It started like most strange things did—with Gabriel laughing way too hard at his phone.

They were parked outside a diner somewhere between Sacramento and Reno, morning sunlight cutting across the dashboard of the big black tour van. Thane was reviewing the venue layout for that night’s show, while Mark tried to block out Jonah and Rico arguing over the last bag of mini powdered donuts.

Gabriel was curled up in the back bench, grinning like he’d just found a meme that could cure depression.

“You guys…” he said through laughter. “You guys. You need to see this.”

Cassie grabbed the phone and hit play.

The video was low-lit, full of neon strobes and screaming fans. At the center of it all: a hyperactive pop/EDM star with platinum pink hair, a rhinestone bodysuit, and massive glitter platform boots. KALI VENOM. A household name with sold-out world tours, fifteen million followers, and three Grammys for “Best Music to Dance to While Crying.”

She was on stage, dripping glitter and sweat, yelling into a mic between drops.

“Y’all heard the leaked Feral Eclipse album? THAT’S real music! If those wolves don’t collab with me, I swear I’ll start a riot!”

Cue a bass drop that nearly ruptured the phone’s speaker.

Mark blinked. “What… in the synth-pop hell was that.”

“Apparently,” Gabriel said, still laughing, “she’s obsessed with us. Like, superfan obsessed. She followed all of us on socials last night. Even messaged our band account.”

Cassie tapped her screen. “She wants to remix Howlcore Symphony. Says she has ‘a vision.’”

Thane raised an eyebrow. “Is the vision loud, sparkly, and smells like bubblegum and glitter glue?”

Gabriel bumped his shoulder. “C’mon, my wolf. It could be fun. Besides, you should see her fanbase. Those people are rabid. They’d love us.”

“Or eat us alive.”

Maya snorted. “Aren’t we used to that by now?”

The band debated it in the van, on stage, in green rooms and airports. Even the fans were split—some couldn’t wait to see the wolves step into the world of pop-electro chaos, others feared a sellout.

But the band made a decision.

Lean in. Full send.

A month later, in a fluorescent jungle of lasers and thumping LED walls, Feral Eclipse walked on stage at the Electric Bloom Festival in Las Vegas.

Kali Venom screamed their name as Gabriel’s bass roared across the crowd, now spiked with thousands of new fans in glow sticks and crop tops. Her remix of Howlcore Symphony dropped into a breakbeat so filthy it made Jonah cackle mid-set. Thane didn’t smile—but he didn’t stop headbanging either.

Kali herself was bouncing across the stage in 7-inch heels, yelling, “FERAL FREAKIN’ ECLIPSE! DROP THAT FANG-FIRE!!”

When it ended, the crowd exploded like a warzone of confetti and strobe.

Backstage, Kali tackled Gabriel in a glittery hug, then looked at Thane.

“You. Big one. Let me remix every song you’ve ever written.”

Thane crossed his arms. “Only if you stop tagging me in memes at three in the morning.”

She grinned. “No promises.”

The remix charted. Viral. Unstoppable.
Their fanbase? Doubled.
Their critics? Speechless.
And somewhere, in the dark corners of rock purist forums, old fans quietly deleted angry posts and downloaded the track anyway.

The wolves had conquered the neon jungle.

And the beat never stopped.