Because if one more guy says ‘play Freebird,’ Thane might commit a felony.

The sun was barely down when the Feral Eclipse tour van pulled up to what looked like the unholy spawn of a plantation house and a liquor store. Greek letters lit in mismatched neon screamed ΑΒΨ, and the thudding bass from inside rattled the siding like the building was trying to shake off its own shame.

Rico leaned out the window. “Oh god. I can already smell the Natty Light and Axe body spray.”

Gabriel grinned wide, tail already wagging. “THIS is more like it.”

Jonah peeked out from behind his hoodie. “I don’t know, man. I see four shirtless guys doing keg stands and one in a Pikachu onesie with a bullhorn. I don’t feel safe.”

Mark muttered from the back, “I haven’t seen this much stupidity since we let Gabriel mix vodka and cold brew.”

Thane killed the engine. “Alright. If we die, I’m haunting whoever booked this.”

Inside, it was absolute carnage.

A crowd of sweaty college students swarmed the main floor, red Solo cups in every hand. A kiddie pool full of Jell-O wobbled near the DJ booth. Someone had spray-painted “FERAL ECPLISE RULZ” on the wall. (Spelling optional.)

Cassie surveyed the crowd. “Jesus. They’re all drunk enough to think we’re the Wiggles.”

A frat bro in a backward visor and aviators stumbled up to Maya and slurred, “You guys do covers? Can you play like… Nickelback?”

Maya stared at him. “I’ll play your spleen like a banjo if you don’t move.”

The bro wandered off in confusion, still shouting “Photograph.”

Stage Setup: Frat Edition

  • Thane was given one working outlet and a folding table that collapsed under the weight of a single mixer.
  • Mark’s “lighting rig” consisted of three smart bulbs duct-taped to a ceiling fan.
  • Jonah was told to set up “where the beer pong table used to be.”
  • Gabriel got distracted for twenty minutes teaching a stoner how to hold a bass backwards.
  • Rico tuned his guitar over the sound of a dude vomiting into a plastic plant.

Showtime.

Someone shouted “WOOOO!” and pressed play on the smoke machine—which was actually a humidifier filled with vape juice. A cloud of strawberry mango wafted across the stage like a bad dream.

Cassie grabbed the mic. “We are Feral Eclipse. Prepare yourselves.”

Someone shouted back, “PLAY SKRILLEX!”

Cassie ignored them and screamed into the mic like a banshee on fire. Rico ripped into a solo. Jonah knocked over a lawn chair with the sheer force of his kick drum.

Gabriel crowd-surfed for five full seconds before the crowd just sort of… forgot to hold him. He crashed into a beer cooler, popped up soaking wet, and howled with laughter.

Thane was screaming into his headset. “I SWEAR TO LUNA, IF SOMEONE UNPLUGS MY POWER STRIP AGAIN—”

Mark, calmly balancing a flashlight and a fog remote, triggered a strobe burst so intense it sent half the crowd into a spontaneous TikTok dance.

Maya’s guitar string snapped mid-solo. She replaced it mid-riff using a shoelace. Nobody noticed. She was too badass.

By the end of the night:

  • Three frat bros had confessed to Gabriel that they now “totally get werewolves.”
  • Jonah had somehow acquired a tank top with “DRUM DADDY” printed on it.
  • Thane was threatening to electrify the beer keg.
  • Rico had a fan in his lap asking if he “wanted to jam later.” Rico did not.

And Cassie?

Cassie stood on the roof of a cooler, bathed in red light, screaming the final chorus as the crowd howled like a wolf pack gone wrong.

Afterward, the band dragged themselves back to the van — soaked, deafened, and kind of amazed.

Gabriel flopped into his seat, still laughing. “Okay. That was a shitshow.”

Thane leaned back, wiping beer off his face. “Yeah.”

“But like… a fun shitshow.”

Jonah nodded, holding up his “Drum Daddy” shirt. “I’m framing this.”

Mark just downed another soda and muttered, “Next stop better have a damn theater.”