The mall lights dimmed.

Well… some of them. Others just kind of flickered awkwardly while Mark barked into his headset and wrestled with a control panel that looked like it had been installed in 1992.

“Thane, I swear on every bulb I own—if one more fluorescent tube hums at me I will physically unplug this mall.”

Backstage, Cassie rolled her eyes. “You mean with your claws or with violence?”

“Yes.”

Out front, the crowd packed the food court and beyond. There were fans pressed up against the Orange Julius. Teens hanging from the second-story railing. A Wetzel’s Pretzels employee openly weeping from joy. An entire line of kids in makeshift ears and tails bouncing with excitement.

And then… fog.

Not the elegant, stage-enhancing kind.

The way-too-much-because-Gabriel-found-the-switch kind.

White haze rolled out like a horror movie gone club scene. Someone in the crowd yelled “IS THIS A DREAM?” as a laser pointer swept over the Hot Topic sign.

Gabriel walked out first, bass slung across his back, bouncing slightly on his clawed toes, tail swishing.

Behind him, the humans stepped out in sequence—Rico, Cassie, Maya, Jonah—each one getting a wave of cheers loud enough to shake the Dippin’ Dots freezer.

Then Mark’s voice crackled through the headset into Thane’s ear:

“Lights are dead. I’m improvising.”

“What does that mean?”

“Look up.”

Thane glanced skyward just as a series of home improvement clamp lights and modified emergency flashlights flicked on in timed bursts—strapped to ceiling vents and support beams with copious amounts of duct tape.

“Of course,” Thane muttered. “That tracks.”

Cassie stepped up to the mic and grinned.

“What’s up, Sooner Hills?! Who’s ready to say they saw a concert between Sbarro and Build-A-Bear?!”

The crowd lost it.

Drums kicked in. Guitars screamed. Bass thundered. And just like that… the band tore through their opening song like the world was ending.

Gabriel spun mid-stage, claws flashing, tail flicking wildly, bass thumping like a second heart. Rico dropped to his knees in front of a Claire’s kiosk and shredded a solo that made one of the earring displays collapse. Cassie’s vocals shook the ceiling. Maya windmilled her guitar so hard she knocked over a mall plant someone had moved too close.

And Thane—barefoot, grounded, grinning like a wolf who’d earned every second of this madness—ran the soundboard from side-stage, eyes sharp, hands fluid, making everything sing through a system never meant for anything louder than elevator music.

Somewhere between the second and third song, someone fired a t-shirt cannon.

Mark: “WHO GAVE JONAH THE T-SHIRT CANNON?!”

Jonah (over drums): “NO ONE SAID I COULDN’T.”

A fan caught a shirt, screamed, and fainted directly into a fountain.

They closed with their viral hit—“Field Notes From the Stars”—and as the last note echoed through the mall, the entire crowd sang the final chorus back to them. Loud. Proud. Perfectly off-key.

Gabriel clutched his chest, eyes wide.

Thane didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. He just gave his bandmate the smallest nod across the stage.

And Gabriel smiled.

Afterward, fans flooded social media:

🐺 @WolfSnack17: “Just saw Feral Eclipse perform next to a Panda Express and I transcended. #FoodCourtLegends”
🧃 @BobaAndBass: “Mark duct-taped the LIGHTS to the CEILING. THE MAN IS A GOD.”
💀 @ChaosRiot666: “Pretty sure Jonah hit me in the face with a t-shirt and I loved it. 10/10 would get injured again.”

Back on the bus, later that night, everyone was exhausted but grinning.

Diesel stepped on, chewing a churro. “Y’all leveled a mall today. Proud of you.”

Thane slumped into a seat with a satisfied huff. “Let’s never do that again.”

Gabriel leaned against him, tail flicking. “Until next year.”

Thane side-eyed him.

“…We’re calling it Mallpocalypse 2026, right?”

Everyone groaned.

And Jonah—shirtless, covered in glitter, and eating the last churro—simply whispered: “…I’m in.”