The lights in the Blood Ballroom dimmed to nothing.
Then came the sound—
Not music.
Not yet.
Just the soft, haunting drip drip drip of water echoing through ancient pipes. Thunder low in the distance. The eerie chime of a warped music box.
The masquerade crowd buzzed with anticipation, faces hidden behind lace masks and antlers, leather bird-beaks and porcelain skulls. Cloaks rustled. Someone clutched a plush raven. Another held up a candle. Some fans were fully weeping before the show even started.
And then —
BOOM.
The entire stage lit up in a blood-red flash, and Feral Eclipse erupted out of the shadows like beasts born from the dark itself.
Gabriel launched forward first—bass slung low, tail snapping, teeth flashing. The crowd SCREAMED as he tore into the opening riff of “Moonlit Mercy”, his signature melodic snarl rippling through the rafters.
Cassie stormed in behind him, voice like velvet and thunder, black feathers in her hair, mic in one hand and a skull-handled cane in the other, owning every inch of that ancient stone stage.
Rico, Jonah, and Maya slammed into their parts like clockwork chaos—flashing lights illuminating their silhouettes in streaks of red, purple, and ghost-white strobe.
And behind it all… Thane, standing like a storm in stillness at the sound console tucked into the shadows. His claws danced across sliders and pads, summoning lightning through the speakers—every drop of delay, every thump of bass, his to command.
The music built. Grew teeth. Fangs.
In the crowd, fans were losing their minds — swooning, moshing in velvet, fake fainting onto chaise lounges. Someone was actually howling in time with the bridge.
Midway through “Black Chapel Howl,” Gabriel leapt to the coffin by the side of the stage, throwing his head back and unleashing a deafening bass solo that sent tremors through the floor. Fog machines hissed, and the lighting strobed like lightning cracking across a graveyard.
And yes — YES — someone in a top hat and Dracula cape actually fainted into Lord Alaric, who was once again screaming Latin at the chandeliers.
At the climax of “Cathedral Claws,” Cassie raised her mic, howling into the darkness —
“I see you, midnight beasts!
I hear your hunger rise!
Then LET. IT. FEAST!!”
And the entire crowd howled back.
Thousands of fans.
Every single one of them.
A perfect storm of leather, eyeliner, and love.
After the final chord:
The stage went dark again.
But the crowd didn’t stop screaming. They didn’t even breathe.
The band gathered center stage, all panting, glistening, electrified with post-set adrenaline. Gabriel’s chest heaved, bass strap hanging off one shoulder. Cassie’s lipstick was smeared. Jonah had cracked a drumstick mid-song and looked like he’d been in a bar fight with a banshee.
Backstage, five minutes later:
Mark handed Gabriel a water bottle and muttered, “You missed a string on the second verse.”
Gabriel just laughed. “You noticed?”
“Barely,” Thane said from across the room. “I had it EQ’d out by the time it hit the house.”
Jonah collapsed onto a couch with a groan. “I think I pulled something during that double kick drop. Possibly a soul.”
Cassie, still glowing with sweat and glitter, just grinned. “We turned a masquerade into a mosh pit. That’s gotta be a first.”