The bus rumbled on into the rust-belt city just before sunset — all cracked concrete and fading industrial charm, with the skyline stained by neon signs and fire-orange clouds.
The venue? An old art deco theater reborn as a rock palace — gold-leafed arches, crumbling backstage tunnels, and a lobby that smelled faintly of stale popcorn and pyrotechnics. The marquee out front blazed with the name:
FERAL ECLIPSE – SOLD OUT – ONE NIGHT ONLY
The street was already packed. Fans lined the block, pressed against metal barriers, phones raised, signs waving. Some wore shirts with Thane’s stare on them. Some had fake claws strapped to their hands. One had a glittery sign that just read “GABRIEL, YOU SAVED MY LIFE.”
There was a tangible edge in the air — not hostile, just buzzing. Like thunder just below the surface.
Inside, the promoter — twitchy, over-caffeinated, and sweating through his sport coat — practically leapt up the stairs as Diesel parked the bus.
“You’re here! Oh my GOD you’re here! Please don’t kill anyone tonight!”
Diesel gave him a long-suffering stare as the crew began unloading. “We’ll try.”
The load-in crew was ready. The gear rolled in. Mark was already growling about truss alignment again. Cassie was humming scales. Rico and Maya vanished to the greenroom with matching coffees.
Gabriel stepped off the bus and immediately got swarmed by a pack of VIP fans doing their best to not squeal. He winked at them anyway.
Thane brought up the rear, coiling cables with practiced paws, ice-blue eyes scanning the venue’s layout. Calm. Focused. Until—
“Oh my GOD HE’S REAL!!”
A fan shrieked from the balcony and promptly fainted. Security caught her mid-swoon. The crowd lost its mind. Again.
Thane sighed.
“It’s gonna be one of those nights.”
The show was chaos in its purest, most glorious form.
From the first howl of the guitar to the last thunderclap of drums, the crowd moved like a single living beast — screaming, weeping, claw-gloved hands raised to the ceiling. Gabriel had jumped off the riser more than once, claws sliding along his strings like he was conjuring storms.
Thane’s mix? Flawless. The sound system rumbled like tectonic plates — clean, heavy, rich. He barely moved behind the board, but every flick of his clawed fingers was deliberate, powerful. Controlled violence. Art.
Cassie’s vocals shattered ceilings. Rico dueled Maya mid-song in a sonic throwdown that had fans foaming at the barricades. Jonah lost a stick and kept going with a water bottle. Mark had his lights synced so tightly with Gabriel’s bass drops that you could feel the light hit you.
After the final note rang out and the lights dimmed to a simmering glow, the band stood together for one last bow. Sweat, fur, and adrenaline glistened under the dying strobes. The roar of the crowd lingered like smoke, wrapping around them as if the city itself didn’t want to let go.
Backstage, the pack was buzzing — Cassie still vibrating with post-show electricity, Maya grinning through her third coffee, Rico wiping down his guitar like it was a sacred relic. Jonah looked like he’d just outrun a freight train and loved every second. Mark, for once, just nodded. “Not bad,” he muttered, which, from him, meant near perfection.
Gabriel flopped into his bunk with a blissed-out smile, bass still slung over his shoulder like a trophy. “Thane,” he mumbled, tail flicking lazily, “if we peak here, I’m cool with it.”
Thane just shook his head with a low chuckle, coiling his cables one last time. “Nah. We’re just getting started.”
By the time the house lights cooled and the venue doors clanged shut, the crew was already packed, loaded, and back aboard.
Diesel fired up the engine. The bus growled to life and rolled out into the sleeping city — past glittering alleys and cracked brick warehouses, past fans still lingering on sidewalks, waving as taillights faded into the night.
Onward.
To the next howl.