Inside the garage-turned-practice-room, the lights hung low and wires trailed across the concrete floor like veins feeding life into the soul of the band. Posters of obscure bands and DIY art lined the walls, most of it courtesy of Kai and Silas. But tonight, the room had a special kind of charge, like lightning waiting to strike.
Samuel Owen sat cross-legged on a crate, his notepad resting on his lap, pen ready but unmoving. He had seen countless bands—most of them forgettable, a few nearly legendary—but the raw energy radiating from these kids made him feel like a young agent again. He adjusted his glasses and focused.
Rex stood at the center of it all, a quiet storm. His long black hair flowed past his shoulders, and a single black ring adorned his finger. The other band members—Ash, Kai, and Silas—sat around the room, each with their own brand of curiosity and excitement on their faces.
"Alright," Rex said, picking up his guitar and plugging it into the amp. "I've got something special for all of you tonight."
Ash smirked. "You say that every time you bring something new, man. The last time you dropped Angel of Death on us, my ears bled. In a good way."
Kai leaned back, bass across his lap. "Let's see what you got. We trust your taste, bro. Just… warn us this time if it's nuclear."
Silas gave a rare chuckle. "I've got my sticks ready. Let's go."
Rex nodded and clicked play on the small mixer next to him. "These are demo tapes—raw recordings I made with the gear I bought before we even formed. I was waiting for the right time to share them. They're not perfect, but they're ours now."
He began with "Seek and Destroy."
The opening riff burst through the speakers like a war cry. Even though they had already recorded it professionally, hearing it in this rough, raw state gave the band a new appreciation. It was primal. Honest. Alive.
Samuel tapped his foot, nodding slowly. "Still hits like a damn freight train."
Without waiting, Rex faded into "Whiplash."
Ash's eyes widened. "Dude, that intro! That's pure chaos. Like being punched in the face by speed itself."
"Yeah," Kai agreed. "It sounds like something that could start a mosh pit in five seconds flat."
Next came "Ride the Lightning." The room shifted. The song's dark melodic passages and sudden surges of electricity rolled over them.
Samuel's brows knit together. "This one's different. It's got that… foreboding energy, like doom on the horizon. This is an album track, no doubt."
Rex smiled, but said nothing. He transitioned to "Anesthesia (Pulling Teeth)," the only instrumental track.
It was Kai's moment.
As soon as the bass solo began—fuzzy, aggressive, and relentless—Kai sat up straight, his mouth half open. "Wait… This is… me?"
Rex nodded. "Yeah. I wrote it with you in mind. It's a solo piece. No vocals. Just you."
Silas let out a low whistle. "Bro. You're gonna make bass players cool again."
Kai looked touched, genuinely. "I don't know what to say…"
"Say you'll play it live," Rex said, smirking.
Ash added, "People are gonna riot for a bass solo. That's wild."
The next track was "Ace of Spades." Short, sharp, and rebellious. Pure adrenaline.
"That one's a brawler," said Ash. "It's like... if a gambling addict turned punk."
Samuel laughed, "I don't even like gambling, and I'd headbang to that."
Then came "Fade to Black."
The entire room fell silent. The haunting intro. The slow build. The crushing emotion. Rex's voice, even in demo form, carried a quiet pain. Something real.
Silas tapped a slow rhythm on his thigh, his usual calm demeanor shifting slightly.
Ash looked down. "That one… that one hits hard."
"No one's making music like this right now," Samuel said softly. "It's not just aggressive. It's human."
Rex nodded once, his eyes serious. "Exactly what I wanted."
He moved on.
"In My Darkest Hour" played next—a balance of sorrow and rage, melody and thunder.
Silas gave a low grunt of approval. "This one. I want this one. Those drum transitions? Give them to me."
Kai nodded solemnly. "It feels like a confession and a war cry at the same time."
The penultimate track was "Spit Out the Bone."
The room came alive again.
Ash was practically bouncing. "Okay, now you're just showing off! This is like—tech death meets speed metal. My fingers are gonna bleed playing this."
"You'll manage," Rex said, his grin wicked.
Finally, he let the opening gallop of "The Four Horsemen" ring out, a full-circle moment.
The song that started it all. The track that got them noticed. The song that woke something up in them—and in the world.
When the last note faded, no one spoke for a moment.
Samuel stood slowly and clapped. Not sarcastically. Not out of obligation. But out of sheer respect.
"This isn't just a collection of tracks. This is a war declaration," he said. "This album will tear down walls. You're not just reviving rock—you're redefining it."
Kai exhaled hard. "So… what do we call it?"
Rex turned to the whiteboard on the wall and wrote two words in bold, capital letters.
OBSIDIAN SAINTS
Silas grinned. "Name's got bite."
Ash nodded. "And it's ours."
Samuel chuckled. "That it is. Let's get to work."
They all stood in silence for a moment longer, looking at the whiteboard, their future scrawled in sharp strokes.
Ten songs. One purpose.
This wasn't just a band anymore.
This was a movement.