Mid-set, peak energy, trouble brewing

Feral Eclipse was tearing it up.

The human band was in full beast mode—drums pounding like war calls, guitar riffs slicing through the summer air. Gabriel, the only non-human on stage, was a storm of muscle and motion. He moved like a force of nature, claws gliding over the neck of his bass, sharp teeth flashing every time he threw his head back into the lights.

From the sound booth near stage right, Thane stood with claws poised over the console, eyes narrowed behind a pair of monitor glasses. Everything was running smooth—until it wasn’t.

A light sizzle in the left sub. Then a loud pop in the drum overheads. And suddenly, Gabriel’s vocals dropped out of the front mix.

Thane’s ears snapped forward, fur bristling. “Oh, hell no.”

His claws flew across the board, fingers dancing through the aux sends, rerouting gain, isolating the dead channel. But before he could patch it through a backup, one of the rear rig lights popped—right above Gabriel.

Whumph.

Backstage, on the elevated lighting riser, Mark was already on it. His brow furrowed as his clawed fingers flew over the digital board, killing the voltage to the back rig to prevent a cascade. His voice crackled in Thane’s headset.

“Thane—overhead rig four just shorted. I’ve got backup spots online. You good on your end?”

“Trying to reroute lead vox now,” Thane growled back. “He’s dry in the mains. I’m sending him up on a side mix. Hang tight.”

Back on stage, Gabriel didn’t miss a beat. Despite the sudden loss of lights and lead mic, he adjusted like a pro—drawing even more energy from the crowd, switching to backup mic mid-verse with a practiced snarl.

From the booth, Thane routed the new path just in time for Gabriel’s voice to cut through the house again, raw and glorious, sending the crowd into a frenzy.

Mark dimmed the rear wash, brought up a cool amber chase on Gabriel, and sighed. “That’s better.”

Thane exhaled, claws flexing as the levels steadied. “Remind me to buy that wolf a drink later.”

From his post, Mark smirked. “He just saved our asses with style. Crowd thinks it was part of the show.”

As the band surged into their next track, both wolves leaned back for half a second—just enough to catch their breath.

Thane: “You see the power rack flicker earlier?”

Mark: “Yeah. We’re running hot. We need new distro before next tour. Or a miracle.”

Thane (grinning): “Gabriel might be the miracle.”

They both chuckled—then got right back to it, because the beast never rests, and the show always goes on.