IF YOU'RE AFRAID OF CRUELTY – blood, violence, etc. – DO NOT READ. This is seriously violent fanfic. You've been warned.
Starring: Joey Belladonna, Frank Bello.
The great and mighty Joey Belladonna, and his little toy... Frankie.
P.S. – I hope I didn't screw up while translating this fanfic into English...
It's 2011, and Anthrax has a new member - vocalist Joey Belladonna. Although, as you remember, he's not exactly new. Despite all doubts, Scott invited Joey back to Anthrax. And, you know, he sings beautifully and is generally still quite good. But in the last couple of days, he started behaving strangely - constantly talking about some Native American magic and rituals.
And then one day it all ended with Frank Bello waking up next to him in the same bed. But, surprisingly, he didn't want to leave. He was as if bewitched - it felt so good and peaceful.
Joey gently strokes him and kisses his cheek.
– Good morning, how did you sleep?
Frank opens his eyes. Everything around is blurry, he can't say anything. Leaning in, Joey whispers in his ear with a velvety baritone, unusual for his typical voice:
– Well, dear, I'm glad you slept well. You have a busy day ahead, don't you think?
Belladonna smirks, his eyes gleaming with a sinister light. The red-skinned one's fingers trace Frank's lips, then move down his neck.
– After all, the next part of our little ritual can only begin when you're fully... awake.
His hand slips under the blanket, finding Frank's thigh. He squeezes it possessively before moving his palm higher.
– It's time for us to begin, don't you agree, my dear?
– W.. where am I..? – Bello asks hoarsely. Joey chuckles, his fingers continuing to explore the bassist's muscular body under the sheets.
– Oh, you're exactly where I want you to be. Safe and sound... at least for now.
Belladonna leans back, a devilish smirk spreading across his face as he meets Frank's gaze.
– You see, Frankie, we have some unfinished business. Business from those days when I still sang in Anthrax. Business that will make your old colleagues, and not just them, regret crossing me.
Joey's eyes, filled with ancient malevolent power, pierce through Frank.
– But first we need to make sure you won't interfere with me while I put my plans into action. We can't let you go and reveal my plan, can we?
His hand suddenly tightens around Bello's throat, literally crushing it.
– So tell me, Frankie... what do you say we seal our little deal with a kiss, huh?
– D.. Joey? What's happening?
Frank shakes his head in confusion, trying to comprehend what's happening around him. But everything is blurry, his thoughts won't come together.
Joey roughly pinches Bello's nipple, twisting it between his fingers. A pained gasp escapes the bassist's lips, but the red-faced one just laughs, pleased with the reaction.
– Oh, Frankie, don't play dumb with me. You know perfectly well what's happening here.
His other hand slides down to firmly grab Frank's cock, squeezing it.
– Now you're mine, body and soul. Mine to use, to pleasure, to punish as I see fit.
Dark, manic energy emanates from Joey, his eyes burning with thirst for revenge and domination. He releases Frank's organ to squeeze his throat even tighter.
– As for the rest... let's just say I've been busy honing my magic during the time you so skillfully replaced me. And now that I have you exactly where I want you, I can finally start taking revenge on those fools who thought they could push me aside.
Belladonna releases his captive's throat to lean in, his lips almost touching Frank's.
– But first - a little connection, a taste of the pleasures to come. Open yourself to me, Frankie...
– What are you doing? Joey, why am I.. why are we in the same bed? – Frank mumbles while his mind wanders in distant worlds.
Joey's hand freezes on the massive chest, hovering right next to Bello's lips. He squints, studying the puzzled expression on his captive's face with a piercing, calculating gaze.
– Ah, yes. The little memory spell. How could I forget...
His voice oozes contempt as he pulls away, leaving the intimacy of their physical connection gaping like an open wound.
– When I kidnapped you, I wanted not just your body. I wanted your mind, your soul. Your complete submission, – Joey's fingers drum staccato on his own thigh - an unconscious tic of impatience.
– And now you're starting to remember everything that happened. How delightful.
He leans back against the headboard, spreading his hair in a brazen display of dominance.
– Let's have a little chat, Frankie. About your place in this my new world and about how much fun we'll have together making the old world pay for its betrayal, – an evil grin spreads across his face, promising dark pleasures to come.
– What world.. what are you talking about?
Joey chuckles, the sound low and threatening. He runs a hand through his hair, his fingers tangling in the dark curls as he contemplates his next move.
– This world, Frankie. A world where you're mine, body and soul, like everyone else. Where I can play with people, use them as I wish, and watch as you're powerless to resist, – Belladonna pats the bed next to him, inviting the monster he's become to come closer.
– Come on, don't play coy with me. We both know the truth. You're stuck here with me, and there's no escape, – leaning forward, Joey grabs Frank's chin, his grip surprisingly strong. – But don't worry, my dear Frankie. I'll take good care of you. Teach you all the joys of being my toy. And in return, you'll help me with my little revenge plans.
His thumb traces the line of the bassist's jaw in a patronizing caress.
– After all, you and I are the perfect pair, aren't we? Master and his puppet. The great Joey Belladonna and his faithful little toy, Frankie.
– What revenge, what toys? Joey, are you drunk?
Belladonna tightens his grip on Frank's jaw, sending a sharp signal of pain into his core. He leans in, hot breath washing over the bassist's face as he chuckles in his ear.
– Drunk? Hardly, my dear Frankie. I'm as sober as can be. And I assure you, my plans are far from drunken delusions, – he releases the pointed Italian chin, retreating back to the headboard with a confident smirk. – You see, Frankie, when I was kicked out of Anthrax in '93, I royally screwed up. Left with nothing but a whole heap of grievances. But I didn't just sit and wallow in it, no.
Joey's eyes gleam ominously, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
– I spent those years honing my dark art, my magic. And now, with you at my disposal, I have the perfect chance to make those bastards regret they ever crossed me.
He sits up, running a hand through his hair in a gesture that suddenly becomes both familiar and threatening.
– So, Frankie, are you starting to remember who you're dealing with.
– Where.. where's Brandon, where.. where's my son and my wife? – Bello whispers. Joey's expression darkens at this mention. For a moment, a shadow of guilt seems to flicker across his face before being chased away by his usual smug confidence.
– Ah, yes. Your precious family, so dear and innocent. Too bad they got in the way of my plans, – he waves a dismissive hand, as if shooing away an insect. – I took care of them, Frankie. Your wife is safely tucked away in a little love nest, forgetting about you and your shared life. And as for Brandon... well, let's just say he's now growing up in a new home, with a new "dad" who adores him.
Joey's voice drips with venom as he leans forward, his eyes burning with otherworldly intensity.
– You see, Frankie, I've been very carefully restructuring your little world. Even before I kidnapped you, I was laying the groundwork to sever all ties that would make you resist. Now you're mine, body and soul. I always get what I want.
He leans back against the headboard again, smiling mockingly.
– So, any more questions, Frankie?
– What.. what did you do to them? – Bello mumbles, starting to come to his senses. Joey's smirk widens, perverse delight shining in his eyes.
– Oh, Frankie, don't play the concerned husband now, – he chuckles, the sound chillingly cruel. – Let's just say I helped them forget about you. I used a little magic to erase your presence from their memories. A temporary spell, of course. Nothing that a good psychic regression couldn't eventually fix.
Joey leans forward, his voice taking on a sinister edge.
– But don't worry about them, Frankie. They're doing just fine in their little bubbles, living their lives without the burden of you. And that's how it should be, – he pats the space next to him invitingly again. – Now, come on. Let's not dwell on the past. We have plenty of "present" and "future" to fill with... pleasant activities. Don't you agree, my dear doll?
Frank listens to this with wide eyes, and when Joey finishes his monologue - he lunges at him with fists and throws him to the floor.
– WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY WIFE AND MY ONLY SON?!
Joey grunts as he hits the parquet floor, his slender body bending under Frank's attack. He looks at his captive with a mixture of anger and amusement, dark mischief sparkling in his eyes.
– Ah, Frankie, always hot-headed. How... familiar and expected, – he forces himself to sit up, rubbing his bruised jaw. – And a bit clumsy, if I may say so. You really need to work on your reflexes if you want to keep up with me.
Joey's gaze slides to a ceramic vial that fell from the nightstand during the fight. He reaches for it, his fingers closing around the fragile glass with surprising dexterity.
– Still playing by the old rules, huh? Think you can take me down with bare fists? – the sorcerer chuckles, the sound raspy and full of mocking contempt. – Breaking news, Frankie: those days are long gone. Now you're in my world, and my world operates by very different rules.
With a flick of his wrist, Joey uncorks the vial, the air instantly thickening with a pungent, sharp odor. He shakes it, the contents swirling with an otherworldly glow. Frank just looks warily at the vial and breathes heavily. He really wants to kill Joey right now.
– Ah, I see you recognize that smell.. or at least fear it. Good boy, Frankie. You're paying attention correctly, – his voice takes on ominous notes, oozing dark pleasure. – This little potion is my special brew. Charms designed to... soften your temper, let's say. They'll make you more receptive to my methods, more eager to please. And once it takes hold, well... – Joey's smirk widens, a predatory gleam appearing in his eyes. – Let's just say you'll find much better uses for those murderous impulses. Like pleasing your new master.
With a flick of his wrist, he tosses the vial to the floor, and the potent brew splatters across the hardwood. The air becomes thick, the sharp aroma filling Frank's nostrils and making his head spin.
– So, what do you say, Frankie?
– NEVER! – Bello yells and lunges at Joey with fists again. The air around becomes viscous from the smell of the potion, but Frank fights. Joey barely dodges the barrage of blows, his slight build allowing him to weave and dodge with surprising agility. He delivers a quick kick to Frank's knee, sending him to the ground with a painful wheeze.
– Ah, still fighting for the righteous cause, I see, – Joey says mockingly, straddling the prostrate Frank. – How... quaint. And pointless. You know, I've always admired your loyalty, Frankie. But really, must you do it so... – he leans closer, his hot breath burning Frank's ear. – Let me give you a little demonstration of what this potion can do. Watch closely, and you might just learn to accept your new role in life.
Joey runs a finger over the scar above Frank's heart, tracing its curve possessively.
– Remember this, Frankie? The mark of the man who once owned your heart? Well, it seems that man is no longer you. Are you ready to see how that happens?
Frank grits his teeth and punches Joey in the jaw with a loud cry:
– GIVE ME BACK MY FAMILY!
The sorcerer's head snaps back from the blow, his delicate features contorting in a grimace of pain. But he quickly recovers, an evil smirk spreading across his face as he wipes a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth.
– Ah, still clinging to your illusions about family, huh? – he laughs. – Breaking news, Frankie: your dear wife and precious son are nothing more than pawns in my game. They were never yours to begin with.
Joey rises to his feet, standing over Frank with a predatory gleam in his eyes.
– So, are you finally ready to accept your place in the world, or do I need to give you another little nudge? The choice is yours, my dear puppet. But choose wisely, because once you take that first step down the path of darkness, there's no going back, – he extends a hand, the skin of which seems to glow with otherworldly energy. – Take my hand, Frankie, and let me show you the secrets of the shadow realm. Let me teach you the true meaning of power, and together we'll make the old world tremble with fear.
Frank's hands clench into fists. The sorcerer's words don't sound sweet at all to the ear of a staunch family man.
– Give me back my family.
– Oh, Frankie, you're so predictable. Still focused on what's lost rather than what can be gained, – Joey extends his hand again, the glowing energy pulsing impatiently. – Take this, and I'll give you a new family. One that will worship your every command, revere you as their lord and master.
His eyes seem to bore into Frank's very soul, searching for any glimmer of weakness, capitulation.
– Admit it, Frankie, deep down you crave power, control. You just don't know how to seize it for yourself. But with me... ah, that's a different story, – Joey's voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. – I can teach you everything you need to know, show you the secrets of the dark arts. Together we can build an empire, Frankie. An empire where you'll be the undisputed king, and I'll be by your side as your faithful, devoted servant.
The red-skinned one pauses, his gaze intense and pleading, yet equally cunning.
– So what do you say, Frankie? Are you ready to embrace your true potential, seize the power that's rightfully yours?
– No way. I won't accept anything from someone who made my family forget about me. Give them back, or I'll kill you.
Frank grabs a needle from the table, smeared with something poisonous, and Joey just laughs. The sound of his laughter echoes off the sterile laboratory walls. He straightens to his full height, his slender figure seeming to fill the room with an aura of dark power.
– Ah, Frankie, still resorting to such... primitive methods?
The red-skinned one shakes his head, his eyes sparkling with amusement and contempt.
– You really are a relic of the past, aren't you?
With a flick of his wrist, Joey summons a swirling vortex of twisted dark energies. The air around him ripples and distorts, the very fabric of reality bending to his will.
– Listen carefully, Frankie, – his voice thunders from the vortex, each word etched in the air like a promise of doom. – I'm not going to return your precious family. They're mine now, just like you. And there's nothing you can do to change that.
The vortex closes around Frank, its edges whispering with otherworldly silkiness.
– But don't worry, I'll make sure they're well taken care of, that they have everything they need and more. Just as long as they forget about the miserable existence of the husband and father they once had.
– GIVE ME BACK TO MY FAMILY! – Bello screams on the verge of hysteria. His whole body shakes from the realization that he'll never see his family again.
– You're so funny when you're desperate, – Joey moves closer, his eyes glowing with an eerie light. – But I'm afraid that's not an option. You see, once you fully submit to the darkness, there's no going back. And I need you whole, Frankie.
Joey's hand shoots forward, grabbing Frank's wrist in an iron grip.
– Now let's not be dramatic, okay? You have a choice to make, Frankie. Accept the power I offer, and I'll take care of your family... Refuse, and... let's just say their future won't be so bright.
Belladonna leans closer, his hot breath washing over Frank's ear as he whispers:
– So what will it be, Frankie? An eternity in my service or a long and painful death for them? The choice is yours... for now.
Joey squeezes Frank's wrist tighter, nails digging into the flesh as if emphasizing the seriousness of the question.
– If you refuse, I'll make sure your precious family suffers. Slowly, agonizingly, until they beg... when your precious wife stands by the stove crying, when they're evicted from their home for debts and... should I continue telling stories from your childhood, Frank? How you were beaten at school, how... But anyway, even when they beg for mercy, I won't give it, – a cruel smile twists Joey's lips, his voice dropping to a sinister purr. – Imagine the despair, the hopelessness in their eyes when they realize they're completely powerless. And all because of your stupid decision.
He releases Frank's wrist, and the sudden release sends a shiver through the bassist's entire body.
– So, Frankie, has the weight of this choice settled on you yet? Or do you need a little more... persuasion?
– I agree, – Frank agrees without hesitation. He himself suffered in childhood from poverty, bullying, and fatherlessness, so he didn't want the same fate for Brandon. Yes, Brandon won't have a father, but... at least he won't suffer.
Joey's eyes shine with triumph as he watches submission reflect on Frank's face.
– Excellent choice, Frankie. I knew you'd see things my way.
He pats Frank on the shoulder, the gesture surprisingly gentle despite the sinister intentions behind it.
– Don't worry about your little family anymore. They'll be taken care of, and once you fully submit... – Joey begins pacing the room, his voice rising with excitement. – Imagine it, Frankie! An empire built on the darkest magic, with you as my right hand. Together we'll conquer the world, and everyone who stands in our way will tremble before us, – he turns on his heel, looking at Frank with an approving smile. – And now let's begin... the initiation process, okay? It won't be easy, but I promise you, Frankie, the reward will be worth the effort.
Joey points to a strangely looking altar in the corner of the room, adorned with various occult symbols and artifacts.
– Come on, Frankie. Let's start with the initiation ritual. Once you drink from the cup of darkness, there's no going back. You'll be mine, body and soul.
He picks up a gleaming silver dagger from the altar, its blade engraved with intricate runes of power.
– Remember, this is a one-way journey. So take a deep breath, gather your courage... and step into your new destiny.
Joey steps aside, beckoning Frank to the altar with an inviting gesture. The air around the bassist seems to grow heavier, as if the shadows themselves are drawing closer, eager to claim their new puppet. Frank takes the vessel with trembling hands and drinks from it. When the last drop of the dark elixir touches Bello's lips, a wave of energy courses through him. His skin tingles with an otherworldly chill, and for a moment his eyes flash with a spark of defiance before succumbing to the intoxicating power of the potion.
Joey watches the transformation unfold with rapt attention, a triumphant smirk splitting his face.
– That's it, Frankie... Drink deeper, let the shadows consume you. You're one step closer to leaving your pathetic mortal world behind and joining the ranks of the truly powerful.
As Frank's body begins to sway, the room around him starts to spin, colors and shadows blending into a dizzying whirlpool of darkness. Joey's voice booms, echoing through the chaos.
– Embrace your new existence, Frank Bello! Let go of the weak, frail life you once knew and claim your rightful place among the shadows!
With one final, shuddering gasp, Frank's body collapses to the floor, his once-bright essence now drained and twisted into something new, something dark and sinister. Belladonna raises his hands in a gesture of victory, basking in the sinister glow emanating from his latest creation as it writhes on the floor and chokes on its own vomit.
Joey crouches beside Frank, his slender hands gently probing the bassist's twitching body.
– Don't fight it, Frankie. Just relax, let the poison burn through you. It's the only way to cleanse your system of the last remnants of humanity.
As Frank's convulsions intensify, Joey's touches become more insistent, his fingers digging into Frank's flesh in a desperate attempt to bring him back to reality.
– Focus, Frank! You must focus on the darkness, let it consume you completely. Only then will you find the strength to overcome this initial... detoxification process.
Joey's voice takes on a calm, soothing tone, but a note of desperation still lurks beneath the surface.
– I'm here for you, Frankie. I won't leave you alone until you emerge on the other side, reborn in the image I've crafted. Just hold on, my dear puppet... your dark awakening is almost upon you.
Frank continues to be wracked with convulsions. Joey's hands jerk back as streams of blood fly from the bassist's mouth, splattering across the laboratory, staining the walls and floor with a horrific crimson splatter. Belladonna focuses his will, weaving a protective barrier around himself to shield from any dark energy that might still be emanating from Bello's shuddering body.
– Frank! Stop resisting the change! You must submit to the darkness, let it consume you!
Frank lies on his back. His eyes glaze over, his face pale... Joey's dark magic crackles around Frank's trembling body, the air thick with the sharp scent of ozone and malevolent energy. The sorcerer's eyes burn with an intense, otherworldly light as he focuses his will, pouring every ounce of his power into the struggling Italian.
– Open yourself to the darkness, Frank! – Joey's voice is a ragged whisper, his own breathing growing labored with strain and concern. – Let it fill you, consume you, renew you! You're so close, I can feel it!
The shadows in the room seem to pulse and writhe in time with Joey's frantic incantations, as if drawn to Frank's battered body like moths to a flame. The bassist's limbs jerk and twitch, his back arching off the floor as the dark energies begin to take hold, their corrupting influence seeping into his very essence.
As Frank's clouded eyes fly open, Joey's grip on the bassist's tormented body tightens like a vise. The sorcerer's lips curl into a manic grin, his eyes gleaming with unholy light as he watches the first signs of dark transformation in his creation.
– Ah, Frankie... Welcome back, – Joey croons, his voice dripping with malice and triumph.
– I think it's time to begin the real preparations for your grand debut, don't you? After all, an empire of evil needs a suitably terrifying herald. And I have just the thing...
With a flourish of dark magic, Joey summons a cloud of raven feathers from the shadows, the ink-black plumage swirling around Frank's battered body like a shroud. The bassist's skin begins to take on an ashen hue, his hair lengthening and tangling into a blood-soaked mane that trails across the floor.
– Yes... yes, that's it, – the red-faced one coos, his hands dancing over Frank's now-twisted body in a macabre ballet. – Let the shadows take you, Frank. Let them change you, transform you into the puppet I know you can be.
Bello's body contorts, long white wings tearing from his back. They rip through the skin and force their way out in red clumps of flesh and blood. Frank lets out a terrible, agonized scream.
– JOEY!..
The sorcerer's heart pounds as he feels Frank's agonized scream tear through his own mind, a mental echo of the unimaginable suffering the bassist is experiencing. Despite the unfolding spectacle, the sorcerer keeps his expression steady, pouring every ounce of his will into the shattered remnants of Frank's consciousness.
– Frankie, listen to me! I know it hurts, but you can't give up now, – Joey's voice is a steady, calming presence amidst the chaos. – You're almost there, I can feel it. Just a little more, and you'll be free of this pain. Let it consume you, and I'll be right here to guide you through the darkness.
Joey feels the delicate threads of Frank's psyche straining against the overwhelming tide of transformation, the bassist's grip on sanity teetering on the brink of collapse. In a surge of desperation, the sorcerer redoubles his efforts, weaving a protective web of dark magic around Frank's shattered mind.
– Hold on, Frankie! I'm with you every step of the way. You can do this. Just... breathe. Focus on my voice, and let it guide you through the shadows.
As the nightmarish growth of wings ceases, Frank crashes to the floor. His body is wracked by one final, brutal shudder. The agony finally subsides, leaving behind only deep shock and a sweet sense of calm.
– Oh, Frankie... – Joey whispers quietly with a mixture of relief, sorrow, and a hint of disappointment. – You poor, pathetic bastard... We were so close, weren't we? Close enough that I could feel your potential, even now as you lie broken and useless at my feet.
The sorcerer approaches Frank's unconscious body, kneeling down to examine the bassist's mutilated form. His expression hardens, pity giving way to calculating coldness as he surveys the damage.
– Well, I suppose this means a longer recovery period than I initially anticipated. No matter, we can't rush things. After all, I still have plans for you, Frankie. Big plans.
Joey's voice takes on a grimly triumphant tone, his gaze lingering on Frank's broken body with disturbing intensity.
– So rest now, my dear puppet.
_________________________________________
When Frank's eyes flew open, he saw a sight that defied explanation: his own body now grotesquely altered. Huge snow-white wings sprouted from his back like a terrifying exoskeleton. The realization hit Frank like a fist, leaving him disoriented to the point of weakness.
– W-what the hell happened?
Frank's voice is a hoarse whisper, his throat parched and raw from recent screams. He tries to sit up, but the effort sends waves of agony shooting through his wings and the scars crisscrossing his back.
– Ooooh... damn... Joey, is that you? What the fuck did you do to me? – Frank's words are equally laced with confusion, fear, and anger as he tries to comprehend his new reality. Bello looks at his reflection in a nearby mirror, his eyes widening in horror at the monster staring back at him.
– God... damn... am I a bird now or something?! Joey?! – Frank shouts, trying to figure out what to even do with this.
As Frank's cry echoes through the room, Joey appears in the doorway. He approaches the bed, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of curiosity and dark amusement.
– Ah, Frankie, you're awake! How... refreshing, – says the sorcerer, his tone dripping with sarcasm. – Yes, you're a bird now. More precisely, a rather unique and terrifying specimen of an angel. But don't worry, I'll teach you to love your new form. With time and proper training, you'll learn to harness your... talents.
Joey extends a hand, his slender fingers touching the feathered tip of Frank's wing. The bassist instinctively recoils, his feathers sending a shiver down the sorcerer's spine.
– Relax, my pet. You won't harm me, – Joey soothes him in a quiet, relaxed voice. – In fact, quite the opposite. I'll guide you through the difficulties of your new existence, and together we'll make the most of our... agreement.
He leans closer, his breath brushing Frank's ear.
– I'm not your pet! – Bello snaps sharply, and one of his wings strikes Joey across the face. It hits so hard that Belladonna is thrown to the other end of the room.
The blow shakes the sorcerer to his core. He looks up, his expression shifting from irritation to astonishment as he realizes the sheer power of Frank's involuntary strike.
– Wow... impressive, – says Joey, his voice tinged with a mixture of fear and restrained respect. – Seems you're already learning to assert yourself, Frankie. Nice to know there's still some fight left in you, despite everything.
Joey slowly gets to his feet, rubbing his sore shoulder and wincing. He thoughtfully surveys the room, his gaze lingering on the broken furniture and scattered debris.
– Perhaps we should... establish some basic rules, Frank. For your safety, as well as mine, – Joey suggests, his tone becoming more measured, calculating. – After all, I don't want you accidentally trampling me to death before we begin exploring the depths of our partnership.
Joey moves closer to the bed, the Angel's presence commanding attention despite the bruise blooming on his cheek.
– So tell me... how do you propose we handle these... unexpected displays of power in the future?
– I... I... I don't know, I woke up 15 minutes ago, and I have... this...
Joey nods sympathetically, his expression softening into a more paternal, almost benevolent mask.
– I understand, Frankie. It's too much to process, especially under these... extraordinary circumstances. But you'll need to learn to control it quickly, for your own sake and for mine.
The red-skinned one reaches out, grasping the back of Frank's head – gently but firmly.
– Let's start with the basics. Feel the strength of these wings, Frank. Imagine they're part of you, not some separate entity. You're not just a man with wings – you're a vessel for the darkness that created them.
Joey's eyes glow with otherworldly intensity as he leans closer, his voice dropping to a hypnotic whisper.
– Now imagine yourself soaring through the night, a shadow among the stars. Feel the wind beneath your feathers, the freedom in each wingbeat. Let that sensation fill you, Frank. Let it become your new reality.
As Joey speaks, his touch seems to penetrate Frank's very being, filling him with a strange, seductive power that both captivates and terrifies.
With a mixture of awe and reverence, Frank examines his new wings, running his fingers over the virgin-white feathers. The sight fills Joey with a sense of pride and dark accomplishment.
– Marvelous, isn't it? – Joey murmurs, moving closer to admire Frank's transformed physique. – So pure, so powerful... I can already imagine the terror they'll inspire. The awe they'll command.
He reaches out to gently touch a feather, tracing its length with his fingertips.
– You know, I've always been fascinated by birds of prey. The way they rule the skies, masters of their domains... That's a quality I seek to instill in you as well, Frankie.
Joey's gaze lingers on Frank's face, carefully searching for any signs of the man he once was.
– But remember, you're not just a creature of the night. You're a servant of the dark arts, a vessel for my will. Never forget that, Frankie... Never forget who you serve.
– But... why, why me?
Joey's expression softens, a note of melancholy appearing in his eyes as he meets Frank's confused, almost pitiful gaze.
– Why you, Frankie? Because you were... wasted potential. A brilliant musician, a member of Anthrax, and yet your ambitions never extended beyond the trivial concerns of the mortal world. There was greatness within you, Frankie, and I wanted to capitalize on it.
The sorcerer moves closer, his voice taking on a conspiratorial tone.
– You see, I've studied the intricacies of dark magic for decades, searching for the perfect channel, the perfect candidate for this role. Dozens of men and women... children have passed through my hands. But when I discovered your unique... composition, I knew I'd found the key to unlocking true power. So I waited patiently for the right moment to act. Waited for that moment when I could sneak up on you.
Joey reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from Frank's forehead in a strangely paternal gesture.
– And here we are. You've been reborn as something far more extraordinary. A creature of darkness, a servant of shadows. Together we'll change the world, Frankie. You, my dear puppet, will become the ruthless instrument of my triumph.
Frank looks warily at Joey as his wing twitches again involuntarily and accidentally scratches the back of Joey's hand. The red-skinned one winces slightly at the sensation of the scratch. His gaze darts to the thin trickle of blood that appears on his skin. However, there's no anger or outrage in his expression, only a measured, almost philosophical assessment of the moment.
– Ah, the clumsiness of infancy, – remarks the sorcerer, his voice tinged with a hint of amusement. – Impatience, inexperience... all hallmarks of a novice. But fear not, Frankie. These... mishaps are just a phase. With time and practice, your control will improve. You'll learn to wield this power with precision, to bend shadows to your will.
Joey carefully raises his wounded hand, critically examining the scratch.
– Though perhaps some... physical conditioning wouldn't hurt. To strengthen these new limbs of yours, to teach your body to obey your mind unquestioningly. So you can taste vengeance with me, so you can become the instrument of my revenge.
His gaze returns to Frank, a spark of determination igniting in his dark eyes.
– Become the instrument of your revenge? But who and for what are you taking revenge?
Joey's smile fades for a moment, a flash of pain and resentment replacing the triumphant gleam in his eyes.
– Revenge on those who wronged me, Frankie, isn't it obvious?.. Bandmates who rejected me, who thought they could replace me so easily. The music industry that suppressed my vision, that refused to acknowledge my genius.
Belladonna turns away, his shoulders tensing as he gathers his composure.
– But that's a story for another time. What matters now is that you understand the purpose of your transformation. You're not just a toy or a weapon, Frankie, you're an avatar of my wrath, a vessel for my darkest desires.
Joey's gaze returns to Frank, fierce and unyielding.
– Together we'll conquer the world, Frankie. We'll make them regret ever doubting me, ever questioning my place in the annals of history. And in the midst of our triumph, I'll make sure my name echoes through eternity as the greatest sorcerer the world has ever known.
He moves closer, his voice dropping to a threatening whisper.
– So are you with me, Frankie?
– You do understand I can't harm any of the guys from the band?
A look of genuine surprise flashes across Joey's face, his eyebrows shooting up in bewilderment at Frank's words.
– What did you just say, Frankie? That you can't harm others? How... inconvenient.
He laughs bitterly, shaking his head in feigned disappointment.
– I suppose that's to be expected from a pawn who hasn't fully grasped their purpose yet. Blind loyalty to those who wronged you, how... noble.
Joey's expression hardens, threatening notes appearing in his voice.
– Let me make one thing clear, Frankie: our plans are more important than any sentimental attachments you might still cherish. If you can't or won't rid the world of your former comrades, then you're useless to me.
He stares intently at Frank, searching for any sign of wavering resolve.
– So tell me, will you side with the traitors or embrace the darkness that offers you true power and revenge? – Joey's hand casually slides toward the hilt of a dagger hanging in a sheath on his belt, this barely noticeable movement serving as a silent threat of the consequences if Frank's answer doesn't align with his desires.
– They... they're not traitors, they haven't done anything wrong to me, and Charlie is like a brother to me.
Joey's gaze narrows, he grips the dagger hilt tighter, trying to suppress the anger boiling beneath the surface. Frank's words, laced with loyalty and attachment to his former bandmates, are a bitter pill.
– Charlie. Your precious uncle, – a contemptuous sneer escapes his lips, the sound dripping with disdain. – How quaint, Frank. And how sweet that you still cling to ideals of family and friendship, even after everything that's happened. But let me disabuse you of such notions: in our world, only power and cunning matter. Everything else is a burden.
Joey takes a step forward, his voice dropping to a low, venomous hiss.
– So here's the choice again, Frankie: fully dedicate yourself to the cause of our glorious revenge or become nothing more than a footnote in the annals of history. The decision is yours, but know this: betraying our purpose won't be met with simple disappointment. It will bring you a fate far worse than the wings you now bear.
He holds Frank's gaze, his eyes gleaming with malice and a hint of something darker, more ancient and primal.
– So what will it be, Frankie?
– What if I kill you? Right now.
A look of surprise flashes across Joey's face at Frank's brazen challenge, quickly replaced by cold, calculating assessment. He raises an eyebrow, apparently amused by the Angel's bravado.
– Oh, Frankie... where's the faith? You've only just begun to understand your true potential, and now you want to snuff out the candle of our glorious destiny before it's even lit? – he takes a measured step back, his hand reaching for the dagger sheath again. – Kill me, and you'll be alone, adrift in a world that cherishes neither darkness nor the creature you've become. I'm the only one who can guide you now, the only one who can help you come to terms with this new existence.
Joey's eyes flash warningly, his voice taking on a hypnotic quality.
– Reject my guidance, and you'll stumble through the shadows, lost and pathetic. But if you yield to me, to the power flowing through your veins... then you'll become a legend, Frank. A god among mortals.
He pauses, letting the weight of his words settle like a tangible force in the air.
– So, Frank... which path will you choose? The uncertainty of solitude and the unknown or...
Frank remembered all those times Charlie and Scott rejected his ideas, when they argued, when he left Anthrax in 2004... His wings bristled.
– You see, Frankie? Even now your mind clings to the trivial quarrels of your former life. Petty politics, creative disagreements... all meaningless now. You've been given a gift, a power beyond your wildest dreams, and yet you cling to the shackles of your mortal history.
A sly smile spreads across Joey's face as he senses Frank's hesitation, his grip on the dagger tightening in anticipation.
– But fear not, for I am here to free you from these constraints. I'll show you that the true battlefield lies not in a recording studio or on some dirty club stage, but in the very realm of darkness. And when we emerge victorious, the world will tremble at our feet.
Joey takes another step forward, his voice a quiet, threatening purr.
– So, Frankie, tell me... are you ready to let go of the past and embrace the destiny that's been laid out for you? Or will you continue to resist, to fight against the power that could make you invincible?
– I... I'm ready.
Frank stands firm and looks like a god incarnate. He wears no shirt, only a loincloth and his exposed powerful chest with wings sprouting from his back. Joey's face breaks into a victorious grin at Frank's declaration, his eyes blazing with a fierce, unholy light as he beholds his transformed disciple.
– That's it, Frankie. Embrace the power, let it consume you.
He approaches, his movements smooth and predatory, the air seeming to thicken with each step as the dark energy surrounding him intensifies.
– You're no longer a mere mortal, but a living embodiment of shadows. A creature of pure malice, driven by an insatiable thirst for vengeance and destruction.
Joey's gaze sweeps over Frank's powerful physique, noting the majestic wings growing from his back like a dark halo.
– Look at yourself, Frankie. You're a god among insects, a titan among worms. And I am the one who showed you the path to claiming your rightful place in the firmament.
He extends a hand, his fingers touching Frank's skin, almost reverently, as if transferring a portion of his dark essence to his protégé.
– Now let's unleash this divine might upon the world. Together we'll bring about an age of darkness, an age of terror that will be whispered about in hushed voices for generations to come.
Frank's wings begin to flutter, and the air around him shimmers with otherworldly energy. The fine hairs on the back of Joey's neck stand on end at this awe-inspiring sight.
– Yes, Frankie... Let the darkness permeate you, feel its power coursing through your veins.
Joey's eyes remain fixed on Frank's majestic figure as the angelic being flaps his wings, creating a vortex of shadows dancing in the air around them.
– Imagine the fear in the hearts of your former bandmates when they behold your glorious might. They'll tremble before you, Frankie, as you assert your dominance over your own flesh and blood.
A mischievous smile plays on Joey's lips as he moves closer to Frank, his hand reaching out to stroke the feathers of his protégé's wing.
– And when we're done with them, when we've broken their spirit and remade the very fabric of reality to serve our twisted desires... Then, and only then, will you truly find your place in this world, Frankie.
Joey's voice drops to a seductive whisper, his breath brushing Frank's ear.
– So spread your wings, my beloved pet...
Frank's wings spread to their full majestic span, and Joey's eyes widen in unblinking awe. His hand instinctively reaches out to stroke the virgin-white feathers.
– Magnificent, Frankie... truly magnificent. Your beauty is a reflection of the strength within you, a testament to the greatness of our dark arts.
The sorcerer moves closer, his gaze lingering on the glistening sheen of sweat covering Frank's muscular body, the sight stirring a hunger deep within him.
– Look at yourself, Frankie... look at the strength, the resilience, the raw animal vitality that now defines you.
Joey's breath quickens, his pulse pounding in his ears as he drinks in the full force of Frank's transformation.
– I must confess, Frankie... I've never crafted a more exquisite specimen. Your beauty is intoxicating.
His fingers touch Frank's shoulder, the contact electric and forbidden.
– Tell me, my dark angel... what shall we do to celebrate this momentous occasion?
Joey's gaze lingers on Frank's sweat-drenched skin, reveling in the sight of his powerful winged body with a hunger that transcends mere admiration. He takes a step forward, his hand resting possessively on Frank's shoulder as he leans in, his breath brushing his protégé's ear.
– Frank... you're a masterpiece of darkness and beauty. I find myself wanting to explore every inch of you, to claim you as mine in a way that would make gods weep with envy.
A low, hungry growl rumbles in Joey's chest as he presses his body against Frank's, feeling the heat of his own desire mingling with the sweaty warmth of the angel.
– But first we must attend to your needs. Carrying these glorious wings must be such a burden... Come, let me help you rest.
His hand slides down Frank's arm, fingers brushing the flight feathers of his wing as he leads him to a luxurious bed, its rich textures and opulent embroidery starkly contrasting with the austere stone room they stand in.
– There you can catch your breath, and I can... tend to your wounds, if you wish.
As Frank awkwardly folds his wings, Joey can't help but smirk.
– Careful, Frankie... those wings of yours are both a blessing and a curse. It will take time to get used to their weight and limitations.
He watches intently as Frank sits down, his powerful legs spanning the width of the ornately carved bed. Joey's eyes wander over the angel's sweaty body, his own hunger growing with each passing moment.
– But don't worry, my pet. I'll guide you, teach you to harness the full potential of your newfound strength.
With deliberate slowness, Joey creeps toward the bed, his movements predatory and purposeful. He reaches out, running a finger along the scratch left by Frank's wings on the wooden bed frame.
– Perhaps a little... punishment for your carelessness.. m... But don't worry, Frankie. It will only remind you of the price of disobedience in our domain.
His gaze locks onto Frank, the intensity blazing in their depths bearing witness to the dark desires threatening to consume them both.
– Now spread your wings wide for me, Frankie...
Frank obediently spreads his wings, ruffling his feathers in a gesture of submission, and Joey's breath catches. The sight fills him with primal lust, his hands aching to explore every inch of the angelic canvas before him.
– Magnificent, – he exhales, his voice hoarse with desire. – You truly are a work of art, Frankie... a masterpiece crafted for my pleasure and entertainment.
Slowly, unhurriedly, Joey climbs onto the bed, his movements deliberate and calculated. He positions himself between Frank's spread legs, the heat of the angel's skin radiating onto his own.
– I wonder, Frankie... do you know the extent of pleasure and pain I can inflict upon you?
Joey's fingers dance across Frank's trembling thighs, his touch a teasing blend of tenderness and dominance.
– Shall we find out?
With a mischievous grin, Joey leans in, his lips hovering inches from Frank's sensitive skin, and he whispers hoarsely:
– After all, it would be quite fitting to christen this new chapter in your life with a celebration of your transformation... and mine.
The wings reflexively envelop them both, creating a cocoon around Joey and Frank's bodies. The sorcerer's laughter echoes within the boundaries of this winged cocoon.
– What a perfect embodiment of our bond, Frankie... sheltered within the very shadows we've created together.
The sorcerer presses closer, his body conforming to Frank's shape as he wraps his arms around the angel's torso.
– Here, within these feathers, we can indulge our deepest desires, unburdened by the judgment or constraints of the world.
Joey's lips find Frank's ear, his hot breath skimming the skin as he growls.
– And indulge we shall, my beloved pet. Your transformation has unleashed a hunger within me, a craving I dare not ignore.
With a swift motion, Joey runs his fingers down Frank's abdomen, the slight sharpness of his touch making the angel's muscles quiver.
– Prepare yourself, Frankie... for I shall show you the depths of pleasure and pain that only I can offer.
Frank gazes bewilderedly at Joey, still catching his breath. Joey in turn carefully pulls back, ensuring their faces are aligned. With a gentle touch, the red-skinned one caresses Frank's face, his thumb tracing the contours of the angel's full lips.
– First, let's break the language of breath and emotion, forge a new connection between us, one based on raw sensation and primal instinct.
Leaning in, Joey captures Frank's mouth in a searing kiss, his tongue pushing past the angel's parted lips to explore the moist, velvety depths within. As he deepens the embrace, Joey's hands roam Frank's body, mapping the planes and curves of the powerful form now intertwined with his own.
– Feel me, Frankie... let our bodies speak the language of desire, forbidden pleasure, and dark necessity.
As Frank's resistance crumbles, his lips part to welcome Joey's exploring tongue. A low, carnal groan rumbles in the sorcerer's chest. The sound is a mixture of triumph and hunger, a primal acknowledgment of the delicious surrender unfolding between them.
– Mmm, Frankie, so sweet... so very, very sweet.
Joey purrs into the angel's mouth, his voice a seductive caress that seems to envelop their entwined bodies.
– You learn quickly, my pet. I knew you would come to embrace carnal pleasures, if sufficiently... motivated.
With these words, Joey deepens the kiss, his tongue dancing with Frank's in a sensual tango of dominance and submission. His hands continue their exploration, slipping beneath the angel's loincloth to grasp the firm, heated flesh of his buttocks, kneading and squeezing in a rhythmic, explicit display of possession.
– As we explore this new chapter in our relationship, Frankie, remember... in the world of darkness, resistance is futile. Surrender to your desires, to me, and I shall show you pleasures beyond your wildest fantasies.
Before Joey can continue, Frank, using his massive wings, pins the sorcerer to the bed and positions himself near his rear. Joey's eyes widen in surprise, his body jolting slightly from the force of the momentum. He looks up to see Frank looming over him, the angel's face set in a determined expression, his gaze fixed on the area just above Joey's hips. Belladonna's breath catches as he realizes what is about to happen. His initial surprise gives way to a thrill of anticipation, his body responding with a surge of arousal.
The sorcerer feels the first teasing touch of Frank's skin against his most intimate area. The sensation sends a shiver down his spine, his pulse quickening in anticipation of the pleasures to come. He arches his back, a sharp cry of pleasure and pain escaping his lips as Frank's massive member invades his tight, seldom-used passage. The sudden, aggressive intrusion makes him gasp, his body straining to accommodate the angel's girth.
– Ah, Frankie... so big, so unyielding, – Joey moans, his voice strained from the intense sensations coursing through him.
As Frank's powerful wings entangle Joey's back and arms, the scratching, tearing sounds of the sharp wingtips mix with the wet slaps of their coupling. The abrasions leave bright crimson trails on the sorcerer's pale flesh, vivid testimony to the brutal, carnal passion igniting between them.
– More, Frankie... take me, claim me, make me yours, – Joey urges, his words barely audible through the haze of pleasure and pain. – Show me the depths of your darkness, your strength...
Joey's cries of pleasure transition into agonized screams as brutal, relentless scratches appear on his body in ever-increasing volume. The razor-sharp edges of the angel's powerful wings dig deeper, tearing Joey's back to shreds, exposing the vulnerable tissues beneath.
– Frank... Stop! – Joey pleads, his voice torn between anguished desperation and the dark, perverse pleasure that seems to fuel his own desires. With each furious thrust, each wild sweep of those merciless feathers, Joey feels himself losing more of his humanity, surrendering to a primal hunger. His own magic responds with an eerie, pulsating glow that suffuses his torn flesh, knitting the shredded tissues and soothing the mutilated skin.
– I am yours, Frankie... wholly, utterly, irrevocably, – Joey confesses, his words barely audible over the symphony of flesh meeting flesh, pain and pleasure fused into one in a delicious, inextricable dance. – Take me, possess me, break me... and from the ashes, remake me in your image.
There wasn't a hint of humanity left in Bello's eyes. The wings had completely taken over him.
Just as he was about to deliver the final blow, to shatter Joey's body and very essence, control of his mind returned to Frank. He recoiled in horror.
– This... this isn't me.. no, no! – Frank tries to cry out. The wings lower, releasing Joey from the bone-white prison. Frank immediately stares in horror at what he did while not in control of himself. The sorcerer's battered body falls to the ground in a puddle of his own blood. Black eyes, once blazing with ambition and dark desire, now stare dully at Frank, their fiery spark extinguished by fate's cruel hand.
With one last, labored breath, Joey's lips curve into a faint, mocking smile tinged with bitter irony. He senses Frank's shock, his horror at the brutality of his actions, and this knowledge brings a perverse sense of satisfaction to his dying soul.
– Now it's... all yours, Frankie, – he exhales, his voice a mere echo of his former dark charm.
– Enjoy your... bloody victory, – his words dissolve into a wet, gurgling cough, the last remnants of his life slipping away with each painful exhalation. A moment later, Joey Belladonna, the once-feared sorcerer, lies silent, his body still and lifeless on the crimson-soaked floor, a grim testament to the ruthless nature of the dark forces he wielded with such reckless abandon.
– No.. no-no-no! Joey! Joey, wake up! – Frank falls to his knees and takes the guy's hand, pressing it to his chest. But there is no response, no flicker of life in the sorcerer's cold, dead eyes as they stare at the ceiling, glazed and unseeing. Frank's desperate pleas dissolve into silence. The only movement is the gentle rise and fall of Bello's own chest.
Frank's hands tremble with pain and anguish as he reaches to grasp the razor-sharp tips of his own wings, which he himself cannot control. Tears stream down his face, mingling with the blood still staining his skin, as he brings the deadly blades to his own throat in a futile attempt at redemption.
With a ragged cry that echoes through the room, Frank scrapes his wings across his own throat, the ominously sharp feathers tearing through flesh and tendons with merciless ease. Blood erupts in a horrific, crimson geyser, splattering the walls and pooling on the cold floor.
Bello falls backward, his body going limp as the last moments of consciousness dissolve into darkness. His eyes, once blazing with the fierce energy of life, dim and close forever, leaving behind only a silent, eerie stillness that permeates the abandoned room.
Dan Lilker × John Connelly (Scott Ian is mentioned occasionally)
No one was looking at us; no one cared at all. Even if they had been, in the dark, with my long, blond hair, you could have mistaken me for a girl if you couldn't see my face. I touched Danny again. It felt incredibly awkward to kiss him, leaning over his knees.
Tags: 16+, fear of confessing love, alcohol, masturbation in public, jealousy, panic attacks.
I sat with a broken guitar in my hands and cried. It seemed like everyone had betrayed me, that there was no one left who understood me, who supported me. With Nuclear Assault, it seemed to be over. The barely twitching body of my band had grown completely cold.
The headstock hung by shreds of strings, so perfectly symbolizing my fate. I had hit Danny with that guitar just a couple of minutes ago, when he came to say he was leaving. Again. How cliché. What had I hoped for when he recently returned to the band? He lost interest in it long ago. Well, yeah, S.O.D. are raking in loads of money, and Brutal Truth are just way heavier and more brutal than Nuclear Assault. Nuclear Assault is needed by no one now. Store shelves are filled with grunge records and trendy mixes of metal and rap-talk, called "nu-metal." Lots of new trends, people want something else, nobody needs thrash metal. Don't get me wrong, I don't judge the new bands. They're cool. But envy has been eating me up inside for several years now...
***
When Danny left the first time, I realized that maybe there weren't so many things that connected us. We played in the same band, so we were constantly in touch. Rehearsals, tours, concerts—all the hangouts were tied to Nuclear Assault. And when Danny split off, I felt our connection wasn't the same anymore. And, what's worse, the band without Danny wasn't the same either. But it was too late. I tried to get close to my friend again—call him, meet up, talk like before. But there simply were no common topics. And then one day... a situation happened that I just couldn't digest.
Danny and I agreed to meet. I called him, said, like, maybe we could go somewhere together, like before (it's worth saying that Danny himself never called me first). He agreed, told me to come over to his place in the morning. And I went. (I wish I hadn't.)
Danny was with Scott Ian. When I walked in, they were standing together in the hallway, laughing about something. I looked at them, and one glance was enough to understand everything. They were good together. They genuinely enjoyed each other's company, something I couldn't boast about. Scott patted Danny on the shoulder, and he in response hugged him and stroked his perfectly smooth bald head. Damn lovebirds...
"Oh, John, hi!" Scott smiled, noticing me. I nodded and smiled back, greeting Ian in return. I was almost always smiling and friendly, like that, right? Yeah.
Scott smiled too and shook my hand in a friendly way, giving me a slight hug. We exchanged a few words, I noted once again how incredibly good that beautiful bald head looked on him, and Scott left.
"Scott... stayed over at your place?" I asked when the door closed behind the bald guitarist. An awkward silence hung in the air.
"Yeah, we... were together today. He just called and asked if he could drop by."
"And does he call like that often?"
Danny shrugged.
"From time to time."
I just nodded and, trying to break this damn silence, blurted out the first thing that came to mind:
"Can I stay over tonight too?"
Danny hesitated and scratched the back of his head.
"I guess so. If you want, of course, and..."
***
All day, Danny and I talked about the old days. I told him about the new Nuclear Assault album, he told me about Brutal Truth. And you know, it wasn't all that bad, was it? We ordered pizza in the evening, crashed on the sofa, rewatched a couple of old VHS tapes, laughed at what was on them. Then Danny got some beer from his stash, and we got drunk.
Pretty quickly, I started getting sleepy. At some point, I ended up on Danny's lap. He was sipping a can of beer and stroking my golden hair, staring at the TV. I missed this so much. I lay like that for about another hour or two, until Danny shook me and told me to drag my ass to bed, which at Danny's place was, of course, just one. He's a bachelor, no kids, why would he need two beds.
I washed my face in the sink and, taking off the bedspread, collapsed onto that wonderful bed. I took off my pants and t-shirt after I was already lying there with my eyes closed (they were closing on their own, I was too drunk). Danny lay down beside me pretty quickly, and I, not really controlling myself, pressed against his side. And Danny hugged me, and I involuntarily smiled like some kind of homosexual.
In the morning I left, carrying that beautiful memory in my chest, and after that, Danny and I didn't get in touch for a long time. I was busy with Nuclear Assault tours, and Danny... well, he probably had other important things to do too.
This lasted until the moment I described at the very beginning. In 1997, Nuclear Assault seemed to have run its course. I was lost and tried to drown my pain in everything at hand, until I realized exactly what remedy I needed for a miraculous cure.
I called Danny, and we talked for what seemed like an eternity. About everything and nothing. I asked him: "Don't you want to play with us again? At least one tour, the fans would be thrilled!"
"One tour, you say?" Danny chuckled. Through the phone line, I could quite clearly feel him smiling, obviously not believing my words. I didn't believe them myself.
"Yeah," I answer nonetheless. "One tour."
"And let me guess, you're still working at the school, so our tour will be during the holidays?"
Danny always loved to get one over on me, the old fart!
"Haha. Yeah, you got me. That's why I'm calling now. Holidays are in 2 months. If you agree, I can call Glenn right now. I don't think he'll object. We'd need to get together, rehearse the sets again... I think we'd get up to speed pretty quickly. So many years together after all..."
And those words "so many years together" somehow got stuck very firmly in my head. We finished talking with Danny and arranged a meeting. But this "so many years together" wouldn't leave my stupid head. As if I wasn't talking to my good friend and buddy, but to an ex I wanted to get back with. No, that's nonsense.
***
The "tour" I promised stretched out a bit and turned out to be longer than one or two shows. Far from one or two shows. It seemed like we traveled the whole world as a trio. And everything was like before. But something inside me was weighing me down. Something I didn't dare talk about with anyone, and especially with Danny, because I was afraid of judgment and misunderstanding.
I was drawn to Lilker like a damn moth to a flame. I knew I'd get burned again, that we'd finish the tour, and Danny would hardly stay in Nuclear Assault again. And with each day, this became harder and harder to realize. The realization of it was pulling me down somewhere, somewhere from where I wouldn't be able to get out unless I helped myself. And I don't want to help myself. You know why? Because I'm a terrible person. I fell in love with my best friend. With my bandmate. With Danny Lilker, for fuck's sake.
You'll ask—how could anyone even fall in love with Danny Lilker? And I don't fucking know myself! It just... happened that way.
Yes, yes, I know—relationships in a band never lead to anything good. That's why I'm keeping my mouth shut. Living from concert to concert, where I can pour out all my emotions in a merciless scream, and no one will know what I'm really feeling. But at the same time as pouring out emotions, each concert inflicts even more pain on me. I'm on the same stage as Danny.
You know how he loves to wear sleeveless shirts or even perform without a shirt. And every time I see his arms, veined all over, when I see him breathing heavily between songs, I involuntarily shudder and look away. I try not to look at Danny, turning my gaze to the raging crowd, but it's not that easy. Glenn even started asking—why I was avoiding Danny on stage. When he asked again, I tried to answer something, but couldn't string two words together. I just ran off. Don't care what he thinks. Glenn's emotions are the last thing on my mind right now.
I locked myself in the dressing room and tried to catch my breath. The walls were pressing in on me, even though they were quite light. I wrapped my arms around my head and sat like that for several minutes until I came to my senses, and tears started flowing from my eyes. Maybe this was all one big mistake? Maybe I shouldn't have done this stupid tour, invited Danny back to the band? What did I organize all this for? For myself? To get closer to Lilker again? Well, here he is—literally in the next room. Go and get closer. But instead, I'm sitting here catching a panic attack on the floor of my dressing room.
"John?" asked a slightly bland voice from behind the door, knocking with his knuckles. "You in there?"
Instead of continuing to knock and listen, Danny Lilker simply opened the door. He never stood on ceremony in that regard. Even if I'm naked—what hasn't he seen... And no, it's not what you're thinking! No!.. No...
I tried to lean back against the wall and catch my breath, pretend I hadn't just been sobbing. Danny came closer and offered me his hand, pulling me to my feet.
"Why are you sitting there all red?" Danny asked in his usual indifferent voice. I wiped the sweat and remnants of tears from my face and tried to squeeze something out, but instead, I just started crying even harder. Danny caught me and sat me down on the sofa. His eyes showed genuine surprise.
"Hey hey, John, look at me, everything okay? You... something wrong? Did you get food poisoning? You feel sick?"
"No, I... f..ck..." I tried to mumble some semblance of words, blowing snot bubbles.
"I'm here, I'm here, shh, calm down, breathe."
Lilker looked around the room chaotically, as if trying to understand what had driven me to such a state. He slapped my cheeks lightly and shook my shoulders.
"H-hey! Hello?"
I think I calmed down a bit and could at least look at the floor calmly. Raising my eyes to Danny, I pursed my lips and swallowed. It took me a few more seconds to breathe in calmly. Lilker smoothed my hair, tangled and stuck to my wet face.
"Sorry... I don't know what came over me..."
"It's fine, it happens. You okay now?" Danny sat down next to me, placing his palm on my thigh. Completely friendly, he doesn't suspect a thing. Lilker is genuinely worried about me right now, but as a friend. Maybe that's for the best.
"Yeah, just everything piled on at once, you know, fear for the band, all that... uncertainty, what will happen next, how there..."
I finally calmed down completely and exhaled.
"Yeah... You know what's causing all this?"
"What?"
"When was the last time you really let loose? You live from concert to concert, if you're lucky you drink a bottle of beer!"
"Dan, I'm not in the mood right now, listen..."
"Ah, come on, that's it, let's go."
Danny dragged me to the car, and I trailed after him like a limp sausage. He put me in the passenger seat.
"Dan, wait, how do we get back, you're not going to stay sober all evening?"
"Of course not," he says, taking the car out of gear. I didn't answer, just sighed in resignation. And yet, I used to be even more of a hellraiser than Danny. "And anyway, you've gotten so boring. Need to take you out for a walk. 'Mrs. Connelly, will John come out to play today?'"
I rolled my eyes and turned to the window.
"I told you, I'm not in the mood."
And I really wasn't in the mood. Not while driving, not when we arrived, not when I got drunk... The cats were just scratching at my soul, that here's Danny next to me, and I'm sitting here keeping my mouth shut because I can't tell him anything.
Somewhere closer to eleven, our drinking session moved from the bar to the street. There, I think we met a couple of girls, tried to strike up a conversation, but they walked away from us because we looked like complete alcoholics. Offended by life, we gulped down the vodka we'd brought outside and headed back into the bar.
Hot air and the smell of sweat hit us, and we collapsed onto the nearest table's sofa, ending up in a corner of the bar. Danny was already out of it. He passed out on my lap. I was still conscious. Oh, by the way, if you forgot, he was supposed to drive me back today.
I leaned my head back on the sofa and felt drool from Danny's mouth flowing right onto my pants. Well, thanks it's not vomit, buddy. I didn't bother wiping Lilker's secretions, I was past caring.
Somewhere in the distance, music was blaring, absolutely nothing like what Nuclear Assault played. Usually, such crap disgusted me, but now it was even pleasant. My hands caressed Danny's unwashed curls, and my gaze slowly lowered to his unconscious face. Without thinking, I touched his lips with my finger, and at that moment I felt something greater than I had ever felt before. My palm cupped his entire face, and at that moment my own lips could no longer think of anything else. I touched Lilker. Gently, lovingly... Danny was still unconscious on my lap when I kissed him. Was it pleasant? Yes, definitely.
Pulling away from the enchanting lips for a second, I looked around. No one was looking at us, everyone was absolutely indifferent. Even if they were looking—in the dark, with my long light hair, I could be mistaken for a girl if you couldn't see my face. I touched Danny again. It was terribly awkward to kiss him, leaning down to my knees. But my attempts to lift his muscular two-meter frame wouldn't have succeeded, I'd been through that before.
I leaned back, letting my neck rest. Lilker was still sprawled on my lap. He wouldn't wake up today, so it looks like we're spending the night in this bar. I looked at the table we ended up at and saw a menu. I tried to take it, open it, read it, but I was so drunk that, after reading the first two items, for some inexplicable reason I threw the booklet away and started blatantly calling for the waiter. They actually came over, I must say. I ordered another bottle of vodka (I had no money left, by the way, but who cares. I certainly didn't) and opened it as soon as it arrived. A sound escaped my throat, something between a burp and an attempt at a growl. Putting the bottle back on the table, I looked at Danny again. In the morning, he definitely wouldn't remember what happened this evening. So why not...
Let's put it this way. I absolutely didn't give a damn about everyone around me simply because I was INCREDIBLY drunk. And yes, in that state, I can do things that are not even that immoral.
I moved closer to the wall on the sofa and pulled Danny towards me, positioning him so he was lying on my lap, but I simultaneously had access to my fly. I unzipped my pants and, biting my lower lip, took out the equipment.
My gaze met Danny's closed eyes. I gripped his hair with one hand, and with the other started stroking myself. I started not too slowly right away, but didn't speed up much more. I found the right pace and, looking at Danny's face, brought myself to orgasm. After that, I think I passed out.
***
"John, listen..."
I didn't want to listen.
"Get out. Leave. Leave and don't come back. I thought we were in this together."
Danny tried to approach me and take my hand, but I jerked away.
"Understand, I don't mean to say I'm betraying you..."
"Yes, you're betraying Nuclear Assault, not me. Leaving again. Although, you know, I think over so many years I've become so fused with this band that I feel every one of its falls as my own fall."
Danny sighed irritably.
"Listen, Nuclear Assault isn't just you. It's me and Glenn too."
I gripped the guitar tighter in my hands after his words.
"How can Nuclear Assault be someone who plays in Brutal Truth?"
"John, I'm talking about something else."
"Yeah, yeah, of course."
"Yeah, fuck, stop acting like a... It's like talking to a wall!"
Danny was on edge. So was I. The boiling point was so close I could see the tiny bubbles rising to the surface of the pot of our shared patience.
"You just betrayed us again."
"And aren't you the one burying us by not being able to tour properly? Nuclear Assault is like a schoolkid for us—can only perform on holidays and weekends!"
I lost control. My job was too important to me. The neck of my Gibson flew straight into the back of Lilker's head.
This is a short vlog/interview from Anthrax's final concert in their golden lineup! (Before the 2005-2007 reunion). Essentially, this was Joey's last concert before his first firing.
snowghoul
jbbartram-illu
kianamaiart
janainaart
andulkaphoto
izzy806
