The stage lights were dimmed, flickering faint red like an animal’s breath in the dark.

The crowd hadn’t stopped murmuring since the doors opened—part anticipation, part confusion. Nobody had seen a soundcheck, there were no openers, and a few fans were whispering that the band had stormed into the venue like a tornado of gear, fury, and caffeine.

Backstage, Thane clicked the last cable into place and gave Mark a quick nod. “Whatever doesn’t explode, make it flash.”

Mark’s fingers danced over his patch panel. “My specialty.”

Cassie, doing last-second stretches, cracked her neck. “Can we just not break anything vital tonight?”

Jonah slapped his snare like it owed him money. “No promises.”

Rico was behind his kit, head bowed, muttering something to the gods of rhythm and fire.

Maya stood center-left, testing her strings. “Let’s see if the roof holds.”

Then Gabriel stepped forward.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t smirk.

Didn’t even twitch.

He just howled.

Not into the mic—just raw from his chest, filling the backstage hallway, vibrating the metal door hinges.

The crowd outside erupted like gasoline to a match.

Mark hit the lights.

Six VL2Bs exploded into deep red, blasting down through a thick layer of creeping fog. The backdrop shimmered as the Feral Eclipse logo cracked across it like lightning splitting the sky.

And then—BOOM.

Maya’s guitar screamed to life with a war cry of distortion.

Rico slammed into the opening riff like he’d declared war on time itself.

Gabriel leapt onto the stage, claws flashing, bass in hand, carving the first riff into the air like a blade. His icy blue eyes locked with the crowd’s and dared them to blink.

Cassie hit the mic like she’d been born with one in her hand.

“WE—ARE—FERAL ECLIPSE!”

The audience surged forward.

Thane moved through the shadows at stage left like a predator, hands flying over the controls strapped to his rigging vest, eyes flicking between meters and surge levels as if managing a nuclear reactor.

Mark’s lights hit full sync: pulsing, breathing, attacking the fog and giving the stage a heartbeat of its own.

Gabriel dropped into the breakdown—low, growling notes that made ribcages thrum and eyeballs twitch. He threw his head back and roared.

And the crowd roared back.

Fists in the air. Horns. Claws. Cell phones forgotten. Tears on some faces. One fan threw an entire wolf tail plushie onto the stage and Gabriel kicked it back into the pit with a savage grin.

Maya hit her solo, bending the strings like reality itself had to obey.

Jonah exploded behind the kit, snapping sticks, flipping them mid-beat and catching the replacements with the swagger of a man possessed.

Cassie dove into the final chorus with a scream that cracked like thunder over the fray.

And Thane?

He stood at the monitor rack, drenched in sweat, clawed feet planted wide as he juggled feedback loops, dying power amps, and the wrath of the gods, running the sonic war machine with blood and fire.

By the end of the set, the crowd was rubble.

Literal crowd-surfers lay in sweaty heaps, breathless.

Someone fainted.

Someone else proposed.

A kid near the front had clearly peed himself from excitement.

And in the center of it all, Gabriel stood over the mic, chest heaving, fur soaked, claws out, smiling with the fury of a beast set free.

He leaned in, voice gravel and glory.

“Next time… bring more friends.”