The energy that followed Rex's demo session buzzed like static through the studio space. After hearing all ten songs in their raw, uncut form, the band was electrified, and so was Samuel. But now came the real challenge—crafting those sparks into a cohesive explosion of an album. Not just a playlist, not just a sequence of cool tracks, but a sonic experience that would make people stop, listen, and remember.
They were making Obsidian Saints, and it had to be perfect.
---
"First things first—track order," Samuel said, flipping his notebook open. "You've got ten monsters here. If we're not careful, it'll feel like an all-out war with no story. You want emotional movement. Highs. Lows. A reason for people to stay through the whole thing."
Rex sat with a dry-erase marker in hand, scribbling potential tracklists on the whiteboard. "The opener has to be Seek and Destroy. It's recognizable. It's tight. And it gets your blood pumping."
Ash nodded. "Definitely. That riff alone is a mission statement."
Kai leaned forward. "So what follows it? Another high-energy track to keep momentum?"
Silas crossed his arms. "What about Ace of Spades second? Fast, chaotic. Keeps the fire going."
Rex shook his head slowly. "Too fast, too soon. We need contrast. Let's hit them with In My Darkest Hour next—something with weight. Let people know this isn't just noise, it's soul."
Samuel tapped his pen against his leg. "Smart. Establish range early."
After an hour of debate, trial, and error, they arrived at the final order:
1. Spit out the bone
2. Ace of Spades
3. The Four horsemen
4. Whiplash
5. Angel of Death
6. Ride the lightening
7. In my darkest hour
8. Anesthesia (Pulling Teeth)
9. Seek And Destroy
10. Fade to black
Ash raised a brow. "You really want The Four Horsemen to close it out?"
Rex nodded. "It's the song that introduced us to the world. Now it's the one that sends them off. Like a salute. A final warning."
Kai grinned. "I like it. Full-circle."
---
Over the next few days, the band entered the grind: refining each track. The studio space was tight, the AC was barely functional, and takeout containers stacked like trophies of exhaustion. But the creative fire was uncontrollable.
"Again!" Rex called from the booth.
Silas wiped sweat from his brow. "You sure? That's like... take eleven."
"You rushed the snare into the chorus transition."
"I felt the snare transition," Silas muttered, but he grinned and rolled his shoulders, resetting.
The click track began again.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
Boom.
---
Ash worked obsessively over his solos, dissecting every note in Ride the Lightning and Spit Out the Bone. His fingers bled once—literally—but he refused to slow down.
Kai, meanwhile, dedicated an entire afternoon to Anesthesia (Pulling Teeth). Without vocals to rely on, every inflection, every rest, every distortion effect had to be surgically precise.
Rex floated between roles—coaching vocals, reworking transitions, experimenting with harmonies that hadn't existed in the demo versions. He was tireless, driven by something deeper than perfectionism. It was purpose.
At one point, Samuel called them into the lounge.
"I want to pitch something."
Rex raised an eyebrow. "Shoot."
"Instead of releasing each song as a single track preview... what if we dropped short teaser videos—fifteen seconds each—with visuals?"
Kai perked up. "Like animated or live action?"
Samuel smirked. "Both. Mixed media. Think cryptic footage of the band performing, cut with strange visuals—storm clouds, burning feathers, crosses of black obsidian. Let people feel the mystery."
Rex nodded. "And don't include the name of the song. Just the logo. Build curiosity."
Ash chuckled. "You're starting to sound like a metalhead."
"I've been hanging around you freaks too long," Samuel replied.
---
By the end of the second week, eight of the ten songs were recorded in full. The band had moved their sleeping bags into the studio, and Silas had unofficially taken over coffee duty every morning.
The rough mixes sounded massive.
Angel of Death shook the floor like a stampede.
Fade to Black echoed with sorrow and silence between notes.
Whiplash felt like being thrown into a mosh pit made of sound.
And Spit Out the Bone... it wasn't just a song. It was a weapon.
---
On the final day of recording, silence fell in the room after the last note of The Four Horsemen. No one spoke. No jokes. No celebrations.
Just a collective exhale.
Rex removed his headphones and stepped out of the booth.
Samuel stood, his voice low. "You did it."
Ash slumped into the couch. "We didn't just make an album. We built a damn cathedral of sound."
Silas nodded slowly. "It's heavy. In every way."
Kai raised his water bottle. "To the Obsidian Saints."
They clinked their bottles together.
Rex looked around the room—at the mess, the exhaustion, the flickering lights—and smiled.
"This isn't the end," he said. "It's the beginning."
And with that, the recording phase ended.
But soon, the world would hear the storm they had summoned.