It had been two days since Obsidian Saints dropped The Four Horsemen and Seek and Destroy on every major platform they could find—YouTube, SoundCloud, TuneCore, even TikTok. Rex made sure the videos had a raw yet crisp feel, using the best of his $1000 studio. The band's logo—black wings spread behind a cracked obsidian halo—flashed across the screen before each upload. With their passion poured into every note and riff, they had no idea what storm was about to hit.
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At first, the view count ticked up slowly. A few dozen. Then a few hundred. Rex refreshed the page every hour, barely sleeping. By the third morning, the number exploded.
37,294 views.
Rex blinked. "Guys… get in here!"
The band crowded around his desk. Ash leaned over his shoulder. "No way."
Kai crossed his arms, stunned. "That can't be real. Did someone boost it?"
Silas, chewing gum like always, just smirked. "Nah, man. That's all us."
They opened the comments section. New ones poured in by the second.
> "Where the hell have these guys been hiding???"
"The Four Horsemen… holy SH*T. My ears are blessed."
"These riffs go harder than anything I've heard this year."
"Are Obsidian Saints even real?! I need more. Like now."
There were reaction videos already. One YouTuber with half a million followers titled his video:
"This Band Just Changed Rock Forever – Obsidian Saints Reaction"
The thumbnail was his open-mouthed face frozen mid-headbang.
The band watched in silence as the YouTuber freaked out during Seek and Destroy, air-drumming with his headset flying off mid-solo.
Ash chuckled. "He's got taste."
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By afternoon, Rex's phone was buzzing nonstop. Messages, emails, tags.
Even verified accounts were sharing clips of them.
A post from @ShatterSoundz, a famous underground music blog, read:
> "Who are Obsidian Saints, and how did they just drop two of the hardest rock songs of the decade out of nowhere? If this is what they're starting with… the industry better take notes."
That post alone had 30,000 likes in an hour.
A Twitter thread broke it down:
> 1. "The vocalist—Rex, I think?—has that haunting growl like he's been through hell and back. And that rhythm guitar? Clean AF."
2. "Lead guitar work by Ash is just chef's kiss. That solo in Horsemen? Melted me."
3. "Kai's basslines are subtle but heavy, like a heartbeat pulsing through the chaos."
4. "And Silas on drums... dude is an animal. It's like his soul is fused to the kick pedal."
Fan art started to show up online. One sketch showed Rex standing in front of a burning city, guitar slung low like a weapon. Another showed the whole band as shadowy saints rising from obsidian rubble.
Even memes started to pop up.
One had a photo of someone crying while holding headphones:
> "Me after discovering Obsidian Saints and realizing all other bands are mid now."
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Samuel Owen sat back in his modest apartment, a coffee gone cold next to him. He watched the reaction unfold like a man watching a sleeping volcano finally awaken.
"This is it," he muttered. "This is the moment."
He wasn't the only one who thought so.
Labels were sniffing around. Some already slid into the band's DMs. Rex ignored them all for now.
Instead, he focused on the fans. He posted a short message to their new official page:
> "Thanks to everyone who listened. We're just getting started. The Saints have arrived. – Rex"
That post got 12,000 likes in two hours.
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At rehearsal that night, the energy was electric.
"You feel that?" Rex said, standing in the center of the room, looking at his bandmates. "That's momentum. And we're just on the first step."
Ash twirled his guitar pick. "Let's ride the wave before it crashes."
Kai grinned, "What's next? Originals? Covers?"
Rex paused.
He looked out the window into the night sky, lit faintly by the neon of their rising fame.
"Both," he said. "But we do it our way. No shortcuts. No compromises."
Silas leaned on his drumsticks. "Then we better start practicing harder. The bar's been set high… by ourselves."
The room fell silent for a second.
Then Ash played a riff. Heavy, slow, eerie.
Rex smiled. "Save that. Might be our next storm."
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Across the city, across the country, and even across oceans, Obsidian Saints were no longer unknown.
Their sound—a fusion of raw aggression, technical skill, and emotion—tore through the dull sameness of modern rock and gave fans something real.
In the dark bedrooms of angry teens.
In garages of aspiring musicians.
In clubs filled with cynics who thought real rock was dead.
A spark had been lit.
And the Saints had only just begun to preach.
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