They should’ve canceled the show.

That’s what the venue manager said.
That’s what the emergency alert said.
That’s what every radar app on Mark’s tablet screamed.

A massive thunderstorm had rolled in faster than forecast—roaring in from the west with purple-black clouds that swallowed the horizon. Rain hammered the parking lot. Wind bent the barricades. Lightning danced across the sky like it was warming up for its own encore.

The local news was already rolling their ominous chyron: SEVERE WEATHER WARNING – DO NOT ATTEND OUTDOOR EVENTS.

And yet…

Five thousand soaked, screaming fans refused to leave.

They stood in the open-air amphitheater, soaked to the bone, ponchos flapping, umbrellas useless. Some had stripped off rain gear entirely, dancing in the mud with wolf face-paint melting down their cheeks. Every lightning flash lit up a sea of defiant fists in the air.

Backstage, Thane stood beneath the canopy beside the patch bay, soaked and holding a coil of cabling in one clawed hand, watching the madness unfold with sharp blue eyes.

“This is either legendary,” he said dryly, “or a lawsuit.”

Mark grunted beside him, hunched over a plastic-shielded control panel, triple-checking power levels. “If anything shorts out, I’m blaming you.”

Gabriel jogged up from the green room, water dripping from his fur, his tail wagging like a metronome set to chaos. “Can we go out there already?! That crowd is howling for us!”

“You’re out of your mind,” Thane said, but there was no bite to it.

Gabriel winked. “Always have been.”

They went out anyway.

Cassie led the charge, barefoot on the drenched wood stage, arms spread to the storm, wild hair clinging to her face like a crown. Rico and Maya followed, instruments already slung and ready. Jonah jogged to his drum kit, slipping slightly in the water pooling at his feet, shaking his head with a huge grin like a man who knew better — but didn’t care.

Gabriel stepped to his mic, bass slung low, fur soaked through, every claw glinting in the lightning.

The crowd saw them and erupted.

Thane shook his head as he flipped the final switch, red lights blooming across the mixer. “Let’s give ’em a show.”

They opened with Echo Burn, and the storm answered.

Rain poured harder. Thunder cracked in perfect rhythm. Gabriel’s bass growled beneath every kick, as if the storm itself had joined the set. The crowd screamed, cried, danced, and howled. Every crash of lightning lit up the scene like a photo still—mud-covered fans shoulder to shoulder, fists pumping, water flinging from every move.

Cassie’s vocals cut through the wind like steel, eyes blazing. Maya’s guitar snarled. Rico was shredding without mercy, rainwater streaking down his strings.

Backstage, Mark adjusted lighting patterns by feel alone—barely seeing the board under the water-slicked tarp. He glanced at Thane.

“I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“You’ve never run rig during a thunder god’s temper tantrum before.”

They both grinned.

Mid-set, the main power cut.

A heartbeat of silence.

Then—stomping, chanting, “FERAL! FER-AL! FER-AL!”

Mark didn’t hesitate. He kicked the backup generator online.

The lights roared back to life. The PA screamed awake. And the band never missed a beat.

As Blood Moon Revival exploded into its final chorus, the sky cracked open—lightning arcing above the stage in a jagged white streak. A fan-captured photo would later go viral, showing Gabriel in full snarl, drenched and defiant, mid-bass solo with lightning behind him like a divine spotlight.

They finished in chaos and glory.

Not with a bow.

Not with silence.

But with one long, shared howl—the band, the crew, and the thousands of mud-slicked, screaming fans beneath the storm.

The headlines came fast.

“WEREWOLVES DEFY THE STORM: FERAL ECLIPSE PLAYS THROUGH LIGHTNING STRIKE”
“RAIN, FUR, AND RIFFS: THE WILD NIGHT FERAL ECLIPSE MADE WEATHER HISTORY”

One soaked fan tweeted, breathless:

“I just watched a band play through a hurricane while barefoot werewolves ran the light board and dared God to flinch.”

Thane didn’t smile much. But as the van pulled away that night, soggy boots and soaked towels everywhere, he looked over at Gabriel curled up in the back seat and finally cracked a grin.

“Legendary.”