People often wondered why a distingushed english gentleman such as Charles would ever decide to manage a band like DethKlok. And honestly he wondered this himself sometimes. Like when everything in the house was chaotic or nothing went right. Times like now. But as he laid on the cold ground and listened to the crackle of the flames from the burning Morhaus fade. He diden't wonder why he decided to manage Dethklok. He had come to a realization. The pain from the arrow that pireced his chest began to numb slowly and he looked up through the pain of his aching face. And he seen the world's most brutal metal band looking down on his with looks of despair and horror. He knew just as well as they did that feeling sympathy for someone being badly hurt or possibly dying was not metal. But now it diden't matter. He realized then and there how truley helpless his boys were. But more importantly he realized he needed them so much more than they needed him.