped on the middle-aged man's jugular.

A new tune played on the radio as the dial invisibly spun. His wispy spectral fingers danced over the twisting knob of the stereo. “My enchantress… Play me a song.”

It seemed his spirit was trapped, or tethered, someway to the sound of the radio. He found himself still formless, however the airwaves had borne him again into the sentience of this realm. He was surprised he wasn't returned to the underworld. The place where the beast wanted to be. For he ruled with iron-fisted power. The throne was his even when all the other versions of Eddie could be sitting on it too.

...

No, he was not in Hell. Instead, he took on the form of an outline holding the air around the stereo... Also known as the Enchantress. The antenna poked out into the sky as it hovered, being carried by a phasing, formless creature. Like a photograph with blurred edges, Eddie was intangible yet buzzing with energy. As though music in vibrating form, his lines were jagged and pulsing as he moved sparks floated around him. He was a charged battery, shocking and zapping people who got too close to the lightning-god's wispy, formless cloud.

His ghost form was haunting. It was daylight and sure, his reflection off the retail glass had given a few people quite the fright, he was simply cruising the city streets and awaiting nighttime's precious call for prey.


So, sauntering down the street continuing in a stroll, hovered a floating stereo straight out of the nineties. You know, the atrocious gray and black ones that were only slightly less clunky than the eighties? Yeah, that one. Big, busty, built to last.

Everywhere and everyone he floated by would be delivered a sliver of raised hair across the back of their necks if the hair of their heads didn't revolt from the effect of a 500,000 volt plasma ball first.

Zap zap! When he was done with them and their hair was all shockingly standing on end. All of them looked like either porcupines or peacocks...

Oh, we should totally bring back Mohawks while we're at it.

 

Eddie the Head

King of Thrash
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-- “Steve here again, and we’re back with EMT Eddie: Conspiracy theories.” A cheerful, mature radio voice chimed.

“And do you think that YEETS is another of his alter egos? Or was his poetry really just quotes from someone else?”

“I honestly don’t know, either way, it proves he’s a talented showman and resourceful if he pulls from historic well known wordsmiths.”

“Eddie the Deadhead, mastermind of all things thrash and evil.”

“Nothing more metal than him causing fear in everyone else.”

“Now, let’s talk about the battle royale, shall we?”

“Sure, sure.”

“Why do we think Eddie got axed early? Too much showtime? Did the Man in Red really not want him to take away from the other stars that badly?”

“We’re going to overlook the obvious joke sent in by user “Iamthecakemaster” which is that he ‘apparently lost his head’ ugh, so crass. Doesn’t cakemaster know that Eddie prophesied his own demise?”

“Careful, they’ll think we’re starting a cult for him.”

“Isn’t that what being a fan of something so deeply, is?” The co-anchor’s voice cheekily countered.

“Uh…” The radio voice hesitated, “I don’t think so? We’ll have our head of operations fact check us live, since we are on the air!”

“Except we’re not actually on the air- the air is in our lungs, so technically, the air’s on us-”

The unworded malice for Steve was betrayed in his co-anchor’s eyes from behind the split microphones. Their fuzzy sphere separating the urge to kill his co-worker by strangling his neck shut.

“Yes, it seems that the cult and being a fan are totally different. But, why not both? The royale looked like quite the moshpit that Eddie used to utilize–”




“ANYTHING BUT THIS STATION PLEASE!” He scowled holding his clawed wraith hands up to the sky. “Enchantress? Must you so brazenly flaunt Steve in my face?”

A demure pause as he continued his thought aloud. “Though, I will admit, the rave was pretty fun. The sheath of blood red over my eyes, I got a whole feast that night. Was a good night, even if it turned me into this. I’ll be back soon enough…” His voice strained as though it was strenuous to talk, “Just… Gotta find the right tune and I’ll be set free…”

The music jumped.

Rhythm, drums, heavy drop of engaging sound revved the dismal aged box to life. Pulsing beat ricocheted off of the amp’s raging disk as Eddie craned his head to hear.

A grin launched on his lips, smoothing over his disgruntled anger at the press and at Steve’s intangible face.

The music played on.

“I quite like this one. These kids seem to have gotten it right. And... Then the generation lost it.” The wraith sighed fruitlessly as the song raged on.

Killing in the name of
Some of those that work forces, are the same that burn crosses
Some of those that work forces, are the same that burn crosses
Some of those that work forces, are the same that burn crosses
Some of those that work forces, are the same that burn crosses
Huh!

Killing in the name of
Killing in the name of

And now you do what they told ya
And now you do what they told ya
And now you do what they told ya
And now you do what they told ya
And now you do what they told ya
And now you do what they told ya
And now you do what they told ya
And now you do what they told ya
And now you do what they told ya
And now you do what they told ya
And now you do what they told ya
But now you do what they told ya
Well now you do what they told ya

Those who died are justified, for wearing the badge, they're the chosen whites
You justify those that died by wearing the badge, they're the chosen whites
Those who died are justified, for wearing the badge, they're the chosen whites
You justify those that died by wearing the badge, they're the chosen whites

Some of those that work forces, are the same that burn crosses
Some of those that work forces, are the same that burn crosses
Some of those that work forces, are the same that burn crosses
Some of those that work forces, are the same that burn crosses
Uggh!

Killing in the name of
Killing in the name of

And now you do what they told ya
And now you do what they told ya
And now you do what they told ya
And now you do what they told ya
And now you do what they told ya, now you're under control
And now you do what they told ya, now you're under control
And now you do what they told ya, now you're under control
And now you do what they told ya, now you're under control
And now you do what they told ya, now you're under control
And now you do what they told ya, now you're under control
And now you do what they told ya, now you're under control
And now you do what they told ya!

Those who died are justified, for wearing the badge, they're the chosen whites
You justify those that died by wearing the badge, they're the chosen whites
Those who died are justified, for wearing the badge, they're the chosen whites
You justify those that died by wearing the badge, they're the chosen whites
Come on!

Yeah! Come on!

Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me
Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me
Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me
Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me
Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me
Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me
Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me
Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me
Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me!
Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me!
Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me!
Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me!
Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me!
Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me!
Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me!
Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me!
Motherfucker!
Uggh!


 
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